The setting for this one is 1947. More or less Season 2 of Agent Carter, except nobody went to California. Project: Rebirth didn't work, but the war and Peggy's career in the S.S.R. continued on close enough to the MCU's storyline that we find her in the same place. A civilian named Steve Rogers comes across some Hydra information he shouldn't have, and Peggy gets pulled off her normal caseload to run witness protection. Cue the espionage and intrigue. (This was going to be just a straight-up bodyguard AU, but of its own accord, the story turned into the 1940's version of the show Chuck. (Just as an FYI for those who notice the similarities. You don't need to have seen Chuck for this story to make sense.))
Peggy took a moment before walking into Thompson's office—she had issues with her new assignment, but she couldn't go in there sounding upset. She had to choose her moments of emotion carefully in any case, since she didn't want to be dismissed as 'too emotional for a man's job', but she also knew that Thompson, though he trusted her as an agent now, still hadn't gotten over his enjoyment of trying to rile her up.
"Excuse me, Chief," she said, knocking on his door and sticking her head in.
Jack looked up from a report he was reading. "You're here to complain about your new assignment, aren't you?"
Peggy opened her mouth to protest, but Jack cut her off.
"You're being way too polite," he said. "Can't think of anything else you might want, so…" He arched an eyebrow inviting her to contradict him, and she sighed. He grinned.
"I wasn't going to complain," she said. "But I did have questions."
"Alright," Jack said, sitting back in his chair. "I'll answer them, but you're still going to do it."
"Jack, no one knows the Dottie Underwood case better than I do. Is putting me on protective duty really the best use of my time?" she asked. They had grown beyond the point where he felt the need to give her unpleasant assignments just to spite her, but in cases like this, she couldn't help wondering.
"To be honest with you, no," he replied. He smirked and shook his head. "You're a lot easier to deal with when you're out in the field. And you are pretty good at it," he added, only a little begrudgingly. "But you're still doing this."
"But, Jack, if we both agree—"
"I know you don't want to play bodyguard because you want to be out solving cases. I don't want you playing bodyguard, because I'm going to have a headache as long as you're unhappy. But Colonel Phillips wants you playing bodyguard, so that's what you're going to do."
That brought Peggy up short. "Colonel Phillips?" she asked. She had served under the Colonel during the war, but she'd heard very little from him in the two years since. He'd been pleased with her work and secured her a position with the S.S.R. office in New York, and there had been vague talks about some new intelligence organization he was working on, but nothing had come to fruition as yet.
"Yep," Jack replied. "And when the guy who founded the S.S.R. puts in a special request for a specific agent, the local S.S.R. Chief lets him have that agent."
Peggy sighed. There wouldn't be any getting out of it if Phillips had asked for her personally. She was slightly heartened by the fact that it was Phillips who had asked, so the job would probably be at least somewhat interesting. Interesting enough to make up for the ground she would lose on the Underwood case, unlikely. But at least it was something.
"Alright," Peggy said. "Daniel should know where all of my notes are. And if you ask nicely, Mr. Jarvis should bring you up to date on anything he and I discovered that Daniel doesn't know."
Jack nodded. "Phillips said he'd send a car by your apartment in an hour. Better go pack." He waited until she'd started walking out of the office to add with a grin, "Have fun babysitting!"
Peggy tossed him a rather rude hand gesture as she walked away, and she heard him laugh.
She went home and packed a bag, though Phillips' orders had been unclear on where this protection detail was going to be taking place. She assumed nowhere she would need special gear for, or he would have mentioned it, so she took her standard go bag and added a few more things in case this turned out to be a longer term assignment.
Somewhat to her surprise, Phillips himself was driving the car when it came to fetch her. "Carter," he greeted as she got in. "Long time. New York boys treating you alright?"
"Well enough," she replied, and it was true. Not as well as she would have liked, but she was getting cases and being treated like she knew what she was doing most of the time, and that was an improvement over the last year that she would accept.
Phillips chuckled, as if he was aware of her inner monologue. "You'll get your chance to use your talents soon enough," he said. "This S.H.I.E.L.D. thing of ours is getting close to being off the ground, and don't think your name isn't at the top of my list."
"Thank you, Sir," she said. "Is this assignment part of that?"
"Not really," he said. "Depending on how things go with this guy, he might turn out to be important to S.H.I.E.L.D., but at the moment, no."
"If I may ask, Sir," she said. She knew Phillips well enough to know that he wouldn't take her question as impertinent, and that he would give her an honest answer. "Why did you ask for me? We were in the middle of an important case."
"I know," he said. "But I asked for you because I need someone I can trust."
She arched a curious eyebrow.
Phillips sighed. "Hydra isn't as dead as we would have liked to think it was."
"What?"
He nodded grimly. "Schmidt was the face of it, but it looks like Zola was right about more heads popping up when you cut one off." He sighed. "They're inside the S.S.R."
Peggy took a moment to take this in. "That's why you came to fetch me yourself." She'd been surprised to see him in the car to begin with, but now the lack of a driver made more sense. He'd needed to be able to talk to her alone.
He nodded. "I know enough to know they're there, but not enough to know who they are. I have four people I know I can trust absolutely, and one of them is you."
Peggy felt suddenly rather touched. "Thank you, Sir," she said. "Although, since you put it that way…You haven't seen me in two years. How do you know you can trust me?"
He chuckled. "Just because I haven't seen you doesn't mean I don't know what you've been up to. And I fought alongside you for the whole war. I trust you."
She smiled. "I won't let you down, Sir."
He smiled back. "I know. And that's the other reason I picked you. Because you're the best at what you do, and if anyone knows what to look out for and how to keep someone alive, it's you. And it is very important that this guy stay alive."
She nodded. "Who is he?"
"A witness."
"To what?"
Phillips huffed a semi-amused snort. "We're not completely sure yet." He drew in a deep breath. "It has something to do with Erskine."
Peggy felt her breath catch in her throat. Professor Erskine had been a very close friend and colleague during the war, and a brilliant scientist. He'd been killed by Hydra just before the end of the war.
Phillips tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he searched for the best way to explain. "The guy's name is Rogers. Little fella; asthma; 4-F during the War. Works at the museum. No connection to anything or anyone important. Two days ago, a package shows up at Rogers' apartment. Some sort of device was inside, and when he picks it up, it…I don't even know if there's a word for what happened, it just…He knows a lot more than he should now. The thing put it all in his head somehow."
"I don't understand," Peggy said.
"Neither does anyone else," Phillips said. "There's some techs looking over the device, but it self-destructed when it finished doing whatever it was doing."
"How do we know Professor Erskine was involved?"
"Because Rogers knows his name," Phillips said. "Apparently, the thing came with some sort of introductory message, telling Rogers where to find me and what to say. I'd be a hell of a lot more suspicious if part of that didn't include a code that Erskine and I came up with for some of our most secure work. No one but the two of us ever used it."
"So Erskine gave it to Rogers so you would trust him," Peggy concluded. "Did he know Rogers?"
"As far as Rogers says, no," Phillips said. "That's another part of the mystery. And one of the problems with this thing is that it didn't include any instructions for Rogers for how to access the rest of the information. It just sort of comes to him in bits and pieces, and we can't figure out any rhyme or reason to it. Some of our tech boys probably could, but again, I don't trust them. So far, everything he's given us is classified to hell and back, and some of it is stuff that even I didn't know. Hydra would kill to get their hands on him. That's where you come in. We've got him in a safehouse for now, which is not all that safe, since Hydra's probably in it. Everyone knows that you're here to transport him to a more remote location. Your plane is going to go down en route, and while it probably won't fool everyone into thinking you're both dead, it'll at least get you off the grid. Then you can keep him somewhere that's actually safe until we figure some things out."
Peggy nodded. "Yes, Sir."
"There's some more detailed instructions in that folder," Phillips said, nodding at a folder on the seat. "Put it in your bag and read it on the plane. Once we get out of the car, assume all conversations are not secure."
Peggy nodded, putting away the folder. "Does Rogers know about the plan?"
"No way to tell him without knowing who's listening," Phillips said, parking in front of a shop front that housed the 'safe' house. "You should probably fill him in before the plane crashes."
Peggy followed Phillips inside, her muscles taut with tension at the thought that anyone around them could be a spy. Phillips introduced her to a couple of people, leading her down to an underground level and opening a door to a small room. Sitting inside on a cot and sketching something in a notebook was her new assignment. Phillips hadn't been kidding when he called him a 'little fella'. He stood up when she came in, and he was still a few inches shorter than her. He was thin and rather frail-looking, and he seemed a bit jumpy, though Peggy could hardly begrudge him that. If he really was just a civilian, all this cloak and dagger business was probably quite unnerving.
"Rogers, this is Agent Carter," Phillips said. "She's going to be taking over security for you. Carter, Steve Rogers."
"Hello, Agent Carter," Rogers said, coming forward and shaking her hand. He was eyeing Phillips nervously, but he didn't seem put off that a woman was going to be handling his security, which Peggy decided to count as a point in his favour. "Nice to meet you."
"And you, Mr. Rogers," she said. "Are you ready to go?"
"I guess," he said, casting an eye around the little room he was in. "I've never been in a plane before."
Unfortunately, his first plane ride was also going to involve a plane crash, so Peggy suspected he wasn't going to enjoy it much.
"Grab your stuff and get going," Phillips said. "Plane's waiting."
Rogers turned back to his cot and picked up a backpack that had been sitting against it, stuffing his notebook and pencil in before zipping it up. "Lead the way, Agent," he said, looking at Peggy. He followed her and Phillips back up to the main level, smiling in relief as they headed for the door. "It'll be nice to get outside again," he said. "I've been down in that basement for two days."
"It's for your own protection," Phillips reminded him.
"Yes, Sir," Rogers said, looking down at his feet and looking a little embarrassed for having brought it up. He didn't say anything else as they got into the car and drove away. Peggy felt a little bad for him—she was used to Phillips' gruffness, but she supposed he could come off as intimidating. She hoped Rogers was a bit more talkative once it was just the two of them out at wherever they were going, or it was going to be a very long assignment.
The driver took them right onto the airstrip where a small plane was waiting for them. Peggy did wonder, given Phillips' worry about Hydra, who was going to be piloting them—she'd flown in planes before, but never piloted one herself. Phillips ushered them up into the plane, whispered cryptically that he'd be in touch, then got back into the car with the driver to pull out of the plane's way.
"So, you're going to be flying us to wherever we're going?" Rogers asked once they were inside. The plane was empty but for the two of them.
"Ah," Peggy began. "No, actually, I don't know how to fly a plane—"
"But I do!" crackled a familiar voice through the radio up front.
Arching an amused, curious eyebrow, Peggy moved up to the controls. "Mr. Jarvis?" she asked.
"Hello, Agent Carter," the radio replied. "Splendid to be working with you again."
"And you," she said, smiling. "I take it you're one of the four people the Colonel trusts?"
"It would seem so. Mr. Stark is one of the others, and he has designed this plane to be flown by remote control. I shall be piloting you from the comfort of Mr. Stark's Park Avenue home, allowing the plane to crash in complete safety."
"Wait, what?" Rogers asked from behind her.
"I haven't filled Mr. Rogers in on the rest of the plan yet," Peggy said.
"Oh. My apologies," Mr. Jarvis replied. "Why don't you sit in the pilot's seat for the moment so that it will appear to anyone watching that you are flying the plane, and I'll just get things going while you explain."
Peggy settled in to the pilot's seat, gesturing for Rogers to sit down beside her. "Please tell me the part about crashing is some sort of spy code for something else," Rogers said.
"I'm afraid it isn't," Peggy said as the engines came to life. "Though, if it's any consolation, we're not going to be on the plane when it crashes."
"I guess that helps a little," Rogers conceded. "Are you allowed to tell me what's happening? I've had no idea what's been going on for the past two days, and now I feel like I'm missing even more pieces."
"What do you know about Hydra?" Peggy asked.
Instead of answering right away, Rogers winced and shut his eyes, rubbing at the side of his head. "Um," he began. He opened his eyes. "The Colonel didn't tell me a lot, but…evil Nazi scientists from the War? I got that part."
"Yes," Peggy said as the plane started to move. "Unfortunately, they aren't relegated to just the War. They are still very much alive, and very much embedded in the S.S.R."
Rogers considered this. "Is that why nobody would tell me anything? Because these Nazi guys might be listening?"
"Yes," she replied, pleased he'd caught on so quickly.
"I'm still not following why that leads to us crashing the plane."
"Because faking your death is the best way to keep them from finding you."
"Wait, they want me?!" Rogers asked.
Peggy arched an eyebrow. "Yes. Why did you think we were moving you?"
"Because they decided against locking me in a basement forever? I don't know," he said. "Nobody's telling me anything."
Peggy tilted her head curiously. "And you're just going along with that?"
"I don't have much of an option," he said. "When big Army guys with guns tell you to do something, you kind of have to do it." He sighed, scrubbing his hands down over his face. "These past two days have been kind of a blur. My head is just…I have no idea what's happening inside my head right now, and I'm not really sure why I went to the S.S.R. in the first place, but once I got there, they wouldn't let me leave. Like, I got that what was in my head was important, but nobody ever said it was life or death. I was glad to do my part and help my country with this new information, but I didn't understand why they wanted me to stay locked up somewhere and I couldn't just go home and come back in the morning. I tried arguing the point, and this big guy physically picked me up and carried me down to that little room—which, by the way, was in no way degrading or humiliating," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "He also stood by the door and threatened to shoot me if I came out, so, yeah, I'm going along with that."
"Oh," Peggy said. She grimaced. "We really are trying to protect you, though I don't know why no one came out and just said as much." They could have done that without alarming Hydra. "I'm sorry."
He looked up at her curiously, then a small smile quirked up one side of his mouth. It was rather a nice smile. "Thanks," he said. "You're the first person who's said that to me."
Peggy smiled back, though she felt rather embarrassed on behalf of her organization. Her mind played back through the faces she'd seen in the safehouse. "Tell me, the one who picked you up and then threatened to shoot you—was he quite large, sandy hair, square in the jaw?"
Rogers nodded.
"Corporal Hodge," she said. "How the man survived the war without being taken out by friendly fire, I'll never know." That earned her a huff of laughter and a larger smile from Rogers. "He is rather a brute. I apologize again for the behaviour of my colleagues. Next time we see him, I shall punch him for you."
"Oh, you don't have to—"
"I've been wanting to punch the man for years," she said. "But that's a conversation for another time. Back to the matter at hand—we're both on the same page now that there are very bad people who are trying to find you, and we're keeping you away from them?"
"Yes."
"Right. So, the plane crashing will hopefully convince all but the most determined ones that you are no longer around to be found. You and I shall be exiting the plane via parachute before it crashes, and Mr. Jarvis will be putting it down somewhere. I presume over water?" she said in the direction of the controls.
"Indeed," Mr. Jarvis agreed. "The lack of bodies will be an annoyance, but will not rouse suspicion, thanks to currents and the like."
"Parachute?" Rogers asked a bit nervously. "Couldn't we just…land and get out, and then he could fly the plane off and crash it?"
"No," Peggy said. "Our communications are secure, but our flight pattern is being monitored. A delay like that will be noticed."
Rogers nodded. "Okay." He was looking a bit green around the gills. "I'm not very good with heights," he admitted.
"This isn't my first time jumping out of a plane," she said. "I'll make sure we both land alive."
"Thanks." He didn't look entirely convinced, but Peggy imagined that had to do more with the prospect of jumping out of a plane, which was a terribly daunting task the first time around. "What happens then?"
"I'm not sure," Peggy said. "I've got instructions I was supposed to read once we were on the plane. How long until we're supposed to crash, Mr. Jarvis?"
"Another hour," the radio replied. "Plenty of time to catch yourself up."
"If you'll excuse me, then," Peggy said, getting up and moving to her bag and the folder.
"Sure, sure," Rogers said. He stayed up front for a moment longer, then moved back to his own bag and dug out his notebook, resuming his sketching.
Peggy pulled out the folder and read quickly over the contents. There was a secure, encrypted radio on board the plane that she and Rogers would take with them when they jumped. It would enable them to communicate with Phillips without being detected, though they could only use it at certain times, when he was free. They would be jumping out of the plane over the Low Country of South Carolina, while Mr. Jarvis flew on along the coast in the direction of Florida, before sending the plane down into the sea. Peggy tried to suppress a sigh. The salt marshes would be isolated enough to give them cover and close enough to town to get supplies, but, Crikey O'Reilly, it was nearly June! It was going to be disgustingly hot and humid, with mosquitos everywhere. Couldn't they have flown west and crashed the plane over one of the Great Lakes instead?
She finished reading over the coordinates of the safehouse and details of security, then checked her watch. Not long now. Rogers was still sketching away in his book. When Peggy first noticed him doing it back in the safehouse, she'd thought perhaps it was a way to pass the time, but the way he was holding his pencil now looked more as though it was a nervous habit. She wondered what he was drawing.
"It's coming up on time to jump. You ready, Rogers?" she asked.
"Huh?" He looked up. "Oh, um, I guess." He put his things away. "I'm going to go ahead and apologize in advance for the fact that this will probably make me throw up."
"Noted," she said. She walked him through jumping out of a plane with a parachute, making sure he knew how everything was going to work. He got more and more pale the more she explained, and she really hoped, especially since he would be strapped to her, that he would wait to throw up until they hit the ground.
They collected their things, the radio, and the pack of equipment that Phillips had had there waiting for them, fastened themselves into the parachute, and readied themselves by the door.
"Good luck, Agent Carter!" called Mr. Jarvis from the radio. "I shall be contacting you when the plane is about to go down for the appropriate theatrics." She was going to have to come on the radio and pretend as though she was still in the plane as it crashed.
"Thank you, Mr. Jarvis," she said. "Talk to you soon!" She patted Rogers once on the shoulder, and he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a little whimper that was quiet enough she would pretend she didn't hear it. Then she jumped.
There was something exhilarating in flying through the air in a freefall, reminiscent of old missions during the war, and the surge of adrenaline invigorated her. Rogers, on the other hand, did not seem to be enjoying it nearly as much as she was, but at least he wasn't screaming. He did make a noise when she pulled on the cord to slow their descent that made her wonder if the promised vomiting was about to be forthcoming, but he reined it in. "Legs ready for landing!" she yelled over the wind, hoping he would remember her earlier instructions. He did open his eyes then and move to brace himself for impact with the ground. They still overbalanced and tumbled to the ground anyway—Peggy had suspected they would, since she wasn't accustomed to the weight of another person in such maneouvers—but at least his legs being down split the impact so that it didn't send a shockwave up Peggy's knees.
They rolled into a tangled heap and came to a stop in the tall grass. Peggy sat up and unfastened herself from both Rogers and the parachute. Rogers was breathing hard and had his eyes shut again, like he was waiting for something else to happen.
"We did it," Peggy said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We've landed."
"Uh huh," he said a little tightly. Suddenly he lurched to his feet and staggered several feet away, then vomited violently into the grass. Peggy thought it best to stay where she was and let him preserve at least a little bit of dignity, and after a minute he straightened up and came back, then sat down heavily next to her. "Sorry," he muttered, his cheeks bright red, though whether it was from embarrassment or exertion, it was hard to tell.
"It's alright," Peggy said. "It wasn't bad for your first jump."
He looked up at her skeptically.
"You didn't break any bones, and you're still conscious," she pointed out.
"Yeah, I guess," he sighed. Peggy remembered Phillips saying he had asthma, and he looked like he needed a few minutes to get his breath back, so Peggy took the opportunity to pull out a collapsible shovel from Phillips' bag of gear and dig a shallow hole to bury the parachute, hiding any evidence of their landing. She pulled out a compass and a map, and calculated that they had aimed quite well and only had about fifteen minutes or so of walking to do to reach the safehouse.
The radio at her side crackled, and Mr. Jarvis reported that this was her cue. She put on rather a convincing performance she thought, going from calmly informing home base of technical difficulties, before rising through increasing levels of panic and then abruptly shutting off the radio. Rogers was staring at her in fascination when she was done.
"Wow," he said. "You could be a radio star with theatrics like that. They teach you that in spy school?"
She chuckled. "I was in the middle school drama club. Are you ready to start moving?"
"Sure," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "We're not camping, are we?"
"No," she said. "There's a safehouse about fifteen minutes that way. A proper safehouse that's actually safe," she added.
They started walking, Peggy slowing her pace to match Rogers' shorter stride. It was midafternoon, and it was, as Peggy had predicted, disgustingly hot and muggy. The house they would be staying in was on the coast—the water was easy to watch for approaching company and provided a handy escape if needed—but as they got closer to the water, the mosquitos made their appearance. She and Rogers were soon swatting at their exposed skin to ward off the vampirous insects.
"Um, Agent Carter?" Rogers said, coming to an abrupt stop behind her. His voice was high and a bit tight, and Peggy whirled around expecting to find a man with a gun behind him. He appeared to be alone, but he was staring down at his feet nervously, and had gone a couple of shades paler.
She looked down to see what he was looking at, and spotted a slender patch of white scaly skin, spotted with black and orange. A faint rattle sounded from the tail of the snake at his feet.
"Right," she said quietly. "Don't move." Carolina Rattlesnakes were venomous, and a trip to the hospital was hardly the way to start an incognito hideout.
"Not moving," he breathed. "Don't think I remember how."
Peggy ran through all her options quickly, deciding a gunshot would be far too loud in this open area and she might not hit the thing anyway. Quickly as she could, she pulled the collapsible shovel from where it was strapped to the outside of her bag and unfolded it. The snake rattled again, rising a little higher off the ground.
"It can still bite when its head is severed," Peggy said quietly. "When the shovel comes down, jump back."
"Uh huh," Rogers nodded.
The snake hissed and Peggy lunged forward with the shovel. The snake was lunging too, and the blade of the shovel caught it two inches behind the head, severing it cleanly. The head continued flying forward, fangs bared, and Rogers flailed backwards, tripping and rolling, but getting himself well clear. The body thrashed on the ground for several long seconds before finally going still. The mouth of the severed head was twitching slightly before it too ceased in its movements.
"Are you alright?" Peggy asked, skirting around the dead snake and stopping beside Rogers. He was still sitting on the ground, staring at the snake with wide eyes.
"What the hell happened to my life?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He looked up at Peggy like she might have the answer. "Two days ago, I was just a normal guy who worked in a museum. The hardest part of my job was mixing oil paint to the right tone so it would match for Renaissance painting restorations, and the most dangerous part was making sure I had enough ventilation so the paint fumes didn't give me a headache. And now I have top secret information exploding in my head, and there's Nazis trying to kill me, and I'm jumping out of planes into swamps and there's…" He gestured at the snake, and Peggy bit down the bizarre urge to point out that this was a marsh, not a swamp. "There's freakin' poisonous snakes, and I just…What the hell is happening?"
Peggy's life hadn't been normal in such a long time that she had sort of forgotten how different it was from a quiet, regular life. She felt a wave of pity for Steve, whose life had done a complete one-eighty in less than forty-eight hours and showed no signs of slowing down any time soon. She went down on one knee beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said. "But it's going to be okay. We're going to get you somewhere safe, and we're going to figure things out." He looked up at her, looking lost. "I promise," she said.
He looked at her for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Sorry. I'm sorry."
"It's alright," she assured him. She stood up and offered him a hand, pulling him back to his feet.
"Um, thank you for…" He waved a hand at the snake.
"You're welcome," she said. "Come on," she said, patting his shoulder. "Nearly there."
The house they were headed for was soon visible, rising up above the tall grass on its elevated beams. It looked rather picturesque, with its white wooden paneling and cheerful blue shutters and the little wind chime hanging off the underside of the porch; but Peggy knew the walls were far thicker than they appeared, sturdy and safe; and that the beams lifting the house twelve feet off the ground weren't just to fit in with the local aesthetic, but provided her with a higher perch to survey the landscape and limited entry to the single staircase and front door.
She was glad to get out of the tall, itchy grass, though the mosquitos were no less prevalent when they moved onto the sand. The two of them mounted the stairs, and she had Rogers wait on the screened-in porch as she secured the rest of the house. Once it was clear they were the only two inside, she moved him in and locked the door.
Rogers sank down onto the sofa with a sigh, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as he caught his breath from the walk. Peggy moved around and flicked on the lights, and was pleased that they had ended up somewhere with both electricity and running water. Compared to some of the safehouses she'd hunkered down in during the war, the amenities, proper mattresses, and fully stocked linen closet and pantry put this place practically on level with the Waldorf-Astoria. She brewed up two strong, sweet cups of tea, and moved back into the living room and sat on the chair opposite Rogers.
"Here you are," she said, handing him a teacup. "Alright, then?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." He blushed a little. "I'm probably not creating the best first impression, am I?"
Peggy wasn't sure if he was referring to the way he was handling this turn of events, or his need to keep catching his breath, perhaps thinking it implied he was out of shape. In either case, she gave him a reassuring smile. "All things considered, I think you're doing well."
"You don't have to say stuff like that just to make me feel better," he pointed out.
"I'm not," she replied. She really did think he was doing well—this sort of thing was old hat for her, but it was all new to him, and he was adapting. "You're not a secret agent, so I don't expect you to handle this like one. For a civilian whose world has gotten turned on its head, you really are holding together well."
He smiled gratefully and took a sip of his tea.
"Now that we have some time," she began. "Can I ask about this information of yours? Colonel Phillips said it was something like a database of sorts in your head, but I'm afraid I don't understand how it works."
Rogers huffed a semi-amused laugh. "Neither do I, really. But I'll do my best." He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment. "It's settling down some now," he said. "When it first happened, all this new stuff—faces and names and codes I didn't recognize—were exploding through my head almost all the time. It's calmed down now, though, and it's like…It comes to me in these flashes, all this top-secret information. Like, earlier on the plane, when you said the word 'Hydra'. It was like a…like a highlight reel when you watch the news in the theater, except faster and more detailed. I suddenly knew what Hydra was and the sorts of things they did in the war."
"Does it go away after you see it, or do you still remember it?" Peggy wondered.
"I remember most of it," Rogers said. "Some of it's harder to hold on to, just because I don't have context for it, but most of it stays without any trouble."
"Interesting," she mused. She remembered the way he'd winced and rubbed the side of his head back on the plane. "Does it hurt? When you get your…flashes?"
"Sometimes," he allowed. "If it's a lot. It's like this intense, but thankfully brief, headache."
"And you didn't know Doctor Erskine at all?" she asked.
"Never met the man. I've never even heard of him before this, and I have no idea why he sent it to me," he added, preempting her next question.
"Hmm," she mused. "Were you involved in the war effort at all?" she asked.
His cheeks colored. "No. I tried, but between the asthma and everything else…They wouldn't take me."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to imply…" she said, realizing it was a touchy subject. She didn't really need to imagine the way it stung when you wanted to do something important and were told you weren't good enough. "I was just trying to work out if there was some way you connected up to Erskine without realizing it."
"Oh," he said. "I really don't think so. Our museum did store some pieces that were evacuated from cities being bombed, and one of the projects they've had me on recently is helping to track the provenance of things the Nazis stole to try to get them back to their original owners. So, unless your Dr. Erskine was involved in that…"
"I doubt he was," Peggy sighed. "He was involved in research and development." She considered. "What about family? Maybe a relative of yours worked with him, and he got your name that way?"
Rogers shook his head. "Don't have any family. Dad died before I was born, and then Ma died when I was eighteen. No brothers or sisters…I guess the closest I've got is my best friend—he was in the war but…" He paused and swallowed down a knot in his throat. "He died in Azzano in '43."
"I'm sorry," Peggy said. He seemed to be rather alone in the world—she wondered suddenly if there was anyone to miss him now that he'd disappeared.
"Thanks," he said softly. "I guess I just…" He sighed and shook his head. "I have no idea why this is happening to me." He sat up a little straighter and looked her in the eye. "Will I ever get to go home?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I just, I need to know," he said. "I didn't have much of an exciting life before, but it was mine. Am I going to get it back, or is the rest of my life going to be pretending to be dead and running from Nazis?"
Peggy was quiet for a moment, not wanting to make empty promises. "I don't know," she said at last. "But I do know that we're going to do everything we can to try to sort this. You just keeping this information in your head and having it randomly appear is hardly a workable solution. Once things settle a bit, we'll get Howard Stark in. He's the most brilliant man I know, and if anyone can figure out how to get this all out of your head so you can get back to your life, it'll be him."
He studied her for a long moment. "Okay," he said at last. There was that little half-smile again. "Thank you. I realize this is all probably pretty nuts for you too, but I appreciate your being honest with me. Not to bad-mouth your work buddies or anything, but I wasn't getting a lot of that back in New York."
Peggy inclined her head in agreement. "That is rather the nature of spy work, I'm afraid. But we're in this together now, you and I, and I shall always be honest with you." She wasn't quite sure why she said that (and she probably shouldn't have), but she meant it.
His smile widened. "Thank you."
They settled into two of the bedrooms and unpacked their few belongings. Peggy did another sweep of the house, paying attention to things like the sorts of noises the floorboards made, the sounds of the sea and the insects, and the way the shadows shifted in the house, making a baseline for what to expect and what to be suspicious of. She was somewhat surprised to come into the kitchen and find Rogers there working on dinner.
"Are you cooking?" she asked.
"Well, we have to eat something," he said with a smile. He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, then a smile quirked up one corner of his mouth. "You're surprised I can cook, aren't you?"
"A bit," she admitted. "I don't know many men who can."
He chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't have made it to twenty-eight if I couldn't. Guy's gotta eat somehow."
Peggy smiled. "I suppose you're right. But do you really want to put in that work after a day like today? Sandwiches seem easier."
He shook his head. "This is normal for me. I could use some normal right now."
"Alright," Peggy said, understanding. "I'll leave you to it, then."
She continued her exploration of the house. She found some more clothes in some of the drawers, as well as extra blankets, books, and stationary supplies. The closets were filled with the sorts of miscellaneous things all closets seemed to be filled with, though the one just off the living room had a compartment with a variety of weapons hidden behind a row of raincoats.
They had dinner, which was better than Peggy was expecting—just because Rogers could cook, it didn't mean he could cook well, so it was a pleasant surprise. Rogers went to bed not long after. Peggy stayed up for a while, familiarizing herself with what the house and surrounding marshland looked like at night. She spotted some lights farther down the coast indicating a neighbour—they would probably need checking out in the morning—and some more distant lights where the town was. She checked in quickly with Phillips over the radio and assured him they were settled and safe, then spent some time on the porch listening to the sounds of the sea before going to bed.
Rogers was awake before her and making breakfast the next morning, so she went down to inspect the boat and Jeep parked in the space below the house. Both were in good working order, and both had enough petrol in them to go a good distance, should they need to make an escape by land or by sea. She turned around at the sound of someone approaching and saw a woman about ten years older than her walking along the beach with a basket on her arm and a small dog at her side.
"Good morning!" the woman called.
"Morning!" Peggy replied in a cheerful American voice.
"I thought I saw some lights on over here last night," the woman said. She extended a hand. "I'm Maureen Brown. My husband and I live in the next house over." She gestured in the direction of the house Peggy had spotted the lights in last night.
"Oh, how nice!" Peggy replied. She looked the woman over carefully as she shook her hand. She didn't carry herself like an agent of any kind, nor could Peggy see the outline of any concealed weaponry beneath her clothes, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Best be cautious anyway. "I am glad to know we have neighbours out here! It's so lovely and quiet, but I did wonder if it wasn't going to get a little lonely."
"Well, you're welcome to stop by anytime for a chat and a glass of iced tea," Maureen said with a smile.
"That's awful kind of you," Peggy said. "Oh! I'm Maggie, by the way. Maggie Thompson." It was a common enough last name, and Peggy rather imagined it would annoy Jack to know she was using it. She heard a door creak on the porch above them. "Oh, that'll be Steve looking for me," she said, moving out from under the house. "I'm down here, darling! Come and meet our neighbour!" she called up, hoping that would give him enough time to prepare.
Rogers was doing his best not to look confused as he came down the stairs, and Peggy moved forward and put an arm around him. "Maureen, this is my husband, Steve Thompson. Steve, this is our neighbour, Maureen Brown."
Rogers gaped in surprise at being introduced as her husband, but seemed to catch on quickly enough to recover in a way that made him seem merely awkward instead of like he was trying to hide something. "Hello, Mrs. Brown," he said, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."
"And you, Mr. Thompson, and you," Maureen said. "I was just telling Maggie that my husband and I are the next house up that way." They made small talk for a few more minutes—Peggy noticed Rogers edging away from the little dog that kept sniffing at his feet. Maureen handed over the basket that was filled with fresh cookies she'd baked them, then waved cheerfully and headed back up the beach.
"So, I'm Steve Thompson, now?" Rogers asked as they headed inside.
"I needed a name, and Thompson is a common one," Peggy pointed out. "I was intending to sit down with you after breakfast so we could come up with a cover for the neighbours—I would have done it last night if I'd realized ours was going to be so aggressively hospitable."
Rogers laughed. "That was awfully nice of her. Now are we supposed to be suspicious of that, or…?"
Peggy laughed. "Now, see? You're getting the hang of this. Yes, we should be at least marginally suspicious of everyone from here on out. It's likely that she's a legitimate normal neighbour, but that is also a useful cover. I wouldn't be overly suspicious unless she starts coming around a lot."
Rogers nodded. "And I'm guessing you let me keep my first name because I'm new at this and you don't want me to forget who I'm supposed to be?"
Peggy smiled. "Yes. When you're lying, telling as much of the truth as possible is a good way to help you keep it straight."
"I'll remember that. Is your name really Maggie?" he wondered.
Peggy thought at first it was an odd question before she realized Phillips had introduced her as "Agent", and they'd never actually gone beyond that. "Well, it is a derivation of Margaret, which is my real name, but I normally go by Peggy."
"Oh, okay." He smiled a little shyly. "I like that. It fits you better than Maggie."
Peggy wasn't sure what to say to that, so she smiled back.
"Can I call you that?" he asked, cheeks coloring slightly. "Or would you prefer me to stick with 'Agent Carter'?"
"Well, I do usually prefer to be called 'Agent Carter' while I'm on duty," she said. "But as this is shaping up to be a long assignment, I think we can bypass some formality. You are welcome to call me 'Peggy'," she said. "But if you call me 'Marge', I shall make you sleep on the porch."
He assured her he wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, then added that she was welcome to call him 'Steve'.
They ate breakfast and spent some time going over what their cover would be in case Maureen had more questions. They were already established as the Thompsons—Steve was going to be a history teacher, so that if any questions came up, he could use his knowledge from the museum and sound qualified in the subject, and Peggy couldn't abide by the idea of being a housewife, even for a cover, so she decided to be an English teacher. They met at school, married last year, and had come down from D.C. to rent the place for the summer on the doctor's suggestion that the sea air would be good for Steve's asthma.
They spent the morning quietly, getting to know one another over cups of tea. Steve's sketchbook was ever-present on his lap, and every now and then, he would start drawing something frantically. Peggy was getting more and more curious, and was about to ask what it was about, but he asked a question first.
"Peggy?" he said. "This is kind of a weird question, but can I ask you something?"
She nodded.
"Would you mind saying your name—your name with your title, like it might be in a file or something?"
"Why?" He was right, that was an odd question.
"I had an idea. Would you mind?"
"Alright," she said, still confused. "I'm Agent Peggy Carter."
His eyes widened for a moment, then drifted out of focus as his eyelids fluttered, his jaw going slack. In an instant, it was gone, and his normal expression returned. He smiled, pleased with himself. "I think I figured out how it works," he said.
"How what works?"
"The thing in my head," he said, gesturing at the side of his head with one hand. "Like I said yesterday, everything was nuts at first, but then it started settling down. And I think what triggers one of the…the flashes is hearing something that the database has information on. So, when you said your name, I got this burst of information about you."
She looked at him curiously. "You've got a file on me inside your head?"
"Well, I mean, this Dr. Erskine worked for the S.S.R., right? And the S.S.R. has a file on you. So, yeah, I guess so."
Peggy thought that over for a moment. It was sort of odd, though it made sense. "Project: Rebirth," she said experimentally.
His eyes did the same thing they had done a moment ago, then he looked at her and huffed a bemused laugh. "Are you testing me?"
"Did it work?"
He considered. "Project: Rebirth was Dr. Erskine's pet project during the war where he was trying to find a way to enhance the human body and make a 'super-soldier', but he could never find a candidate where the formula was successful, so no one knows if it actually works or not." He quirked an eyebrow. "I have no idea what the math means, but I can recite it if you'd like."
Peggy smiled in spite of herself. "That is impressive."
"Thanks." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You're not just going to start throwing words at me now, are you? I don't get a headache if it's not a big thing, but it's still kind of disorienting."
Peggy smiled. "No. I have no desire to torment you. Although we may need to sit down at some point and work out what sorts of things you do know." She took a sip of her tea. "Does it work more than once? If I said something you already had a flash of, does it make you do it again?"
He shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "I only flashed on Hydra that one time, and you've used the word a couple times since then."
"Well, that's good," she said. "It wouldn't do for you to be zoning out whenever they come up." She watched as he returned his attention to his notebook. "Can I ask about the drawings?" she said. "Are you just a really enthusiastic recreational sketcher, or…?"
He huffed a quick laugh. "No. I do enjoy drawing, but this is helping me keep track of some of the stuff I see. Especially a lot of the stuff without context—it helps if I can get it down and see it."
"Oh," Peggy said. That explained why he always seemed to work so intensely after a flash. She stood up and patted him once on the knee. "Well, if it won't mess you up to leave it for a bit, come on. Let's get some air."
They walked up and down the shore for a bit, and Peggy found herself telling Steve about the holiday her family had taken by the sea the summer before the war broke out. It was the last memory she had of her family being at peace. The last memory she had of her brother being happy.
A couple of days passed, and they settled into a routine. Steve did all the cooking, and they would walk on the beach in the mornings and in the evenings when it wasn't too hot. They would chat throughout the day, and Steve would continue his sketches of the things he saw. As he seemed to settle a bit, he started displaying more and more interest in the security measures Peggy was taking. This was what his life was now, and he wanted to know how it all worked, and the sorts of things she was looking out for—he admitted half the things she thought of never would have occurred to him, and that he was glad his life was in her hands instead of his own.
He enjoyed hearing stories from the war too—he had the bare bones from his flash on her file, but she didn't mind filling in details—and she would be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying the admiration in his eyes when she told them. She'd had to fight hard to prove herself to Jack and the rest of the boys at the S.S.R., and they respected her now, but it had been a long time since she hadn't needed to fight for that respect, and even longer since anyone had admired her. It was rather nice.
Five days they'd been there now, and at her regular evening check in with Colonel Phillips, she asked if there was any word on the case she'd been working before—it was out of her hands now, but she couldn't help but wonder what sort of progress they'd made. Not much, as it turned out—an opportune lead had turned into a showdown and Dottie escaping once again. Peggy thanked him and switched off the radio with a huff.
"Something wrong?" Steve asked from his spot on the sofa.
Peggy shook her head. "Nothing I can do anything about. A case I was working before I came here isn't going well—not that I thought it would. They do seem to keep underestimating Dottie."
"Dottie?" Steve asked curiously.
"Dottie Underwood," Peggy said. She hadn't seen much point in keeping things classified from Steve, seeing as he already had access to so much classified information. She'd meant to go on and explain about the case, but before she could, Steve gasped and winced, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a hand to the side of his head. "Steve?" she asked. This looked like one of his larger flashes, which she hadn't seen since the plane.
"Aah!" he moaned, listing sideways, and Peggy darted over and grabbed his shoulder before he fell to the floor.
"Steve, are you alright?"
He drew in several sharp, pained breaths, then began breathing more evenly, opening his eyes and shaking his head as if to clear it. "Wow," he breathed. "That was a big one."
"Are you alright?" Peggy asked again.
He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. Where's my book?"
Peggy reached over and handed him his sketchbook and pencil.
"Sorry," he said, snatching it away and scribbling quickly. "I need to…"
"No, go ahead," she said, straightening back up after a moment when she was sure he wasn't going to fall over again. Not sure of what else to do, she went and made another pot of tea, and when she came back into the room with a cup for him, he was drawing at a much more normal pace.
"Thanks," he said, looking up and taking the cup. He added a few more lines to his drawing, then closed the book.
"So, you've heard of Dottie, then?" Peggy asked, sitting back down.
"Yeah," he said. "Dottie, Leviathan…" He looked up at her. "Peggy, she is bad news."
Peggy huffed a laugh. "I had figured that one out on my own, thanks."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I mean really bad. Leviathan was a branch of Hydra. And the…" He closed his eyes, searching for one of the phrases that had flashed through his brain. "The Arena Club? Is that right?"
"Yes," Peggy said.
"They're Hydra," Steve said. "All of them, whatever their names are. They've got their hands in everything—like, rigging elections, engineering the crash of '29 everything. And Dottie is who they use to create distractions. All this freelancing stuff she's doing? She's not some assassin whose old organization fell apart who's just looking to fill her time. It looks random, but she's doing it to draw attention away from something else."
"Do you know what?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No. But you should probably tell Colonel Phillips next time you talk to him. If they know she's trying to be a distraction, maybe they can try to work out from what." He stopped and swallowed hard. "Someone in the S.S.R. is helping her."
Peggy's eyes widened. "Who?"
Steve shook his head. "No name. No face, even, or I'd draw it for you. Whoever it is is good, because Erskine and whoever helped him put this intel together were trying to nail them down for years and never got anything."
"That must be how she keeps getting away from us," Peggy realized. "I mean, she's very good, but she's always had an element of luck that never seems to run out."
"Probably," Steve agreed. He offered her his sketchbook. "Do you want to look? This is where I draw the stuff I don't have context for, but maybe you'll know what some of it means."
They spent a little while going through the book—Steve was a very good artist, even when he was hastily scratching things down—but very little of it popped out at Peggy. There were some machines, locations, faces, rooms, and objects, as well as codes, lists of seemingly unconnected words, numbers, and formulas. Peggy recognized a couple of the codes, and one of the faces was a Hydra agent she'd thought had died during the war. A couple of the rooms were S.S.R. locations she recognized, but couldn't figure out the significance of. They eventually went to bed, and Peggy spent a long time staring thoughtfully into the dark.
They started spending time in the mornings seeing what sorts of things Peggy could mention that would elicit a flash from Steve. Phillips was very interested in what he knew now that he knew how to get at it. Howard was coming on in the evenings sometimes as well, asking more questions, requesting what data they could give him, and suggesting things they could try until he was cleared to come out and examine Steve himself. Peggy was learning a great deal, and Steve seemed very interested in the sorts of things he could come up with, but the problem that they were running into was that one had to be very specific in making requests. In order to get a flash, they had to have a name, or a date, or some sort of trigger word or phrase. Steve imagined it would work with photographs, but they didn't have any to test the theory with.
Peggy did notice that a morning spent combing through the depths of Steve's brain tended to wear him out and make him tired and short-tempered. He apologized when she pointed that out, but insisted that he could get a handle on it and power through.
"This is something we need, Peggy," he said. "I can keep going."
"I know you could," Peggy said. "But there's no reason you have to."
"It's important," he insisted. "I really can do this. I don't need you to coddle me."
"I'm not," she said, suddenly getting an inkling of where this might be coming from. She knew how hard Steve had tried to join the war effort—he'd somewhat sheepishly admitted to her that he had attempted to enlist five times under five different names. He didn't want to be discounted again because he was weak.
"Peggy—" he started again.
"I'm not," she insisted. "I know very well what it is like to have doors constantly slammed in your face. I know what it's like to believe in something, to want to contribute, and to be told you don't measure up. And I know the sort of drive it gives you when you finally get that chance." He was staring at her, and she smiled in understanding. "Please believe me when I say I understand, and that I am not trying to coddle you or treat you as though you're not strong enough to handle this." She stared at him now, making sure he got it, and waited for him to nod.
"The speed with which you have adapted to all of this has impressed me," she went on. "I completely believe that you can do this. But this is a long game. There's a time to wear yourself thin for the job, and this isn't it. There's no rush on what we're doing. You need to take care of yourself and keep from burning out." She smiled. "Save that drive for when we really need it."
He blushed a little, but he was smiling. "Okay," he said. "Sorry. I guess I was getting caught up in finally getting to be useful."
"I understand," she said. "Though I highly doubt you've ever been useless."
He shot her a grateful smile, though he inclined his head slightly as if he was considering arguing the point.
"Come on," she said, standing up. "Lunch, then a walk outside, and then I think I saw a Scrabble game in the hall closet. Perhaps losing a couple of games will make for a relaxing afternoon."
Steve grinned. "Funny, you don't strike me as the kind of girl who enjoys losing."
Peggy smirked. "I meant you."
"Oh, yeah? I was a sickly child, and Scrabble is real easy to set up on the mattress and play with a friend when you can't go outside. You might want to rethink your challenge."
"Bring it on, Rogers."
Steve turned out to be every bit as good as he'd promised at Scrabble, and since Peggy wasn't bad herself, it made for some very competitive games. It soon became part of their regular routine, though they had to buy a dictionary the next time they went into town for groceries to help with their frequent arguments over the validity of words.
It was towards the end of their third week that the first sign of trouble appeared. Peggy remained vigilant throughout the day, but was always on higher alert at night—the openness of the marsh around them made approach in the daylight without being seen impossible. Peggy was extra-cautious at night, waking every couple of hours to do a sweep around the house. The house was always locked, of course, with far sturdier locks than were standard in a normal house. The windows locked as well (and thank the Lord for ceiling fans in a hot place like this where she couldn't open the windows!), and Peggy made sure that the boat and Jeep were always parked in such a way that they couldn't be used to climb up. She also had taken the time to hang several things from the underside of the house, like plants in little clay pots, fishing gear, or strings of shells or artistically placed bits of driftwood (all on lines too weak to climb up, of course). They were things that didn't look out of place on a house by the sea, but would make an awful lot of noise banging together if someone tried to sneak through them. The screen door on the porch and the door into the house creaked loudly, and Peggy had gone out one evening and loosened several of the stair boards enough to make a decent noise too. It wasn't foolproof, of course, but it was enough to give a decent warning.
By now, she was used to the regular sounds of night by their bit of the sea, and as they were putting away the dinner things, she realized one was missing.
"Steve?" she asked. "Have you heard Muffin barking this evening?" Muffin was Maureen's little dog, and every evening around this time, they would go for a walk and Muffin would bark at the seagulls.
"No," Steve said, after thinking for a moment. "I feel like that's a good thing," he added. He wasn't particularly fond of Muffin—he was allergic to dogs, and she did like to try to jump all over him when she and Maureen came by. And she was very loud for a small dog. He sighed. "But your face makes me think it's bad," he said after looking over at her.
"It's different," Peggy said. "One is always suspicious of broken patterns in my line of work."
He nodded. "Do I need to do anything?"
"Go into your room and lock the door," Peggy said. "I'm going to do a quick sweep outside."
He nodded and complied, and Peggy appreciated that he trusted her enough to do so without arguing or insisting she was overreacting. Peggy made sure all the windows were locked, then went out the front door, locking it behind her. The door creaked just as it should have, and the screen around the porch appeared to be intact. With her gun at her side, she went down the stairs, and checked carefully underneath the house. Everything was where it should have been. She walked back up the stairs slowly, as she might have if she was trying to sneak in, and confirmed what she had noticed on the way down. The top steps no longer squeaked as they should have.
Not sure if she was being watched at the moment, she dropped the key onto the stairs and bent to pick it up to explain the extra time she was spending there, then moved on into the house as though nothing was wrong.
She locked the door behind her, checked the house again, and moved to Steve's room. After knocking and announcing herself, he opened the door. "Are we good?" he asked.
For a moment, she thought about saying all was well, not wanting him to worry. But she had promised to be honest with him. "No," she said. "Someone fixed the stairs."
He looked confused for a moment. "What? Wait, you mean the stairs you made squeaky on purpose?"
"Yes," she said. "Someone has been watching us long enough to know that would be an obstacle to sneaking in."
Steve nodded grimly, looking less nervous than she would have thought. "When would they have done that?" he asked. "We hardly ever leave the house. Even when we're outside, we're where we can see it."
Peggy considered a moment. "We walked all the way down to Maureen's after lunch today," she reminded him. "To borrow eggs. That would have put us out of sight of the house." She thought a moment longer. "It had to have been then. The only other time we've been away was on Monday when we went for groceries, and I'd've noticed the steps being fixed by now if it had happened then. I check them every night when we walk after dinner."
"You do?"
"Yes. They squeaked yesterday."
Steve nodded. "Okay. So, what now?"
Peggy looked around. "It isn't quite dark, yet. Whatever happens, it will be once it's fully dark." She looked back at Steve. "I think you're going to need to spend the night in my room."
Steve blushed and nodded and said very little. Peggy checked in with Phillips as she usually did, mentioning in code that they were being watched. Phillips acknowledged that, was careful with what he said, and told her to check back when she had it sorted—they were too far away from any help for him to send backup.
They went to bed then, and Peggy had an incredibly frustrating, yet rather endearing argument with Steve about sleeping arrangements. He was far too much of a gentleman to presume they would share the bed, even though that was exactly what Peggy intended to do.
"It's very gallant of you to insist on sleeping on the floor," Peggy said. "But it entirely defeats the purpose of bringing you in here for safekeeping. Anywhere on the floor puts you between me and the door, which makes you a target. Therefore, you will be sleeping on the bed between me and the wall. That is the safest place for you, and puts me in the position of shielding you, which is my job."
"Peggy, I—"
"This isn't a time to worry about propriety, Steve. Our proximity to one another will simply be a matter of practicality, I assure you." She smirked. "I shall keep my hands to myself."
That shut him up, though he went red as a beet, and Peggy turned away and did not laugh. She continued not laughing, though it became more difficult, when they climbed into bed and he rolled as far away from her as he could, holding himself stiff as a board so as not to touch any part of her. It was terribly sweet, actually, if a bit ridiculous.
"Now," Peggy said, switching the lamp off. "I hope very much that I am wrong and this just turns out to be a rather awkward night for both of us. But, if I end up fighting someone in the middle of the night, as soon as I'm off the bed, you roll this way until you go off the edge and get under the bed, do you understand?"
"Uh huh," Steve said quietly. It would be the safest place for him, and Peggy wouldn't have to worry about shielding him and fighting someone off if he was out of the way.
Since she was on guard duty, Peggy allowed herself to slip into the half-sleep she'd perfected during the war. She would wake at the softest noise, which allowed her to at least get some rest, though she got none at all until Steve finally fell asleep and quit tossing. He relaxed as he fell asleep, and his arm fell off of where he was resting it on his stomach and brushed against her side. Peggy smiled, glad that he was sleeping at least, and patted his hand gently.
It was three hours after they went to bed that she heard it and was instantly awake. The floorboards in the hallway were making the same noise they made when Steve walked across them, which meant their attacker was either very small, or very light of foot. Peggy smacked Steve urgently in the side, and he woke up with a bleary, "What?"
"Shh," Peggy whispered, keeping her eyes on the door. "They're in the hallway."
Steve went still beside her, and Peggy tightened her finger on the gun she'd pulled from under her pillow. The door opened slowly, and Peggy waited until it was all the way open, the figure framed in the doorway, then she fired.
The shot echoed loudly in the room and Steve yelped in surprise behind her, but it hit its mark, striking the intruder in the chest and dropping them to the floor. For a long moment, no one moved, then Peggy sat up and flicked the lamp on. "Stay here," she ordered Steve, getting carefully to her feet. She took a couple of steps closer to the prone figure on the floor, then turned and gestured for Steve to get under the bed. The man on the floor was still breathing, and not the pained, ragged gasps of someone who'd suffered a chest wound. That meant a bullet-proof vest and an assailant who was just waiting for her to get closer.
Peggy raised her gun again, having no intention of getting close enough for the man to strike, but he rolled forward as she fired again, dodging the bullet and springing up and kicking at her. They exchanged several fierce blows, the man pressing forward as hard as he could in the direction of the bed. Peggy punched and kicked and ducked, managing to get another shot off and hitting him in the foot, which certainly seemed to anger him, and it slowed him down a little.
Peggy kicked him hard in the gut, and he doubled over, but instead of jumping back up, he kept going down, hitting the floor and rolling away from her feet. She caught a flash of metal as he pulled out a gun of his own, firing not at her, but staying flat and aiming underneath the bed in Steve's direction. She fired again, and this time the bullet caught the man where the bullet-proof vest did no good, right between the eyes. There wasn't any shamming death this time, but she kicked his gun away from his hand out of habit.
She hadn't heard the other man's gun go off, but she still spun back to bed worriedly. "Steve?"
There was a silence just long enough to be concerning, then Steve muttered, "M'okay."
She let out a sigh of relief as he crawled out from under the bed. He stood up on shaky limbs, and she moved forward to steady him. "Are you alright?"
"Uh…" He seemed to be having more trouble staying upright, then he slumped against her and his eyes fluttered shut.
"Steve!" Had he been hit after all? Had he just fainted? She moved her hands to keep her grip on him and felt something lodged in the back of his shirt. She looked and saw that he had been shaking not from nerves, but from the small tranquiliser dart embedded in the back of his shoulder. Of course. A tranquiliser gun wouldn't be as loud as a regular one, and it was a far safer method of apprehending Steve than risking shooting him and losing all the information he had stored in his head.
Peggy removed the dart and moved him to lie down on the bed. She checked his pulse, and after assuring herself that it was at an acceptable resting rate and not slowing down any further, she stood up and picked up her gun again.
She knelt and checked for their attacker's non-existent pulse, then moved to secure the rest of the house. She found a little pot of hinge grease just inside the front door, explaining how he had bypassed the creaky doors. There was no one in the rest of the house, and no sign of anyone outside, so she moved back in and locked up, checked on Steve again, then went into the bathroom and took down the shower curtain, rolled the attacker's body on top of it, and dragged him into the bathroom and into the shower. She couldn't dispose of the body until it was safe to leave Steve, but at least it wouldn't make a mess in here. She went through his pockets, finding a sophisticated little lockpick set, answering the other question of how he got in, a set of keys to a vehicle he must have intended to carry Steve to, since she hadn't seen one outside, and nothing else.
She washed up and went to the radio, sending Phillips a quick message that the attack had been thwarted, and that Steve was safe, if unconscious. She promised a more detailed update later, and returned to her bedroom, where Steve was still fast asleep. He was wheezing a bit, so she got back into bed, propped up some pillows so she could lean on the wall, and sat back and pulled him up to lean against her chest. The angle and the elevation seemed to ease his breathing, and Peggy smiled and settled more comfortably against the wall. She put one hand on Steve's chest to monitor his breathing and heart rate, and allowed herself to fall back into that state of half-sleep again, relaxing along with Steve's steady breathing.
She woke the next morning to find herself and Steve somewhat more horizontal than when she'd fallen asleep. She smiled sleepily. He felt rather nice in her arms, and she thought it might be pleasant to do this sort of thing more often, in less perilous circumstances, of course. That was a terribly inappropriate way to think about her assignment, however, and she stopped herself before allowing that line of thought to go any further.
Steve shifted and blinked groggily, coming awake and staring at her hand on his chest in confusion. Then he blinked bloodshot eyes up at her, realized he was resting in her arms, and went red as a tomato. Peggy was pretty sure his hair was blushing.
"Um…" he said.
"How are you feeling?" Peggy asked, tugging him back a bit to sit up against the pillows, then sitting up away from him.
"Like you should be peeling me off the floor of a bar," he croaked. He swallowed nervously. "What…"
"You were hit with a tranquiliser dart," she explained. "I think the dosage was too high for your weight, so it was giving you a bit of difficulty breathing. I was propping you up so you could get air in easier," she elaborated, assuring him that his waking up in her arms was in no way the result of any untoward behaviour on his part.
"Oh," he said, the red in his cheeks fading somewhat. He drew in a deep breath as though taking stock. "Thanks."
She smiled. "You're welcome. Is your head hurting you terribly?"
"Yeah."
"Wait here a moment and I'll go fetch you something." She dug through the medical kit, pulling out something for a headache, as well as a remedy for nausea, remembering the way Steve had clutched at his stomach as she walked away. She took him the medicine and a large glass of water, which he accepted gratefully. "Why don't you stay here and sleep it off a bit longer?" she said.
"I c'n sleep in my room," he protested.
She smiled. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Six?" Steve guessed.
"Try halving that," she said, still smiling. "I don't think you should be walking anywhere."
"Okay."
His eyes were already shut anyway, so Peggy rested a hand on the side of his face, brushing his hair back. She kept on brushing her fingers through his hair until he was asleep again, then sat there beside him for a moment before getting up and going to see about breakfast.
When Steve woke up the second time, he was much more coherent, though he still looked as though he'd had a long night of pub-crawling. He insisted he felt better, though, and he was moving steadily enough that Peggy believed him.
"I think I just need a shower," he said.
"Yes, well, we might want to remove the dead body first."
He blanched a little. "There's a dead guy in the shower?"
"I didn't have anywhere else to put him," Peggy explained. "It's far easier to clean up than the wooden floor."
"Sure," Steve nodded.
They wrapped their would-be attacker up in the shower curtain, checked to make sure no one was about outside, then carried him down the stairs and into the boat waiting under the house. It was high tide, so it was easy to get the boat into the water quickly. They sailed out until they couldn't see the houses anymore, then pushed him quickly over the side. Peggy had been watching Steve very carefully, and he didn't speak the whole way out or back in, though he made it until they were halfway back to shore before he threw up.
"Are you alright?" she asked after they landed and put the boat away. She knew people reacted to dead bodies in different ways.
"Uh huh," he said. "I just dumped a dead guy out of a boat. Like the mafia. That's…unsettling for reasons I can't quite articulate." He drew in a deep breath. "I don't think I can use that shower without bleaching it within an inch of its life, so I'm gonna go take a bath."
He went part of the way up the stairs, then turned and looked back at her. "Oh, and I got a flash off the dead guy when I saw his face. His name was Joel Robinstone. He was Hydra, but worked for the FBI." He turned around and walked back into the house.
Steve spent a very long time in the bath. Peggy stayed outside for a while, returning the stairs and doors to their former squeakiness. Then she went in and cleaned up in her room, straightening the overturned furniture and digging the bullets out of the floor.
Steve was very quiet the rest of the afternoon, and Peggy wasn't sure if it was because of the break-in and the tangible proof that there really were people trying to get him, or if it had been the boat and the disposing of the corpse that had upset him. She felt as though she should apologize, but she wasn't quite sure for what.
"Hey, Peggy?" he said halfway through chopping up vegetables for dinner. "I never said thank you for what you did last night."
"Oh, you don't need to—"
"Yes, I do," Steve said. "You kept me safe. It was…Well, it was kind of terrifying, but I still trusted you to do it." He smiled. "Thank you."
She smiled back, touched at his trust in her.
"It was amazing watching you go head to head with that guy," he added. "I've never seen anybody fight like that." Peggy was immensely gratified that he had said 'anybody' and not 'a girl'. His smile widened a bit. "I'll bet you were dynamite during the war."
She smiled, pleased at the praise, though she found herself blushing at the same time.
His face grew serious again. "And I'm sorry I'm…" He rubbed at the side of his head. "I'm okay, but I still feel a little out of whack after whatever that was he shot me up with, but that isn't really an excuse for being all moody this afternoon. I'm sorry."
"Steve, that's alright," she said. "This was all outside your normal realm of experience. It does take some getting used to."
"Yeah," he agreed. "I just…Well, that thing I said earlier about the mafia…I know that you're used to this kind of thing, but I wasn't trying to imply that you…I mean, I didn't mean to say…I feel like, like ignoring you all afternoon, and then saying that this morning, that it sounded like maybe I think, well…less of you or something for being used to that kind of stuff. But I don't. If anything, I, I'm impressed with you even more with how level-headed you handled this whole thing. You're pretty amazing, and I'm sorry if I implied that—"
Peggy leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and he stopped talking abruptly and dropped his knife into his pile of green beans. "Thank you," she said softly.
He was gaping at her, but he nodded.
"I'm sorry you had to go through all of this," she said. "And I remember what it was like, going through this sort of thing for the first time. I wasn't offended," she assured him. She smiled warmly. "And I'm glad you're alright."
He smiled back, and there didn't seem to be anything else to say, so they returned to their chopping. The silence was much easier now, though.
After dinner, they went for a walk in the cool of the evening. Steve didn't seem particularly keen, but he said he didn't see much point in worrying himself into staying inside all the time either, which Peggy thought was an admirable way to look at things. They passed Maureen and Muffin as they walked, stopping to chat and discovering that Muffin had been ill the night before. Something slipped into her food, no doubt, to allow Mr. Robinstone a quieter approach. Back inside, they finished the day with a game of Scrabble, and though Peggy did beat him about half the time, as soundly as she beat him tonight told her that Steve was still a bit preoccupied.
She checked in with Phillips, did her usual sweep of the house, and went to bed. She slept a bit uneasily, but the morning came without incident. Steve had gotten up early and bleached every surface of the bathroom so thoroughly that they had to eat breakfast out on the porch while the smell cleared. They went into town to pick up groceries and a new shower curtain, and things returned to normal fairly quickly after that.
Over the course of the next month, they had two more security incursions. Both were handled efficiently and without injury, though after the last one, Steve asked if the frequency of the visits they were getting meant they were going to have to move. Peggy posed the question to Phillips, who decided they should remain where they were for the time being—three people finding them over seven weeks wasn't bad, and since the intelligence community at large still believed them to be dead, it was safer not to move. He did arrange for Howard to fly by and drop a package containing an increased array of weaponry, however.
Steve's birthday also came as they moved into July, and he seemed incredibly surprised that Peggy knew when it was, and that she made a cake for him. When she brought it out after lunch with a couple of candles stuck in the top, he stared at it for long enough that Peggy started to wonder if she'd made some sort of mistake.
"Is it alright that I did that?" she asked. Perhaps he wasn't particularly fond of birthdays.
"No, it's great," he said, looking up from the cake and smiling at her. It might have been just the light, but were his eyes watering just a bit? "I just wasn't expecting it," he explained. "This was…" His smile softened. "That was really thoughtful of you."
"Well, it didn't seem right to have a birthday without cake," Peggy said, smiling and cutting him a slice. "I'm sorry you're not getting to celebrate it as you normally would, stuck out here with me."
He waved her apology away. "I don't get to do much celebrating on my own anyway. And there are worse people to be stuck with."
That night, there was a firework show over the town along the coast, and they sat out in the sand and watched it. "You know, when I was little," Steve said. "My ma always told me they did the fireworks for my birthday." It was hard to tell in the changing lights, but Peggy thought he might be blushing. "It took me longer than it should have to realize that wasn't quite the case."
Peggy smiled. "I think it's rather lovely. It's certainly a nice way to end up the celebration." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "Happy birthday, Steve."
It was something of a surprise when Peggy realized they'd been out here for two months. If you'd told her back in Jack's office that she was going to be on this assignment for this long, she would have imagined herself crawling the walls by this point. It had actually been rather nice, occasional break-in and attempted kidnapping aside. Speaking of which, it had been about two weeks since anything had happened, and Peggy was starting to wonder if they weren't due for another visitor. When it happened, however, it was far from what either of them were expecting.
A summer storm had blown up, and while the cooler air was nice, Peggy was a bit more on edge, as the heavy rains made it impossible to see or hear much of anything going on beyond the house. The power kept going out as well, which did happen in a storm, but only served to make her warier. Steve, for his part, didn't seem to mind—he said the rain was soothing, and it was relaxing reading by candlelight.
"No point in me worrying over stuff I don't know what to do with," he said. "You know way better than I do what to look out for. You tell me to jump up and hide in the closet, I'll do it, but I'm not just going to sit here worrying until then." He smiled. "I trust you."
Peggy smiled back, relaxing a bit herself at his words. "Thank you," she told him. "You know, I have to say, you're much easier to protect than other cases I've worked. Everyone will seem to insist that I'm overreacting and they can handle themselves."
Steve chuckled. "Well, I know full well that you are way more competent than I am. I'm glad I can make your job easier."
She laughed at that, and took a break from her pacing of the house to sit with him and have a cup of tea.
It was an hour or so later that Peggy heard the sound of feet on the stairs over the rain. "Well, that's bold of them. It's barely seven-thirty," she said. All their other attackers so far had waited until they'd been in bed. "Closet," she told Steve.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, already getting up. They'd discovered the weapons compartment in the hall closet was actually large enough to hide in. Steve could unlatch it from the inside if he needed to get out, it was in a place that would take some searching to find if one wasn't familiar with the house, and Peggy preferred the guns spread out and hidden around instead of locked in one place anyway.
Peggy pulled the shotgun out from under the sofa and moved to unlock the front door. "That's far enough," she told the shadowy figure reaching for the screen door to the porch. Somewhat to her surprise, the figure stopped. That was surprisingly easy. Unless there was more than one of them and this one was just keeping her attention. "Hands on your head," she said.
"Can I at least come on to the porch?" the figure asked, complying with her order. "It's really wet out here."
Peggy's eyebrows furrowed in bemusement. She'd heard that voice before.
"Come on, Carter," the man said. "I'm not here to hurt anybody. And if I was, I know better than to come just knock on the front door."
Peggy took one hand off the shotgun and flicked on the porchlight.
"You could look a little happier to see me," the man said when she didn't lower the gun.
"I might if I didn't know for a fact that you died in Switzerland in 1945," she replied, staring into the face of her old teammate from the war.
"Never found a body, though, did you?" he said with a grin she remembered. "Look, I promise I can explain, but can I come inside?"
"Very well," she said. "The porch but no further."
"Thank you," he said. He stepped inside and shook his head in a way that reminded Peggy of a large dog, drops of water flinging everywhere. His hair was rather longer than she remembered it being, and he was thinner than he had been and resembled nothing so much as a drowned rat at the moment, but unless Hydra had worked out how to clone people, it was definitely her long-lost second-in-command.
"I have a lot of questions," she said.
"Fair enough," he replied, not seeming bothered by her suspicion. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
"I suspect how you're alive is a long story, so let's start with how you knew I where I was and what you're doing here."
He nodded. "Howard told me you were here," he said simply. "And as to why, I know who you're protecting."
Peggy stiffened, tightening her grip on the gun just a bit. "You do?"
He nodded. "Erskine's database. I'm the one that sent it to him."
Peggy studied him for a long moment. She was inclined to trust him because she knew him, but the circumstances were still suspicious. "Stay here," she said at last. "If you move at all while I am gone, I will shoot you."
"Yes, Ma'am," he said.
Peggy moved quickly to the hall to fetch Steve. If her old comrade had worked with Erskine, as he claimed, Steve would be able to flash on him. The results of that would tell her if she could trust him, or if she needed to shoot him anyway.
She explained quickly to Steve what was going on, and told him to stay behind her as they moved back to the porch, just in case things went wrong.
"Alright, Steve," she said, rounding the corner and gesturing to the porch. "This is—"
"Bucky?!" Steve exclaimed, stepping out from behind her.
"Hey, Stevie," the other man said, smiling warmly.
"Steve, do you know him?" Peggy asked.
Steve walked around her, ignoring her, and took several steps closer to the man whose name she was fairly certain was James. "You're alive," Steve breathed, reaching out a hand and stopping just shy of touching the other man.
"Yeah," said Sergeant Barnes, or 'Bucky', it would seem. He looked up at Peggy. "So, can I come the rest of the way inside now, Carter?" he asked. "I'm really cold and wet."
"Wait, you…Do you know her?" Steve asked.
"We worked together during the war," the Sergeant said. He looked back at Peggy. "And Steve and I grew up together."
The pieces clicked in Peggy's head. "This is your friend that died in Italy in 1943?"
Steve nodded.
Peggy looked at Barnes curiously. "Just how many times have you died, Sergeant?"
"What do you mean?" Steve asked.
Barnes sighed. "Alright, this wasn't exactly how I wanted to get into this, but…" He sighed again. "I didn't die in Italy in 1943," he said, looking at Steve. "I got captured, and I probably would have died if a team from the S.S.R. hadn't broken in and busted me out."
"Then why did they tell us you were dead?" Steve wondered.
Barnes sighed. "Because I told them to."
"What?" Steve breathed.
"The place kind of exploded as we were leaving, so it wasn't a big stretch. Once they got us out and patched up, me and some of the other guys were approached by Colonel Phillips. He told us all about Hydra, and told us he was putting together an incredibly off-the-books team to take them out. So off the books that Hydra wouldn't know we existed, and he was only taking people who were officially dead. So, if we wanted to join…"
Steve's face had gotten very hard to read. "You faked your own death?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah," Barnes said. "It…I had to."
"No, you didn't," Steve said softly.
"Steve, I had to stop them. If you had seen the kind of stuff they'd done, you'd understand why I did it," Barnes said.
"I have seen it," Steve said coldly.
"It wasn't supposed to be forever," Barnes explained. "I was going to come home once the war was over."
"And what?" Steve asked. "Tell everyone you'd been a P.O.W. the whole time?"
Barnes inclined his head in agreement.
Steve nodded sharply, letting out a soft huff of air. "So you were going to keep lying."
"Steve, I—" Barnes began, and Peggy could tell the remark had cut him.
"They told us you were dead!" Steve said, raising his voice. "Do you have any idea what that was like, getting that letter?"
"Steve, I'm sorry, I—"
"You're sorry? Oh, well, that makes it better, then," he snarled. "I lost the closest thing I ever had to a brother, but, yeah, you're sorry. That's fine." He glared at Barnes, and though all the hurt and anger in his face wasn't directed at her, it cut Peggy to see it. "Why don't you go home and tell your ma that?" Steve said coldly. "Tell her that all that pain she suffered was for nothing because you faked your own death, but you're sorry."
Barnes glowered back, and Steve had probably crossed a line by bringing his mother into it. "Leave my ma out of this," he warned.
"Fine," Steve said. "Oughta be easy since you already did it."
"You want to get all high and mighty about this?" Barnes snapped. "Because unless I'm mistaken, you died in a plane crash two months ago. How is what you're doing right now any different?"
"How is it different?!" Steve replied, and Peggy didn't think she'd ever heard him sound so angry. He took a step closer to Barnes, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I'll tell you how it's different! It's different because there was nobody to notice I was gone until I didn't drop my rent check off with my landlord! I didn't have anybody to leave behind like you did! It's different because I went to your funeral! There wasn't even a casket—we had to bury a little box with your dog tags in it because they told us there weren't enough pieces of you to send home!" Furious tears were pooling in his eyes. "It's different because when my ma died, you told me I was never gonna be alone, because you were with me 'til the end of the line. Well, guess what? I've been riding that train by myself for four years! I've been on my own, and you—"
He stopped shouting and stepped up right in front of Barnes, glaring into his eyes, and drew in a deep breath. "It's different," he said quietly, cold as ice. "Because I didn't want for any of this to happen. Everything happened around me and I had to leave whether I wanted to or not. You…" He poked a finger into Barnes's chest. "You chose this. You could have come home, but you made this choice. That's why it's different."
He held Barnes's gaze a moment longer, then spun on his heel and walked away. A few seconds later, Peggy heard the door to his room slam. She turned back to Barnes and sighed. "Well, that was nicely handled."
"Oh, don't you start," Barnes snapped. "You know good and well why I did it. And you know how hard it is to do."
"I do," Peggy said. She'd known Sergeant Barnes and the rest of her team—herself included—had all been officially dead. Once the war was over, they'd all been allowed to be 'resurrected' and return to their old lives, though it had taken some time for all the hurt feelings of those left behind to ease. She knew all that, but she hadn't ever known that this was a piece of his story. "But Steve doesn't," she reminded him.
Barnes's glare softened at that.
"All things considered, he's handling this whole upheaval of his life fairly well, but you can't act like this wasn't a blow." She smiled sadly. "He talks about you a lot, you know. So many of his stories have you in them. I never put it together that you were the friend he was talking about, because I don't think he ever called you anything but 'Bucky'. You mean a great deal to him."
Barnes sighed and slumped against the wall. "He's been like my little brother since we were, what, three years old?" He scrubbed a hand down his face. "It killed me thinking of him getting that letter. But I didn't know what else to do, Peg," he said, and there was a pleading tone in his voice.
"I know," she said gently. It had been a painful choice for all of them, but they had all seen first hand the horrors that Hydra had wrought. The chance to stop them…It had been a painful but necessary choice.
"It really was only supposed to be until the war was over," he insisted sadly. "I thought I could fix it."
"I think you still can," she said. "Just give him some time to cool down."
He nodded.
"What happened to you in Switzerland two years ago?" she asked.
"It's a long story," he said. "I'll tell it, but can I change into something dry first?"
Peggy led him inside and showed him to the third bedroom. The closets were packed with a variety of potential occupants in mind, so he should be able to find something that fit. Peggy went and made a new pot of tea. It was shaping up to be a long night.
Steve came back into the kitchen as the water was finishing. "Where is he?" he asked quietly.
"Changing," Peggy said. She set down the cups she'd been getting out. "Are you alright?"
Steve didn't answer for a moment. "Did you know?"
"Know what?" Peggy asked, but it was more a reflex than anything else. She knew what he meant.
"About Bucky," Steve said. He looked up and met her eyes. "You said you would always be honest with me."
There was something slightly accusatory in the way he said that, but Peggy supposed she couldn't blame him.
"No," she said. "I swear."
Steve looked at her for a moment, then nodded, the hardness in his face softening. "How do you know him, then?" he asked, not sounding angry, just confused.
"We worked together during the war," Peggy said. "From '43 until the spring of '45. I ran the team, and he was my second in command." She couldn't help a small smile at the spark of admiration in Steve's eyes at the declaration. "But it was the sort of team…It was very hard work we did. No one talked much about their personal lives. It was the sort of thing that you really felt you had to keep separate—keep it pure from what was going on with the war—if you were going to have any chance of returning to it afterwards."
Steve nodded, sympathy in his eyes, and also understanding what she was saying, that his name had never come up in conversation.
"And I never heard anyone call him Bucky," she went on. "Where did the name come from?"
"His middle name is Buchanan," Steve said. "Everyone called him Bucky because he used to hate it when people called him James."
"I think he still does," Peggy said. "I knew his first name was James, but he only ever wanted us to call him Barnes. Or Sergeant, if we were on duty." She smiled sadly. "I really never knew. I would have told you if I did."
Steve nodded. "Thanks." He helped her get the cups and everything ready. "You said you thought he was dead too?"
"I did. He was going to explain after he dried off."
Steve nodded again, still looking thoughtful. "If you led that team, then…You were officially dead too, huh?"
"I was," Peggy said. She wasn't sure how to explain beyond that without sounding as though she was defending Barnes's choice and minimizing Steve's hurt. He answered before she had a chance to figure it out.
"I'm sorry," he said, sympathy swimming in his eyes. "You, ah, you probably got a welcome home like the one I just gave him, didn't you?"
"A bit, yes," she agreed.
Fortunately, it had blown over quickly as joy that she was alive set in. She suspected that was what was about to happen here as well, and her suspicions were confirmed when they heard Barnes's door open down the hall and Steve's eyes darted over in that direction, color rising in his cheeks. "Could you…" Steve began. "Could you give me a minute with him?"
"Sure."
Steve moved to meet Barnes in the living room, and Peggy stayed in the kitchen. She could hear them when they started speaking, but thought it might make it more uncomfortable if she started making noise to drown out their voices—staying quiet would offer them all the illusion that she was too far away to hear.
"Hey, Buck," Steve began.
"Hey, Steve," Barnes replied tentatively.
"I'm sorry," Steve said bluntly, and Peggy couldn't help smiling. That was one of the things she'd really come to appreciate about him, that he was so willing to let go of his pride and apologize when he needed to, and that he was so genuine about it.
"I…" Steve continued. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm still kind of mad at you, but…" A little waver worked its way into his voice. "I'm really glad you're not dead."
"Thanks, Stevie," Barnes said softly. "And I deserve for you to yell at me," he added. "It was low what I said back there, and I shouldn't have done it. And I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses for what happened in '43, but I really am sorry. It killed me to have to do that to you." There was a little waver in his own voice now.
"I've seen what Hydra did," Steve said quietly. "Not in person, but in here." Peggy could imagine him tapping the side of his head. "You were right to do whatever you had to to stop them. I would've done the same."
There was a smile in the huff of air she heard from Barnes. "You are now," he said.
There was motion and a muffled sort of grunting that Peggy imagined accompanied a manly hug. She gave them a few more seconds, then picked up the tea things and moved into the living room. "Everything alright?" she asked.
Barnes nodded, and Steve did too, smiling softly.
"So, you were going to tell us about Switzerland?" Peggy said, sitting down and picking up a cup.
Barnes's story lasted for a couple of hours and another pot of tea. On his last mission, right near the end of the war, they'd gone after Dr. Zola, one of Hydra's top scientists. He'd been on a train passing through the Swiss Alps, and during combat, Barnes had been thrown from the tracks. They'd never been able to find his body, but it was a fall he shouldn't have survived. And he almost hadn't—he had hit the ground alive, if only barely, but he wouldn't have stayed that way for long if he hadn't been found. The trouble was, he'd been found by Hydra. They had saved his life, and then spent the next year and a half running experiments on him and all the other people they'd captured in the course of the war. He'd managed to escape a few months ago, in January, and had been on the run since then, trying to make sure he was in the clear before he came home.
"I'm so sorry, Sergeant," Peggy said, feeling her voice catch in her throat. "We should have tried harder to find you." People came back to life often enough in her line of work that she wasn't as surprised as she might otherwise have been to see him, though she was, of course, very glad to see her old friend alive again. But eclipsing that joy now was a sick knot twisting in her stomach at the thought that she had failed to bring home someone she was responsible for.
"You didn't know," Barnes said. "I never blamed you for thinking I was dead. I shouldn't have survived that fall."
"How did you survive it?" she wondered.
He huffed a humourless laugh. "Caught on a tree branch on the way down." He nodded at his left arm. "Turns out losing an arm slows your momentum just enough to survive falling off a mountain. I don't recommend it, though."
"Losing an arm?" Steve asked softly.
Barnes nodded and pulled his sweater up and off, and Peggy and Steve both gasped. Barnes's arm, from halfway across his collarbone right down to the tips of the fingers he was pulling a glove from, was shining silver metal. He twisted his forearm and curled his fingers, and Peggy heard the faint hiss of hydraulics as the plates on the arm shifted and reshaped, mimicking the movement of muscles.
"What the hell?" Steve whispered.
"Yeah," Barnes agreed. "This was what most of the experimenting involved."
Steve reached out a hand, stopping just shy of touching his friend's forearm. "Buck, I'm so sorry," he whispered.
Barnes nodded his thanks. "It's not so bad," he tried to assure him. "Works pretty well. I've got a hell of a left hook now."
Steve huffed a surprised laugh, though he was still staring at the metal arm. Peggy had never seen anything like it, even with all the time she'd spent in Howard's lab. It was simultaneously horrifying and fascinating.
Steve's eyes travelled up the metal arm, and when they met the little red star carved into the top of the bicep, he gasped, and his eyes fluttered in the way they did when he flashed on something.
"Steve?" Peggy asked.
"The Winter Soldier," he muttered.
"What?"
"The Winter Soldier program," he said. "That's what they were doing to you. It…" He looked around. "Where's my book?"
Peggy picked it up from underneath the coffee table and handed it to him, along with his pencil, but he didn't start drawing. He flipped through the pages looking for something instead.
"What's the Winter Soldier program?" Peggy asked.
"That was the other thing they were experimenting with," Barnes said, putting his shirt back on. "It was sort of based on Erskine's Rebirth thing, with the super-strength and whatnot, but they were trying to make their own super-soldiers."
"And they tried it on you?" Peggy asked.
"Me and everyone else they caught."
"But even if it had worked, what made them think you would have fought for them?"
"It wasn't just bodies they were trying to change," Steve said, looking up from his book. "It was minds, too." He swallowed hard. "Mental conditioning. Brainwashing. Stuff like that." He tapped the book. "They had triggers and things that were supposed to turn it on."
A knot tightened in Peggy's stomach. "I see." She took a sip of her tea, darting her eyes to the shotgun propped against the side of the sofa. "And how do we know it didn't succeed with you?"
Barnes didn't look offended that she asked, but Steve sputtered, "Well, because he's here."
"That doesn't mean much," Peggy said. "Not if he's some kind of sleeper agent now."
"Peggy, after what they did to him—"
"It's okay, Stevie," Barnes said. "This is why she's in charge, because she thinks about things like this. And she should."
Steve's eyes widened. "But you…You're not…"
"No, I'm not. But she's right to be suspicious about it, because it's only my word. I've got no way to prove it to you."
It was a very tense moment as they all stared at one another, then Steve said softly, "I can."
They both looked at him. "How?" Peggy asked.
He nodded down at his book. "I flashed on it before, when we were talking about Hydra. They haven't been able to get the serum to work, same as Erskine, but the brainwashing works just fine. They always use the same words."
"Do it, then," Peggy said.
"I…"
"Go ahead, Steve," Barnes said. "It'll be okay."
Steve nodded slowly, then looked down at the book. Peggy picked up the shotgun and pointed it at Barnes, just in case.
"If it works," Steve said. "It'll turn on the programming and he'll do whatever I tell him to." He swallowed hard. "But I don't think it'll—"
"Just do it," Peggy said.
Steve nodded again. "Sorry, Buck," he said softly, then drew in a deep breath. "Longing," he said, surprisingly steadily. Nothing happened. "Rusted. Seventeen."
Barnes closed his eyes.
"Daybreak," Steve went on. "Furnace. Nine."
Barnes winced and rubbed at the side of his head.
"Benign." Steve's voice stayed steady, though he was looking more nervous as he watched Barnes. "Homecoming. One. Freight car." He drew in a deep breath. "Soldier?"
Barnes opened his eyes. "Nope," he said. He smiled and it was a little bit pained, but still genuine. "Still me."
Steve grinned in relief, and after a moment, Peggy nodded and lowered her shotgun. "Sorry," she said after a moment.
"Don't be," Barnes said. "You had to check. And really, Steve, I'm glad you trust me, but you should be more suspicious."
Steve was still smiling.
Barnes looked back at Peggy. "The arm took a while for them to get right. I got away before they made any headway on the brainwashing. Kind of gives me a headache, though, so if we could avoid that in the future…"
Peggy nodded.
"I don't quite understand, though," Steve said. "All this stuff in my head, it's from a database Erskine put together, right?"
Barnes and Peggy nodded.
"Why is this Winter Soldier stuff in there, then?" he asked. "If Erskine died before they started it?"
Peggy just managed to stop herself rolling her eyes at the expression crossing Barnes's face. "Oh, don't tell me he's alive too?"
"Well, not anymore," Barnes allowed. "Though he was until May. I was getting to that."
"Do you have to take a class on faking your death to get into the S.S.R. or something?" Steve wondered.
Barnes chuckled and then continued with his story. He'd been on the run from Hydra, and as things started to look as though they were in the clear, he'd checked in with a couple of his contacts. That had gotten him in touch with Erskine, who he learned had faked his death near the end of the war when Schmidt sent some of his best assassins to target him. He'd continued gathering information for his database in secret, convinced that the knowledge inside it would help them stamp out Hydra once and for all. It was all packed onto his little device, safe, but inaccessible. The original plan had been to make the information do what it had done to Steve, a process Erskine called 'downloading', though it should have been available to more than one trusted S.S.R. agent at a time. But there was too much of it now for that to be a practical use, so he'd been designing a machine to contain it and make it readable, sort of like an electronic book.
The machine had still been in the design stage when Barnes found him. Unfortunately, Hydra was closing in on Erskine, having discovered that he was still alive. He was being watched, and knew that there was no way he would make it out this time, but he thought Barnes, who no one was expecting to be there, might be able to escape. He put the design of the machine into the database and locked it to self-destruct after a one-time use. With Hydra agents closing in, Barnes wouldn't have time to download the information and have his brain adjust to it enough to get away. He couldn't do it then, but they didn't want to take the chance that Barnes would get caught with the device on him either, so they mailed it to an address Barnes assured him would be safe. Evidently, Erskine had added an explanatory message in the event that someone else picked it up. Which someone did.
"Why did you mail it to me?" Steve wondered.
Barnes smiled apologetically. "Because I was supposed to be home by then. I was clear of Hydra, and it was safe for me to finally go home. I was going to be there when the package showed up, download it into my head, get the machine design to Howard, have him build it and get the stuff back out of my head, and then retire. I never…" He shook his head. "Something in the back of my head knew that if things went sideways and you got the package, I could trust you to handle it, but I never meant to do this to you, Stevie. I'm sorry."
Steve smiled. "It's okay. I'm doing alright." He shot Peggy a quick smile. "It hasn't been so bad."
Peggy smiled back, then turned back to Barnes. "What kept you from getting there on time?"
Barnes huffed a laugh. "Would you believe pneumonia? I know we used to complain about some of the conditions we camped in back during the war, but I take it all back. Being on the run sucks. I hadn't been eating or sleeping well since I got away, and it finally caught up to me. I got sick as a dog and could hardly move for two weeks without falling over or throwing up. By the time I was mobile again, well…" He waved a hand at Steve. "You know where the story goes from there. I've been trying to find you since then."
"Why not just go to Phillips?" Peggy wondered.
"Because I was supposed to be dead, and even though I knew he was alright, I didn't know who around him was Hydra."
Peggy inclined her head in agreement. That was fair enough.
"You're still looking a little rough, Buck," Steve said, looking his friend over in concern. He did look tired and worn down, and when he'd removed his sweater to show them his shoulder, there'd been no ignoring how thin he was.
"Thanks," Barnes said with a laugh.
Steve smiled, but did not change the subject. "No, I mean it. You're gonna stay here with us for a while, right? We'll fix you back up."
Barnes smiled. "Yeah, I was planning on it. I'm tired of running."
Steve smiled. "Good."
With all questions answered for the moment, it was late, and they decided to go to bed, though Peggy wondered if any of them would sleep. Steve was up early the next morning when Peggy came into the kitchen, though Barnes was still asleep. She did remember from the war that he liked to sleep in when given the chance, and she imagined being on the run from Hydra was rather exhausting.
"Hey, uh, Peggy?" Steve said, not really looking up from the pancakes he was making. "I, uh, I'm kind of embarrassed about yesterday," he said, shooting her a quick glance, his cheeks flushing. Peggy must have looked confused, because he continued. "When I yelled at Bucky and everything. I…" He huffed an embarrassed laugh. "With the benefit of hindsight, I feel like I was acting like a little kid having a temper tantrum or something."
"Steve, it's alright," she assured him. "It was quite a shock. An emotional reaction like that isn't out of place."
Steve smiled gratefully, but still looked embarrassed. Peggy wasn't quite sure how to say that his outburst hadn't lessened her opinion of him, so she settled on resting a hand on his shoulder and saying, "You missed the part where I threatened to shoot him."
That earned her a surprised laugh and a more relaxed smile.
The rest of the day was spent inside—the mosquitos were out in full force after the rain—getting more details of Barnes's story and filling him in on what they'd been doing. They demonstrated more of how Steve's new ability worked, and decided Barnes should probably have a go at some point at seeing if anything he came up with resulted in a flash. The fact that there was a machine that should be able to get the information out of Steve's head was good news, and Howard could probably build it, but they had to find where in Steve's head the plans for it were hidden first of all, then figure out a way to get to Howard. They were safe enough where they were for the moment, but Howard was most likely being watched, and either his coming here or their going to him would be noticed.
Perhaps it was selfish of her, but Peggy found she didn't really mind that it might still be a while before this assignment ended. She liked it where she was, and she enjoyed living with Steve very much. Adding Barnes into the mix changed things, certainly, but not in any sort of way that made things more trying.
It was interesting watching the two of them as Barnes slowly slotted into their daily routine. There were several little quirks and mannerisms that they both seemed to pick up without noticing they'd done so—habits of an old life sliding back into place. They both seemed almost instantly at home with one another. There was a softness to Steve that everyone Peggy worked with had lost—a softness that came from goodness, not weakness, and she could see it working on Barnes the same way she'd realized it had done with her. Barnes really had meant it when he'd told her he thought of Steve as a little brother, and that softness of Steve's was bringing that side of him back out—a kinder, warmer side of him than she'd ever seen during the war.
Steve, for his part, seemed incredibly happy to have his old friend alive again, but he otherwise seemed unchanged. He didn't act any differently towards her now that Barnes was back, and it was with some surprise that Peggy realized Steve felt just as at home around her as he did with his friend of twenty-six years. She wasn't sure what she should do with that information, but she kind of wanted to give him a hug.
As Barnes acclimated in the days that followed, she went over the details of the security set-up with him, and he helped her keep an eye on things. He also worked with Steve and was able to uncover several more things about Hydra and specifics of some of their plans. Details were sent on to Phillips, of course, though for the moment, they were keeping Barnes's resurrection under wraps, just to be on the safe side.
It was a week and a half after Barnes arrived that they had a breakthrough. They had been getting some good information pieced together about Hydra, but Peggy remained concerned about Dottie and her distraction, and whoever her contact inside the S.S.R. was. Despite all the progress they'd made, they still hadn't managed to join those dots up. When it happened, they hadn't even been working on the database, but were just talking and telling stories from the war.
"We would have been sunk if those reinforcements hadn't arrived," Barnes recalled. "Lucky for us that President Truman had—"
"Aah!" Steve cried, clutching at the sides of his head with his hands and drawing his knees up until he was curled into a little ball.
"Steve?" Barnes asked worriedly.
"This is what happens when he has a really big flash," Peggy said, looking around for Steve's sketchbook.
"This happen a lot?" Barnes asked, sounding no less concerned as Steve started to rock back and forth and whimper.
"Not this badly," Peggy said, abandoning the search for the book and kneeling next to the sofa. "Steve?" she asked, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Wait," he whimpered softly, so she did, wishing there was something she could do. After a couple more seconds, he exhaled and slumped bonelessly into the cushions of the sofa.
"Stevie, are you okay?" Barnes asked.
"Holy cow," Steve breathed. His eyes snapped open, alarm etched across every line of his face. "Holy cow!" He snapped his head around to look at Peggy. "What day is it?" he asked desperately.
"Um, August twelfth, I think," she said, looking at Barnes for confirmation. He nodded.
"Crap, oh, crap, we have to go!" Steve said, sitting bolt upright.
"Go?" Peggy asked. "Where? What happened? What did you see?"
"It's all in there," Steve exclaimed. "Hydra's plan! Erskine had all the information, but he couldn't see it because of how spread out it is! It's all in there, spread across thousands of files and communications, and—" He stopped and gasped in a lungful of air. "It's all in there; we have to—"
"Steve, where's your inhaler?" Barnes asked as he gasped again.
"Counter," Steve croaked, gesturing towards the kitchen.
Barnes jumped up and got the inhaler, and Steve spent a moment just breathing and pulling himself back together. "Sorry," he said after a minute. "That was a lot. But we really have to go."
"Why?" Barnes asked. "You never got to that part."
"Right. Um, like I said, their plan is all there, spread out across everything, but when you said Truman's name just now, it was like that was the last piece and everything just slammed together."
"Is the President Hydra?" Peggy asked.
"No," Steve said, shaking his head. "But he will be if we can't fix this. It's the election. That's what Dottie is trying to distract everyone from. She's got the S.S.R. focused on the Arena Club, which Hydra wants because they're getting too powerful and they're worried they're going to start going rogue. But their real play is the election next year. The FBI, CIA, all the intelligence organizations are starting to look at the Arena Club. And while they're doing that, lots of little things have been happening in Washington. Financial scandals, sex scandals, questionable war records appearing—Republican possibilities for running in the election are dropping like flies, all for reasons that happen all the time and don't raise flags. The only one who's going to make it out with enough standing to be nominated is Archie Callahan, and he's Hydra."
Steve took a deep breath and continued. "They've got the Democrat side tied up too—Truman's not Hydra, but his Vice President has a legitimate heart condition that's 'accidentally' going to get worse, and the next guy in line for the spot is Hydra. So, if Truman wins, well, I'm guessing he won't be around long enough to enjoy it much. The election can go on totally as normal and either way, Hydra will be in the White House come next November."
"Alright," Peggy said, taking a moment to take that all in. "Alright. This is bad, but this is fixable. The election is over a year away—there's time to get on top of this. Why is it important that it's the twelfth today?"
"Because all the nation's intelligence agencies are distracted right now, which is safe, but it's even safer to have them in your pocket," Steve explained. "They're starting with the S.S.R., turning people where they can and taking them out where they can't. They can't get to Phillips, not yet, so they're working their way up from the local unit chiefs. Jack Thompson is supposed to die tonight."
"Bloody hell," Peggy said, sitting back. Steve was right—they had to go now. There was no way of contacting Phillips in the middle of the day to let him know. "How in the hell are we going to get to New York before tonight?"
"We have to get a plane," Barnes said. "How far away are we from Charleston?"
"About half an hour in the boat," Peggy said.
"Gimme the keys," he said. "I know a guy; I can be back in an hour with a plane."
"Go," Peggy said, tossing them to him as he jumped to his feet. He was out the door in seconds, and Peggy turned back to Steve, who was rubbing the side of his head and wincing again. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," he said. "I've never had one that big before."
"Do you need your book?"
"Yes, please," he said. "That was the gist, but there's a lot to write down."
Peggy handed him his sketchbook and got up to start packing. She gathered all the supplies she thought they would need into three backpacks, one for each of them. This sort of mission was more in line with the sort of thing she normally did, and she had a much better idea of what to pack this time.
She got Steve something to eat to help with his headache, and he chewed absently on the sandwich she handed him, sketching and writing frantically. He was still going when Barnes arrived with the seaplane, and Peggy walked him down the stairs while Barnes went inside to get the secure radio. Steve didn't look up from his book until halfway through the flight, and he seemed a little bit surprised not to be in the living room anymore.
They landed in New York and decided their best bet was to go to Thompson's apartment—Peggy and Steve were supposed to be dead, and waltzing into the S.S.R. office and blowing their cover seemed a bit premature. Knowing the late hours Thompson tended to put in, however, Peggy put in a call to Mr. Jarvis, briefly explained the situation, and asked him to contact Thompson saying he had a lead on Dottie but was worried about security and would meet Thompson at his home. Jack might not be overly fond of Howard Stark or his butler, but Peggy knew he would trust him enough to act on it.
They broke in easily enough, and Peggy and Barnes did a very thorough sweep of the place, coming up empty for bugs. Steve, meanwhile, started doing the dishes Jack had left in the sink. Steve couldn't abide by a dirty kitchen, and if he needed something to do with his hands until Jack got there, there wasn't any harm in it, though Barnes did tease him about it.
As Peggy had known he would, Thompson came willingly enough, and to his credit, he was properly suspicious about the whole thing. His gun was in his hand when he opened the door, and it was up and trained on her as soon as she moved.
"Don't shoot; it's me," she said, raising her hands.
Jack flicked on the light and stared at her in shock. "Carter?" he asked disbelievingly. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Nice to see you too, Jack," she said with a smile.
He seemed to realize he was still pointing his gun at her and lowered it. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"
"Officially, yes. That's why I didn't come to the office."
He nodded, taking that in. "Okay. What's going on? And who's that?" he asked, nodding at Barnes.
"Sergeant James Barnes, of the 107th," Peggy said. Barnes gave a little wave.
"The 107th…Where you worked during the war?" Jack asked. Peggy could see pieces clicking together in his head as he realized who Barnes was. "You're supposed to be dead too."
"See?" Steve said. "I told you this faking your death thing you guys keep doing isn't normal."
"Really, Steve? Now?" Barnes said, rolling his eyes.
Jack looked over at Steve, who had escaped his notice sitting over in the corner out of the way as per Peggy's orders. "And who are you?"
"Steve Rogers," Steve replied. "I'm technically supposed to be dead too, but not as voluntarily as these guys."
"Rogers," Jack mused. "Carter, this is the guy you got pulled off the Underwood case for?"
"Yes."
"What are you all doing in my apartment? And how many more of you are there?"
"Just the three of us," Peggy said. "And we're here to save your life."
"What?"
"Hydra's got a nice little murder schedule on the calendar," Barnes said. "And today's your day."
"Hydra?" Jack clarified. "Didn't they die with Schmidt?"
"Not as much as we would have hoped," Peggy said.
Jack sighed and rubbed his temple. "What the hell is going on?"
"Jack," Peggy began. "I know this is a lot."
"You think?"
"Jack, I promise we can explain it, but we need to get you somewhere safe first." Jack looked like he wanted to argue, so Peggy took a step closer. "Trust me, Jack."
He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. You've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do, but okay."
She instructed him to grab anything important while Barnes checked to see if the coast was clear. They all went down the fire escape and into a back alley where a non-descript car with a very familiar driver was waiting.
"Hello!" greeted Mr. Jarvis cheerfully.
Jack groaned. "My life is about to get so much more complicated, isn't it?"
"Probably," Peggy said, not able to hide her smile entirely.
Jack shot her a sideways glare as they got into the car. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Well, not the part where Hydra is back is the picture," Peggy said. "But, yes, a little."
"If you weren't already dead, I'd fire you," he grumbled, and Peggy chuckled.
They drove to a nearby garage and switched cars, and the ride from there became a lot less comfortable as Steve, Peggy, and Jack had to ride in the trunk or compartments under the seats so they weren't spotted. Barnes was reasonably unrecognizable with his longer hair, and got to ride in the back seat. He wasn't too overly gleeful about it.
Ideal butler that he was, Mr. Jarvis took his hidden passengers into consideration as he drove, and aside from being rather cramped, there were no other complaints Peggy could make about the smoothness of the drive. They unfolded themselves from their hiding places in the parking hangar of one of Howard's country homes.
They bustled inside quickly, and Mr. Jarvis, ever the perfect butler, insisted on showing them all to their rooms before getting down to business, then served them tea in one of the studies while he went to prepare dinner.
"Oh, cheer up, Jack," Peggy said. "Look at it this way—you get to be a guest of Howard Stark and take advantage of the luxury."
"I was promised an explanation, and right now all I have is a crick in my neck from riding in the trunk of a car for half an hour," he said. "Somebody needs to start talking."
Peggy let Barnes begin, starting with his explanation of the device and meeting with Erskine, then Peggy took over once the story reached her and Steve. Jack took most of it in stride, though he seemed incredibly skeptical about the database in Steve's head. That was fair enough, and Steve offered to demonstrate, but they had to come up with something he hadn't already flashed on.
"Try asking about something I wasn't involved in," Peggy said. "We've talked about most of my cases, so he can't flash on them again." Besides which fact, if Steve could flash on something she couldn't have told him about, it would be easier for Jack to believe.
"Alright," Jack said, still looking unconvinced. He thought for a minute, then looked up at Steve. "What do you know about Operation: Coyote?"
Peggy had never heard of it, but Steve stiffened, and his eyes did the drifting, fluttering thing that indicated a flash. Jack stared at him in confusion until Steve came back into the moment.
"May 18th, 1944," Steve said. "A small Allied team snuck into Tokyo to smuggle out a group of Japanese codebreakers who were defecting. The whole thing took place over one night. Seven codebreakers got out. Yamamoto got caught and died buying time for the rest of the group to get away. Everyone else made it to the harbor before the army caught up with them. There was a shootout getting onto the escape boat. All the codebreakers made it on board. Corporal Jonathan Marks was killed, and Corporals Eric Flynn and Levi Benson were wounded." He looked over at Thompson. "You got shot in the leg. It didn't hit any bones, but you almost bled out before you got back to the Navy ship waiting out at sea."
Jack was gaping by the time Steve was done. "Holy cow," he breathed. He slumped back in his chair, still staring at Steve in awe. "How the hell does that work?"
"We don't really know," Steve said. "But you believe us now?"
"Yeah," Jack said, still looking awed. He huffed and shook his head. "Wow. I can see why they'd want to keep an eye on you."
Mr. Jarvis came in then to announce dinner, and they adjourned the discussion to eat. Howard would be arriving in the morning, so they spent some time after dinner looking through the notes and drawings Steve had scribbled after his flash, trying to make more sense of Hydra's plan.
"I'm gone for four years, and you know, I think your handwriting got worse," Barnes commented, tilting his head as he attempted to decipher a page.
"You've been complaining about my handwriting since we learned how to write. You just like to gripe," Steve said.
"A literal chicken scratching could put words more legibly on a page than this," Barnes countered.
"Shut up," Steve complained. "It's not that bad. Peggy can read it."
"Really?" Barnes asked.
Peggy saw Thompson's eyebrow go up at Steve's addressing her as 'Peggy' without being corrected, but she ignored it and answered Barnes's question instead. "Yes. It could be better," she allowed, smiling as Steve frowned. "But it's perfectly legible."
Barnes smirked to himself and looked as though he wanted to say something, but just shook his head and returned to his reading.
"Hey, I know this guy," Jack said, picking up one of the drawings. "Walter Rich. What's he in the book for?"
"I don't know," Steve said. "He was a face I got during a big Hydra flash, but I don't know what he's connected to."
Jack let out a low whistle. "Well, I do. Guy's specialty is digging up dirt—dirt that's just dirty, not necessarily true. This is probably what's taking down all those presidential nominee hopefuls."
They went through several more pages before calling it a night. Peggy found she was so used to sleeping lightly, she had trouble sleeping well now that they were somewhere safe. She still got up a couple of times in the night to walk the halls and just listen out for trouble.
Howard arrived the next morning, and after introductions, explanations, and finding something that Steve could flash on so he could see it, he disappeared to his lab and they didn't see him again until the evening. Jack called in sick to the office, and they spent the rest of the day going through intel and then talking with Phillips, who showed up after lunch.
Howard emerged after dinner, having invented something clever and eager to run tests on Steve and his brain. Peggy convinced him to wait until morning, after he and Steve both got some rest.
The next morning brought news from Phillips' network that Thompson's apartment had been broken into, and people were starting to look for him. Hydra was getting suspicious that their target wasn't where it should be.
In Howard's basement lab, he showed them the device he had built for testing Steve's ability. It was fairly unimpressive looking—a chair with some wires attached to a bank of monitoring equipment.
"I don't suppose I could convince you to shave your head?" Howard asked as he settled Steve into the chair and attached one of the leads to his temple.
"I would prefer not to," Steve said.
Howard nodded. "I can work around it." He continued adding leads to Steve's head and neck, taping them down until Steve looked like some sort of electric hedgehog.
"What exactly is this going to do?" Steve asked.
"Well," Howard began, fiddling with some of the dials on the monitoring equipment. "Before I can figure out how to get any of that out, I need to know how it works. So, I'm going to take lots of readings of what your brain does when you have a flash thing. That should tell me where stuff is located. Then I can build a map, and hopefully figure out how to activate specific pieces of it on command."
"Okay."
"Seeing as you built this in less than a day, is it safe?" Barnes asked, crossing his arms and eyeing the machine skeptically.
"Of course it's safe," Howard said, offended.
"Howard, it's a more than reasonable question," Peggy pointed out. She'd been wondering the same thing.
"Yeah, alright," Howard allowed. "It's not doing anything to his head, just watching while it does its own stuff. It won't hurt him. The worst that can happen is that it doesn't work."
He made a few more adjustments, then settled in to try to get a flash out of Steve. They knew there was a lot more in there, but without knowing what it was, it was getting harder to find the right words or phrases. It finally occurred to Howard to find the box of photographs of his inventions that the S.S.R. had had in their lab last year, and that seemed to do the trick.
Peggy, Barnes and Thompson moved to a corner of the lab to continue working, leaving Steve and Howard to their testing. As it drew nearer to lunch time, Peggy got up to see if they were ready to stop, then hurried the rest of the way across the lab. "Howard, stop!" she called. Steve was sitting where he had been all morning, his eyes fluttering like they did during a smaller flash, but they weren't stopping, and his nose was starting to bleed.
Howard looked up from his equipment, yelped in alarm, and started pressing buttons.
"Steve?" Peggy asked, crouching by the chair and putting her hands on his shoulders. "Steve?"
"Nnh," he groaned, shaking his head heavily.
"That's it, come on," she encouraged. "Come back."
His eyes stopped fluttering and he blinked at her blearily. "Peggy?" he mumbled.
"I'm here. It's alright," she said.
"What the hell, Stark?!" Barnes snapped from somewhere behind her.
"No, it's okay," Howard began.
"This is not okay!" Barnes growled.
"No, I mean, I didn't break anything," Howard insisted. "This is all good," he went on, gesturing at the monitoring equipment as if Barnes knew how to read it. "We just went too long. It's like a muscle cramp from exercising too hard. A brain cramp."
"S'goin' on?" Steve asked.
"We've just discovered what happens when you flash too much too quickly," Peggy said. "Are you alright?"
"Head hurts."
Peggy turned to Thompson. "Go and find Mr. Jarvis and see if he's got anything for a headache." Thompson nodded, and she turned back to Steve. "Steve, look at me," she said, putting her hands to the sides of his face. He did, and he looked dazed and in pain, but his pupils were even and reacting as they should, and his nose had stopped bleeding. Peggy trusted Howard's diagnosis (mostly), but a knot of worry was still coiled tightly in her stomach. "Tell me your name," she said.
"Steve Rogers."
"What year is it?"
"1947."
"Do you know where you are?"
"Stark's basement. Testin' my head for database stuff."
"Do you know who that is?" she asked, pointing at Barnes.
"S'Bucky," he said. "S'a jerk who's not dead."
Barnes laughed in spite of himself at the statement, and a tiny smile broke through the pain on Steve's face.
"And me?" Peggy asked.
Steve's smile softened and got wider. "Peggy," he said. "Keepin' me alive." His head was starting to loll on his shoulders, and Peggy suspected if she let go, it would flop over to the side. "Y're good at it," he went on. "An' y're good at Scrabble. An' makin' cake."
Peggy smiled. "Well, it would seem your memory's alright," she said.
"Told you," Howard huffed.
Peggy ignored him. "Let's get you upstairs where you can rest."
"Mmm," Steve agreed.
Howard unhooked all the leads of the machine, then Barnes helped her get Steve up on his feet, and together they walked him to the elevator, and then down the hall to his room. They met Thompson along the way and got the medicine for Steve's headache. In Steve's room, Barnes helped her move him to the bed, then gave her a smile she couldn't quite interpret and left.
"Thanks," Steve muttered, sinking down into the pillows.
"You're welcome," Peggy said. She sat down beside him. "I'm sorry. I know how Howard can get carried away, and I should have checked in earlier."
"S'okay," Steve said, smiling at her sleepily. "Hey," he added, flopping an uncoordinated hand on the blanket and brushing against hers. "Know what else y're good at?"
"What's that?" she asked with a smile.
"Bein' a good roommate. S'nice, livin' with you," he slurred, his eyes sinking closed. "I like you."
Something fluttered in Peggy's chest and a warm smile crept across her face. She stroked a hand along the side of his face and brushed his hair back. "I like you too, Steve," she said softly.
He made a contented little humming sound and let his eyes close the rest of the way. Peggy sat there for a little while until she was sure he was asleep, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead almost before she realized that's what she was doing.
Barnes was waiting for her in the hallway. "He okay?" he asked as she shut the door.
She nodded. "Just worn out, I think." He nodded back and they started walking back to the lab. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Peggy asked, catching another one of those looks he'd given her before he'd left Steve's room.
He smiled. "Nothing." He nodded back in the direction of Steve's room. "I just think it's nice."
Peggy's eyes widened as she realized what he was implying. "Sergeant Barnes," she began.
"I know, I know, he's your responsibility and you're just taking care of him," he said. He smirked. "That's totally the same way you used to look at me or Dugan when we got hurt during the war."
Peggy glared, and his smile widened.
"I think it's great," he said, all teasing gone from his voice.
They ran into Jack waiting for the elevator and changed the topic, but Peggy held on to Barnes's words to mull over.
Steve slept for the rest of the day and seemed hesitant the next morning to jump back into Howard's chair for some more testing. Both Peggy and Barnes stepped in and put their feet down, telling Howard in no uncertain terms to let it be. Howard grumbled until Peggy pointed out that he had all the data from yesterday's tests to analyze, and he was happily diverted.
"So, how long are we going to stay cooped up in here?" Jack asked. They were sitting around the dining room table, papers and notes and charts spread out across the large surface. "We're running out of things to do from here," he added.
"He's got a point," Barnes said. "We can't exactly run down leads from the dining room."
"No," Peggy agreed. "Are we ready to tip our hand, though? Going back into the S.S.R. reveals that the three of us are still alive," she said, drawing a circle in the air to indicate herself, Steve, and Barnes. "And it puts a target back on your back, Jack," she said.
"True," Jack allowed. "But nobody's going to shoot me inside the S.S.R. office."
"They could kill you without shooting you," Steve said, looking up from whatever he was sketching. "One of their ideas to get you earlier was to take you out in the elevator of your apartment building. 'Mechanical failure' and a seven-story drop."
Jack grimaced. "So, I'll take the stairs." He looked around the table. "I know you three are banking on being dead, so I could go in on my own. There are resources in there that can help us, so I'm willing to take the risk."
"You're not going in alone," Barnes argued. "If nothing else, I'll go with you. I don't look like I did last time anybody around here saw me anyway. But Carter and Steve should stay here."
"I think I should go too," Steve said.
Barnes looked ready to argue, but Peggy thought she saw where he was coming from. "There's all sorts of things he could flash on in the office. If we're incredibly lucky, he might be able to tell if anyone in there is Hydra. Even if that doesn't happen, he could learn an awful lot in the archive room."
Steve nodded, agreeing with her assessment, and Jack inclined his head, considering the point. Barnes still looked doubtful. "Hydra wants to take him," he reminded them. "And Hydra is in the S.S.R. We can't just waltz him in there!"
"Hydra is in the S.S.R., but they're not showing their cards yet," Peggy pointed out. "Whoever their agents are would blow their cover for good trying to grab him from the office in broad daylight."
"Sure," Barnes allowed. "But we're still letting everyone know he's alive. What's to stop them following us here?"
"Nothing," Peggy admitted. "We'll have to be ready to move again afterwards, but it's not as though we could go on staying at Howard's without being noticed sooner or later. It's about time we moved anyway."
"She's kept me alive this far," Steve pointed out. "And now I've got you. And Agent Thompson," he added, as though he wasn't entirely sure if Thompson was officially part of the protection detail. "I'll be okay. I think we need to do this, Buck."
And so it was that they loaded themselves back into one of Howard's cars—everyone got to ride in a proper seat this time—and headed for the S.S.R. office. "Now, remember, Steve," Barnes said as they got out of the vehicle. "You don't go anywhere in there on your own. You're with one of the three of us the whole time."
Steve sighed. "I know. We've been over this eight times. I know I'm not a secret agent, but I'm not five. I heard you the first time."
They hurried inside, and Peggy did have to hand it to the 'phone company ladies' at the front desk, because while there were several raised eyebrows at her appearance, no one made any comments, merely hitting the buzzer and letting them through.
"Chief!" Abernathy exclaimed, looking up from his desk. "Hey, you're back. We thought you were sick."
"Well, I'm better now," Jack said, looking around the office. "Where's Sousa?"
"Following up a lead downtown."
"Alright." Jack nodded. "Until he gets back, then, you are second in command."
Abernathy tried not to look too pleased with the temporary promotion.
"I need you, Parker, Flannigan and Alvarez in my office," Jack said, waving at Abernathy to go collect the men he'd named. "Five minutes."
"Yes, Sir," Abernathy said, getting up from his desk. "Um, and Carter?" he began, clearly hoping for an explanation as to her resurrection.
"Don't know what you're talking about, Abernathy. Carter's dead," he said.
"Yes, Sir," Abernathy replied, understanding what he shouldn't be saying, though he was still undeniably curious.
"You're enjoying being in charge again, aren't you?" Peggy asked after Abernathy walked away.
Jack merely chuckled in response. "Why don't you two head on down to the archives?" he said, pointing at her and Steve. "Don't make yourself too obvious, but try to look at as many faces as you can on the way," Jack told Steve. "Barnes, you going with them or with me?"
"I'll stick with you," Barnes said. He and Jack headed for the Chief's office, discussing what they could safely share and what the best leads would be to start with, and Peggy directed Steve down the hall.
"Is telling that guy you're still dead really supposed to keep Hydra from noticing us?" Steve wondered.
"It was an order for him to keep his mouth shut," Peggy explained. "It's unlikely we'll get out of here with no one but Abernathy knowing I was in, but it won't hurt." She looked at him curiously. "No flash on him?"
Steve shook his head, doing his best to peer discreetly into windows as they passed and catch faces. They made it into the elevator without Steve flashing on anyone, so they went into the archive room and got to work.
Steve had been right—there was loads to learn in here. He flashed on file after file as they worked their way through the alphabet, Peggy taking copious shorthand notes as they did. They were interrupted briefly by Barnes coming in to see if there had been any flashes on the personnel files they'd gone through first—he'd gotten several informational flashes like he had with Peggy, but as to Hydra, it was negative on all counts. That didn't necessarily mean there was no Hydra in this office, though. Steve had said he didn't have a name or a face for Dottie's contact. After that, they dove back in, and there were names and words and pictures that brought up things from the war, more assassination plots, and bits and pieces and schemes that, had Peggy taken the time to properly process, would have frightened her at the length of Hydra's reach.
"Do we need to take a break?" Peggy asked after a couple of hours. Steve was wincing a lot more and rubbing at the sides of his head.
He shook his head. "I think this falls into the category of 'a time to wear yourself thin for the job'," he said, giving her a brief smile. "I'll probably crash when this is over, but I've got this."
"Alright," Peggy said, smiling in understanding and resting a hand on his shoulder. If they could do this all in one go, they could get Steve back out of sight and to another safehouse before things got dangerous. She flipped to a clean page in her notebook. "Next?"
They carried on, and as the hours passed, the pain in Steve's head was clearly increasing, but he soldiered on. He was becoming irritable as well, but he was mostly aware of it and tried to rein it in, apologizing every time he snapped, though it was increasing in frequency.
"This doesn't make any sense," he growled, staring at a file that had been in his hands for a couple of minutes now.
"Not getting anything?" Peggy asked. It was a rare file that got them nothing, but it did happen.
He shook his head. "No, I did, it just…Doesn't match."
"What is it?"
They were into the V's now, and the file he was holding had the name "Vladivostok' on the label. He gestured absently at the paper. "It's Ivchenko. He popped up again. This guy was a major player in Leviathan and Hydra."
"Yes," Peggy prompted. They'd know that after last summer and his plot to use Howard and his inventions to wipe out the city of New York.
"The more I get about him, the less…" He huffed an irritated sigh. "Last summer doesn't make any sense. The gas in New York thing? It doesn't come up anywhere. Not even a P.S. at the end of a telegram. I don't see how in the hell they could have done something like that without any planning."
"Perhaps they were just particularly secretive about it," Peggy suggested.
Steve rolled his eyes. "Sure. They can write down their plans to rig the 1948 elections, but not the one where they murder the entire population of New York City." He stuffed the file back into the box a little more forcefully than necessary.
"I don't pretend to know how their minds work," Peggy said, not quite keeping all the snap out of her own voice. "I was only offering a suggestion."
He turned back around with another file in his hand, cheeks flushed with scarlet. "Sorry," he said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"
Peggy nodded in absolution. "It's been a long day."
"Sorry," he said again.
"Come here for a moment," she said. She got off the stool she was sitting on and gestured for him to come sit on it. Hesitating a moment, he did. She took the file out of his hands and set it on the table, then placed her fingers on his temples and began rubbing in slow circles.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Sh," she said, continuing her rubbing, spiraling her fingers out into wider circles. "Just sit and take a moment."
"I don't need a break," he protested, but there was no fire in it.
"Sh," she said again. She spent a couple of minutes massaging his head, and it was almost as though she could feel the knots of tension uncoiling under her fingers. She kept going until he started to sway on the stool a little bit—she would have liked to just take him home and send him to bed to rest, but he was right, this needed doing, and so a small relief was all she could offer at the moment.
"Better?" she asked.
He nodded. "Thanks." He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said again.
"It's forgiven," she said. She handed him the file she'd set on the table. "Ready to keep going? Almost there."
He nodded, smiled, and returned to his work. It took them another hour to get to the end of the files—Steve wasn't really reading them, merely scanning the words and images and seeing what triggered a flash. He was saying as much as he could out loud without slowing down, and Peggy was recording the highlights so that they could go back later and use her notes to sound the depths of this new knowledge at a healthier pace.
"That's it," Steve said, putting the last file away. He rubbed the side of his head. "Oof," he sighed.
"Well done," Peggy told him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I think we're going to make a lot of progress with this," she said, tapping her notebook.
"Yeah, I think so," he agreed.
They made their way back upstairs to where Jack and Barnes were wrapping up the day. "Hope you two got a lot," Jack said. "We've got the boys on scents for some major leads."
"Good," Peggy said. "And I think we've got plenty more to work off of now."
"Great," Jack said. He looked over at Steve and smacked him in the shoulder. "How you holding up, there, Tiger?"
Steve glared, clearly not keen on the nickname. "Peachy," he said coolly.
"Hey, Jack, before you head out, I've got that file on—Peggy!" Daniel Sousa said, walking into the office. He smiled broadly. He dropped his file onto Jack's desk and stepped closer to her. "Wow, it's good to see you. I mean, Jack told me you were alive, but…"
Peggy smiled warmly at the look of relief on his face. "It's good to see you too, Daniel," she said. Aside from Rose out at the front desk, Daniel was really the only person in the office Peggy had ever thought of as a friend. She'd felt rather badly about leaving him thinking she was dead. "I am sorry about all this."
"Oh, hey, it's alright," he said, waving a hand. "Nature of the job, right? I'm just glad you're okay."
A very soft whimper pulled her head around, and Peggy turned to see that Steve had dropped down into one of the spare chairs and was holding his head in his hands. "Steve?" she asked, but Barnes was closer.
"Steve?" he said, crouching beside him and resting a hand on his back. "What's wrong?" He shot a quick look up at Peggy, both of them clearly thinking back to his massive flash a couple of days ago.
Steve shook his head carefully. "Nothing," he said. He looked up, his eyes apologetic and pained. "Headache's catching up to me is all." He made a convulsive swallowing motion.
"You gonna puke?" Barnes asked.
"Maybe," Steve answered softly.
"Let me get him to the bathroom," Barnes said, already pulling Steve carefully to his feet. He escorted him quickly down the hall in the direction of the bathrooms.
"That the guy you got pulled off the Underwood case for?" Daniel asked after they'd left.
"Yes," Peggy said, her mind still half on Steve and his pain.
"Am I allowed to ask what's so special about him?" Daniel asked curiously. "Most protective details don't involve faking a plane crash."
Peggy smiled at that. "No, they don't. But I'm afraid I can't say," she said. She rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. "You're safer not knowing."
He nodded and didn't look offended. "Sure." He looked between her and Jack. "Should I expect you two to be out for a while, then?"
"I've set some of the guys up with some work to do for me, but, yeah, probably," Jack said. He grinned. "Looks like you get to run the place for a while. Think you can handle it?"
"Can't be that hard if you do it," Daniel replied with a grin of his own, and Jack laughed. "Your friend alright?" he asked as Barnes appeared in the doorway.
"Not really," Barnes replied. "Sorry to cut your reunion short." He turned to Peggy. "It's not just the headache catching up to him—he's coming down with something. Looks a lot to me like that thing Jim had in Lucerne," he said.
"Oh dear," Peggy said, instantly on alert at his use of their old code word 'Lucerne'. It meant something was very wrong and they needed to get out now. She turned back to Daniel. "We really should go. If it is what Jim had, you certainly don't want that around your office."
"No, no, go ahead," he said. "Check in when you can, though, huh? Let me know how I can help." He gave them a wave and went back to his desk, settling down to look over a stack of papers.
Barnes had already departed to fetch Steve from the bathroom—and it must have been terribly important for him to leave him alone in the first place—so she put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Come on, Jack," she said.
"How contagious is this thing?" Jack asked, picking up the file Daniel had brought and grabbing for his coat hanging on the peg by the door. "If we're going to be riding home in the same car and all."
"I don't know, but the faster we can get home, the more likely we are to do so before he gets sick all over the car," she said. Jack nodded in agreement and picked up his pace. "We need to get to the car now," she hissed into his ear when they were away from the desks, and he nodded at the urgency in her tone and didn't ask any questions until they were out of earshot.
"What's going on?" he asked when they were alone in the stairwell.
"I don't know," she said quietly. "But Barnes used one of our old codes from the war. Something is wrong and we need out."
"Got it," he said, sliding his coat on in what looked like a casual motion but Peggy knew was a cover for checking his weapon. She did the same, scratching at an invisible itch on the leg where her gun was holstered to ruck the hem of her skirt up just a bit higher.
Barnes was waiting for them at the back exit. Peggy could see Steve sitting in the backseat of the car, looking terribly nervous but not at all ill. "What's going on?" she asked as Jarvis started the engine and they got into the car.
"It's him," Steve whispered, as though someone might be listening. "Sousa." He swallowed hard. "He's Dottie's contact."
Peggy and Jack stared at him in awe. Jack found his voice first. "Sousa?!" he asked. "Daniel Sousa?"
"He's Hydra?!" Peggy asked.
Steve nodded.
"How do you know?" she asked. "You said you never had a face or a name for Dottie's contact."
"It was his voice," Steve said. "That's all Erskine had. A little five-second phone recording of him and Dottie talking. They didn't say anything to identify him, but…"
"Daniel Sousa?" Jack said again, still clearly trying to wrap his mind around it.
"Yes," Steve said.
"I can't believe it," Jack said.
"I haven't been wrong yet," Steve insisted.
"I don't think he meant it that way," Peggy said. "It's just…we've both been working with Daniel for so long…" Revulsion twisted in her gut as she thought of the times they'd commiserated over being overlooked in the office, the jokes and smiles and friendship that had grown up between them. "I trusted him."
"How well does this Sousa guy know you?" Barnes asked. "Does he know about your connection to Stark?"
"Yes," Peggy said, suddenly realizing what he was getting at. "Mr. Jarvis, don't take us back to the house. None of Howard's properties."
"Of course, Agent Carter," he said. "Where shall I go?"
They all looked at one another.
"Where can we go that he won't think to look?" Peggy asked. Howard's properties were out, as was Jack's home, Steve's old apartment, the Griffith, or even Angie's place.
"Just keep driving until we figure something out," Jack said.
"I believe that's about to be a problem, sir," Mr. Jarvis said. He was looking up and into the rearview mirror, and they all turned around to see the flashing lights of a police car behind them.
"Bloody hell," Peggy snapped.
"Floor it," Barnes said.
Mr. Jarvis took off immediately, and the police car behind them picked up speed. Peggy had often appreciated Mr. Jarvis's skills as a getaway driver, and this evening was no exception. He wove his way expertly through traffic, darting into less-crowded streets and taking unexpected turns.
"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I really tried not to let on in front of him that I'd figured it out."
"I don't think you did," Peggy said. "I think he just didn't want to take the risk of us getting out of reach again."
"It's what I would have done," Jack agreed. "Whether I'd suspected anything or not."
Another car joined the chase, then a third, then a fourth. "I believe they're driving us towards a dead end," Mr. Jarvis said, taking a sharp turn to avoid the fifth car that cut out in front of them.
"Probably," Barnes agreed. He pulled out a gun from his holster and another one strapped to his leg. "Everybody armed?"
Peggy and Jack got their weapons ready. "Mr. Jarvis," Peggy said. "At the point at which they force us to a stop, get down out of firing range but try to stay in the driver's seat if possible so we can break out at the earliest opportunity."
He nodded sharply.
"Steve?" she said. "As soon as we stop, get down in the floor. Make yourself as small a target as possible. They're not trying to kill you, but that doesn't mean they won't hurt you. Mr. Jarvis, should you see an opening to escape, you will take it, even if Agent Thompson, Sergeant Barnes and myself are not in the car." He hesitated in replying. "Is that clear?" she demanded.
"Yes, Agent Carter," he replied.
"Peggy, no—" Steve began.
"Yes," Peggy cut him off sharply. "We cannot let them get you, and if that means getting away without us, then that's what you'll do."
"That also means if the car's out, but you see a chance to run, you take it, Steve," Barnes added.
"No!" Steve said.
"Yes!" Barnes snapped.
"If it comes down to that, the rest of us have a better chance of staying alive if you're not here," Jack said, and Peggy was surprised at his insight into Steve's mind, but Steve's expression told her he'd hit the nail on the head. "You're gone, they keep us alive because we might lead them to you. You're here, they shoot us all, because we're not the ones they really want."
Steve swallowed hard. "Okay," he said quietly.
The cars chasing them were closing in, and were herding them towards a set of warehouses by the river. Eventually, Mr. Jarvis was forced to stop or go into the water. Peggy braced herself as the car screeched to an abrupt halt, then she, Thompson and Barnes jumped out, guns ready. Steve and Mr. Jarvis ducked down as previously instructed, and the three of them started firing at the windows and tires of their pursuers. Each of them hit their mark—Peggy got a shot in through a windshield that took out the driver, and Jack shot through the other window and took out the passenger, leaving no one to jump out as the car veered into a wall. Barnes had been her team's sniper for a reason during the war, and he took out the driver of one car with one shot and the wheels of another car with the next, sending that car careening out of control into the harbour.
Three cars pulled to a stop behind the ones they'd taken out, and men with guns poured out, taking cover behind the vehicles and firing at them. None of them were men Peggy recognized from the S.S.R., which was comforting in its way, but did make her wonder where Daniel had gotten so many people to chase them at such short notice.
Her gun clicked empty, as did Thompson's, but a shout from Barnes had them turning and snatching new weapons out of the air as he pulled them from somewhere in his jacket and tossed them over. Peggy wasn't particularly surprised by the move—Barnes had never seemed to be short on weaponry during the war, though where he kept it all had been one of the ongoing jokes of the unit.
The fight soon moved to hand-to-hand as their attackers' guns began to run out of ammunition, though Peggy and Jack and Barnes certainly kept taking as many shots as they could. Over the din of gunfire and fists meeting flesh, Peggy heard the occasional metallic reverberation, and Barnes hadn't been kidding about his left hook.
Whenever she could, she kept shooting glances back at the car—the three of them were trying to keep the brawl far enough away from the car to keep its occupants safe, but near enough to keep an eye on things. Thus far, they appeared to be safe, but then the butt of a gun being swung at Peggy's head drew her attention away. She did wonder briefly where Daniel was as she grabbed her attacker's arm and hurled him up over her shoulder and into the ground. Daniel didn't often engage in physical combat—she dodged a foot coming at her head and let it catch her in the shoulder, giving her the momentum to roll away—but he was a very good shot, and she couldn't see him not coming after them.
"I think that's enough," came a familiar voice from behind them, and there he was. Everything came to a standstill as they all turned around and realized what Daniel was doing. He was standing by the car. Mr. Jarvis was unconscious but still breathing in the driver's seat, and Steve was still on the floor where Peggy had told him to hide, but he was on his back with the foot of Daniel's crutch pressing down against his neck.
"You don't want to kill him," Barnes said, not dropping any of his weapons.
"No," Daniel agreed, casually as if he was talking about the weather. "But I will. If he dies, I lose access to everything in his head, but so do you, which I'd still call a win. And if I lose him, I'm sure I can still get something out of the three of you." He arched an eyebrow, implying that the next move was up to them. With fury churning in her chest, Peggy dropped her gun and held her hands up. After a moment, Barnes and Thompson followed suit. "Good girl," Daniel said with a smile. He nodded at one of his men, and they moved forward and hauled Steve roughly up out of the car, tying a length of cord around his wrists. "Put him in the car," he said, nodding to one of the cars in the back.
"Sousa," Jack began.
"Shut up," Daniel warned, pulling a gun from his belt and pointing it at him. He smiled. "I've been wanting to tell you that for years. I've also been wanting to shoot you for years," he added, fingering the hammer of the gun thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, I can't, because if I'm supposed to take over when you're gone, your death does need to look like an accident." He nodded to another one of his men. "Tie him up in the warehouse until we can decide what to do with him. Take the driver too," he added as an afterthought. Mr. Jarvis was dragged from the car behind the men that marched Thompson away.
"As for you," Daniel said. He tilted his head slightly, considering Barnes for a moment. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be dead. I should probably fix that." He fired and blood blossomed from Barnes's chest as he staggered back and fell into the harbour.
"Bucky!" Peggy heard Steve cry from the car.
"And as for you…" Daniel said, turning to look at Peggy.
"Daniel," Peggy began slowly. "Stop and think about this for a moment."
"Oh, I have," he assured her. "Still haven't figured out just what to do with you, though."
"I need her," Steve called from the car.
They both turned to look at him. Tears were streaking down his face, but Peggy knew him well enough to know they weren't tears of fear, but of fury.
"She knows how to make this all work," he said, lifting his bound hands to gesture at his head. "If you want any chance of getting anything out of my head, you're going to need her to do it."
Daniel considered for a long moment. "He mean that?" he asked at last, looking at Peggy.
"No," she replied, working just enough uncertainty into her voice to make it sound as though she was lying, desperate to preserve the S.S.R.'s knowledge even at the cost of her own life, knowing Daniel would expect something like that. "He's just trying to keep me safe."
Daniel huffed a laugh. "Oh, safe is the last thing either of you are going to be," he said, and Peggy just had the time to be relieved he was taking her too, since that meant she still had a chance to rescue Steve, and then something heavy hit her in the back of the head. She was unconscious before she hit the pavement.
She woke up to delicate but surprisingly strong fingers carding through her hair, and it took her a minute to work out where she was. She was lying on her back across the seat of a car, hands and ankles bound. Her head was in Steve's lap, and the flashing lights she was seeing were streetlights passing by as they drove.
"Peggy, are you okay?" Steve asked, and she looked up to see his worried blue eyes hovering above her.
"Been better," she said. "But I'll live."
He helped her sit up slowly, and her head cleared a bit as she got more vertical. They were in the back of a police car, bars on the windows and between the two of them and the driver and Daniel.
"Hiya, Peg," Daniel said, catching her eyes in the rearview mirror. "Nothing?" he added when Peggy glared coldly but didn't reply.
"There doesn't seem to be much to say," Peggy said. She didn't want to keep talking to him, but there was something she needed to know. "How long have you been with Hydra?"
Daniel grinned, as though he'd anticipated the question. "Since before you knew me. If that makes you feel any better."
"Not really, no," she said. "Why?"
His smile faltered, and there was a hardness in his voice when he spoke. "Why?" he repeated. "You know what I gave up for this country? I had a life before the war, before the S.S.R. Gave that up to do my duty. I had a girl too. We were gonna get married. Two years of me doing my duty, and she decides to leave me for a guy who dodged the draft. My life, my future—gone, in service to my country. Didn't think I had much more to give, but then I ended up giving my leg too. And this country that I've given up everything for, how do they repay me?" Hard lines set across his face. "By leaving me for dead in a mud puddle in France. By treating me like a bully like Thompson's a better man than me just because he's got two working legs. By acting like I'm a burden on the society I fought to protect."
Peggy glared back at him coldly. "So you joined Hydra out of bitterness? Really, Daniel, I would have thought better of you."
Daniel glared back. "Not bitterness, no. Although, a little appreciation for my efforts would have been nice."
"Well, you sure sound bitter to me," Steve muttered.
"You know who got me out of that mud puddle in France?" Daniel said.
"Hydra?" Peggy guessed.
"Yes," he replied. "Hydra. They saved my life. And you know what else? I was sitting there thinking I was going to end up a P.O.W. at best, and some sort of science experiment at worst. But they fixed me up and then sent me to an Army hospital so I could go home. They weren't the heartless monsters I thought I'd been fighting this war against."
"Let me guess," Peggy said coolly. "They sent you home after you agreed to join them?" She wondered what had happened to keep them from experimenting on him as they had done with Barnes. Perhaps they had seen some sort of opening to get a man on the inside that the Sergeant wouldn't have afforded them.
"Yeah, but, Peggy, it wasn't like that," he insisted. "They didn't make me do anything. They weren't trying to destroy the world, they were trying to save it."
Steve snorted disdainfully.
Daniel shot him a glare. "I hardly expect someone who wasn't over there to understand. But, Peg," he said, turning back to look at Peggy. "You were there. You saw how awful that war was. You saw what people are capable of doing to each other. And right on the heels of World War One. Humanity never learns, and if we're not careful, we're going to destroy ourselves. Hydra's trying to bring order to things. To fix it."
Peggy didn't argue his point that the war had been awful, because she'd seen it for herself. She still had nightmares about it. But she still was barely able to hold in a snort of disgust. "You want to talk about war atrocities, Daniel?" she asked. "Do you know what Hydra did during the war?"
"I know what they did then and since," he said. "And it keeps me up a lot of nights, but to change something as big as the entire world? You've got to sacrifice. Get dirty. And if I have to get down in the muck to pull a better world out of it, then I will."
Steve snorted again. "You're crazy."
Daniel shot him a hard look. "I'd think long and hard about your attitude from here on out. You belong to Hydra now, but how good that goes for you is entirely up to you."
Steve opened his mouth to retort, but Peggy cleared her throat. "Leave it, Steve," she said. "You'd just be wasting your breath." She looked coolly back at Daniel. "I don't suppose there's any point in asking where we're going?"
"Nowhere anybody's going to find you," he said with a smile. "Like I said, you belong to Hydra now. We'll go somewhere nice and quiet and out of the way where we can get some work done."
They rode in silence for a few minutes. Peggy was watching their surroundings through the windows, paying attention to where they were going, but she doubted it mattered. They were heading out of town but staying along the river, and she suspected they would shortly be getting on a boat or an aeroplane.
"There's one thing about this that I'm not following," she said. She'd been thinking over what Daniel had said, processing and putting bits together, but there was something that didn't add up. Something that Steve had already spotted when they'd been searching the files. "Dottie and Ivchenko. They're Hydra. But you were actively trying to stop them last summer."
Daniel snorted. "Ivchenko. He was one of our best. And then, out of nowhere, he goes rogue on this crazy revenge vendetta. We're trying to create order and save the world, remember? Slaughtering the entire population of Manhattan doesn't exactly fit into that. Yes, I was trying to stop him."
"And Dottie?"
"You know as well as I do how…persuasive Ivchenko can be. She thought she was doing what Hydra wanted. After it was all over, she and I had to sit down and have a nice long talk to remind her who she really worked for."
Something in the way he said that made Peggy's skin crawl, and she felt a brief flash of pity for Dorothy Underwood.
"But I think you've asked enough questions," he said. "Turn here," he told the driver. They pulled off the main road onto a little dirt drive that led them through a wooded area and opened onto a small landing strip. "Stay in the car," Daniel ordered as he and the driver got out. Seeing as the doors only unlocked from the outside and there were two new men with guns coming to greet Daniel and the driver, Peggy didn't see they had much option.
"Hey, Peggy, I…I'm sorry I talked him into taking you too," Steve said. "I didn't know he was going to hit you and everything, I just, I was afraid he was going to shoot you too." He swallowed hard, and Peggy knew he was thinking of Barnes tumbling into the harbour.
"I know," Peggy said. "It's better this way anyway—it's much easier to get you out of this if I know where you are." She smiled kindly. "And I wouldn't count Barnes out just yet." He'd certainly fallen farther and survived it. It all depended on the bullet, really, and where it had hit him, but there was a great deal of metal on the left side of his chest for Daniel to have hit. Still not good, obviously, but Sergeant James Barnes was proving to be a very difficult man to kill.
Steve nodded. "I know. I just…" He shook his head, closed his eyes and drew in a breath. When he opened his eyes, he seemed a bit steadier. "What's the plan?"
"We're playing it by ear, unfortunately," she said. "Keep your eyes open for any chance to get away, and if I tell you to do something, do it."
Steve smiled. "Don't I always?"
Peggy couldn't help smiling at that, but returned to the topic at hand. "Until that point, try to refrain from arguing with him, and do the best you can to play along."
"What?"
"He knows me too well to underestimate me, but you're an unknown entity. If he thinks you're frightened and beaten, he's going to underestimate you. I know it's not in your nature to just roll over and play dead, but if he's not worried about you, that gives us another card to play."
Steve nodded. "Alright. We could probably use all of those we could get, huh?"
"We could."
"I'll do my best."
"Keep your eyes open for any information that could help us, any opportunity," she went on. "And if you flash on anything, try your best not to let him see it. The less he knows about how it works, the better."
Steve nodded.
"How's your headache from earlier?" she asked.
"Better, but not great," he said. "Is that important?"
"To escaping, no," she said. "I just wanted to know how you were."
He smiled, and opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut when one of Daniel's accomplices pulled the door open and yanked him roughly from the car by his arm. Peggy found herself only slightly more gently removed from the other side, though she nearly lost her footing with her ankles bound. It was clever of Daniel, she had to admit, to think of tying more than just her hands, but it only sent fury boiling up in her chest when her escort picked her up and threw her over his shoulder to carry her into the little shed at the side of the landing strip. She was going to break more of his bones than were necessary when she got free.
She was roughly deposited into a chair once they were inside, and she took the opportunity to fall from the seat as if incorrectly placed and tumble to the ground. In doing so, she managed to lift her bound hands just enough to pull one of the bobby pins from her hair and tuck it down the neck of her shirt and inside her bra before she was hoisted back up and secured to the chair. Steve, playing his part well, was cowering in the corner he'd been thrown into, eyes darting nervously around the room. He caught something that made his eyes do the flashing, fluttering thing, and Peggy spoke a bit more loudly than she otherwise would have, drawing all eyes back to her.
"You know, I seem to remember Hydra being better financed than this," she said, casting a disdainful eye around the room. It was a plain, wooden shed with a single light bulb dangling from a string overhead, though there was a table of radio equipment that was probably far more sophisticated than it looked.
Daniel sighed and rolled his eyes, not being drawn into the argument, but he turned his attention to the man by the radio, so her plan to keep eyes off of Steve worked. "Plane almost here?"
"Ten minutes, sir," the man replied.
Daniel nodded, walked around Peggy, and pulled up a crate to sit down in front of Steve, setting down a small messenger bag he'd brought in from the car next to him, and laying his crutch across his lap. "Well, since we have a few minutes…" He smiled a smile that was not very friendly at all at Steve. "Why don't you tell me about yourself, Mr. Rogers?" He lifted his crutch and poked at the side of Steve's head. "How does all that work?"
"I don't know," Steve said quietly. "I just see things. I can't control it."
"No? Well, that's too bad. That means our techs are going to have to try even harder to dig all that information out. They've had some sort of machine cooked up since we heard Erskine made the database, and I gotta tell you, it doesn't look pretty. I'd hate to see what it could do to a guy like you—you don't look all that sturdy." As if to prove his point, Daniel shoved the foot of his crutch into Steve's chest and pushed, making him wince and wheeze.
"So, you can't control it," Daniel said. "But you must get something out of it sometime. You think I don't know what Thompson had the boys digging around for today? How did you know about that?"
"It just came to me," Steve said. "Honest."
"So, how does Carter fit into all of this?" he pressed. Steve swallowed and didn't answer and Daniel pulled his crutch back up and whacked him in the side of the head. Steve whimpered, and, given the headache she knew he still had, Peggy didn't think it was all acting.
"Daniel, stop it!" she said.
"Here's how this is going to work," Daniel said, ignoring her. He leaned forward and grabbed Steve's chin in his hand, forcing him to look up at him. "You answer my questions, you don't get hurt. You answer enough questions, I put in a good word for you when we get to where we're going, and you don't spend the rest of your life chained up in a dark hole with wires sticking out of your head. Sound good?"
Peggy caught Steve's eye over Daniel's shoulder and nodded minutely, reminding him to play along.
"Okay," Steve whispered.
"Okay," Daniel said, sitting back. "How does Carter fit into all of this?"
Seeing as her fitting into things had been a complete fabrication to keep her from getting shot, Peggy did wonder what he was going to say.
"She knows what it means," Steve said. "The things I see. When I tell her what I see, she knows what the things are and asks questions, and it makes me see more. Without that…It's just noise flashing through my head, and then it just goes."
"How long have you known about me?"
"Just today."
"Who else knows?"
Steve hesitated, and Daniel hit him again.
"I'm sorry!" Steve said. "I'm sorry! Nobody knows. Nobody you don't already have."
"What about Stark? His butler was helping you."
Steve shook his head. "He never comes out of the lab. I don't think he knew we even left today."
"What else do you know about Hydra?"
"Too much," Steve breathed, and he curled into an even smaller ball and wrapped his arms over his head. "Too much," he said again, a waver in his voice, and Peggy couldn't help being impressed at how artfully that was done.
Daniel shook his head in contempt as Steve started rocking back and forth and stood back up. "Wow. They picked a real winner with you."
"Plane's landing, sir," said the man at the radio.
"Good," Daniel said. He stalked outside. Two of the guards followed him, leaving only one and the radio operator behind.
Through the window, Peggy could see the lights of a landing plane. She cast a quick eye over at Steve, who was peeking cautiously out from behind his arms. Seeing that the guard was watching the door and the radio operator was busy with his equipment, Steve rolled carefully forward, snaked his bound hands into Daniel's bag, and after a few seconds of groping around, pulled something out and stuffed it inside his shirt before returning to his terrified huddle. Peggy didn't see what it was he grabbed, but that was an impressive move.
Three gunshots suddenly rang out from the landing strip, making everyone in the shed jump. The guard and the radio operator snapped to attention, looking questioningly at Daniel when he came in, and he shot them too, each one right between the eyes.
"Can't have any witnesses," Daniel said in response to Steve's startled yelp. "Little guy is way too important for that." He reached down and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, jabbed Steve roughly in the gut with the foot of his crutch and barked, "Up!", then turned his gun on Peggy. "Come over here and untie her feet," he ordered. "I'll shoot her in the head if either of you put a toe out of line," he added, almost as an afterthought.
Nervously, Steve crept forward and untied Peggy's feet, then, at Daniel's order, uncuffed her wrists from the chair and cuffed them back together. He looked up at her as though he wanted to cry, and Peggy hoped the way she was looking at him told him she didn't blame him for having to do this.
Daniel walked them all out to the plane, far enough behind Peggy that she couldn't whirl around to attack him, but close enough to ensure a head shot, the threat of which kept Steve from making any trouble. They climbed up and into the plane, and Daniel had Steve loop Peggy's cuffs around a bar in the back of the plane before taking off.
"Peggy, I'm sorry," Steve whispered over the roar of the engine.
"Don't be," she assured him. "I've been able to get out of handcuffs since before I joined the S.S.R. Quiet, now," she said as Daniel turned back to look at them.
It was a risky move, taking out all his backup, but Peggy knew Daniel was a competent agent (even if he was a traitor), and overpowering one of him would be plenty of a challenge. It evened their odds, certainly, but he still had the upper hand. She spent some time familiarizing herself with the interior of the small plane. Daniel had planned this well—there was nothing that wasn't strapped down that she could use as a weapon, and there was just enough distance between the two of them and him that he would have time to get his gun up if she charged him. The distance worked to their advantage too, though. They were far enough back that small movements could be more easily concealed—something she noticed Steve was taking advantage of. He remained in his small, frightened-looking huddle with his knees drawn up to his chest, but concealed behind them was a small hardcover notebook that seemed to be what he had pulled from Daniel's bag. He was scanning it quickly, his eyes fluttering as they did when he flashed on something.
"What's the matter with him?" Daniel asked, casting another sharp glance behind him.
"He gets airsick," Peggy replied. "I don't suppose you've got a first aid kit on board?"
Daniel huffed a laugh. "Not one I'm letting you anywhere near. We're not going far. He can deal with it for another hour."
Good; so, she had an hour to make her move. "Well, don't blame me then if he's sick all over the floor."
Daniel didn't respond and returned his attention to the controls, though he continued to cast frequent glances at his prisoners. Peggy timed them, finding a fairly regular rhythm to the motion and surmising she would have about thirty seconds to make her move. She looked down at Steve and noted with concern that blood was dripping from his nose. "Steve?" she whispered.
"Wearin' thin for th' job," he said a bit thickly. He flipped a page and paused as he flashed on something else. "S'important. I c'n do this all day." His eyes scanned farther down the page and fluttered again as his head rolled slightly on his neck.
Peggy nodded a bit worriedly—Steve was trusting her to get him out of this, so she could trust him to do his job—and returned to her timing of Daniel's movements and her scanning of the plane. She spotted where the parachutes were, and spent some time studying the door and which way everything opened for a fast exit.
They'd been in the air for about half an hour, and Daniel seemed to have relaxed a bit as the flight had carried on without incident. He was looking back at them less now, and Peggy decided now was the time to make her move, before they got too close to their destination and he went back on alert.
"Steve?" she whispered.
He looked up from the book, blinking blearily as though having trouble pulling her into focus. "Peggy?" he asked.
"Steve, are you alright?"
"Head's killing me," he admitted. "'m done, though. Last page."
"Good. Because we're getting out of here."
He looked around, as if confirming they were still in the plane. "We're gonna hafta jump again, aren't we?"
She couldn't help a small smile at that. "I'm afraid so."
He nodded. "What do I need to do?"
"Reach up quickly and pull the clip out of my hair. It's sharp on one side," she added as he did so. She had several alligator clips like this one that Ana Jarvis had designed and Howard put together, and she wore them frequently as they had a tendency to be overlooked when one was being searched for weapons. "Keep your hands hidden like you were with the book and use it to cut the ropes off your wrists."
It took him a few tries to figure out how to hold it at the right angle to free his own wrists, but he managed. "What now?"
She nodded to where the parachutes were stored. "When I go for Daniel, you go that way. Pull the parachutes out, strap yourself into one, and get the other one out for me. Then stay out of the way."
"Yes, Ma'am." He looked at her curiously. "How are you going to get up there if you're chained to the wall?"
"After all this time, have you no faith in me, Steve?" she teased.
He didn't play along. "I've got all kinds of faith in you," he said seriously. "I'm just curious."
She smiled back. "Watch and learn." She waited until Daniel looked back at them again, and then as soon as his head was turned away, she leaned forward and shifted her hands, pulling the cuffs around enough to allow one hand to reach down into her shirt and retrieve the bobby pin. She undid the cuff around one wrist and slid it quickly and quietly free from the wall. She gripped the cuff tightly in her hand, took a deep breath, and threw herself forward.
Daniel was fast enough to see her coming, but she was fast enough to get there before he got his gun up. She flung out the chain of the cuffs and tried to catch him around the neck, but he ducked, punching her in the side and rolling away. The plane lurched as he did so, and Peggy rolled with it and kicked his crutch towards the back of the plane before he could grab it. He punched her in the stomach and she grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the control panel. Blood dripping from his nose, he lunged back up and took a shot at her, and Peggy felt it graze her side before clanging into the wall of the plane. He threw himself at her with the lurching of the plane, careening forward and pinning her to the wall. Gravity and his larger mass made him difficult to push off, and he wrapped his hands around her neck. She kicked viciously at his stomach and legs, and though her knee to his groin made the air leave him in a whoosh, he stubbornly held on.
Peggy gasped for air, then saw a flash of metal as the leg of Daniel's crutch came swinging through the air to crash into the side of his head. He staggered to the floor and Steve scuttled back out of the way, fortunately having the wherewithal to take the crutch with him and keep it out of Daniel's reach. Peggy lunged forward as Daniel was picking himself up off the ground and swung the chain between the cuffs around his neck, getting it in place this time and catching the empty cuff with her free hand. She pulled tightly against his windpipe, holding on for a few more seconds after he stopped struggling to make sure he was unconscious.
"If we weren't about to crash, I would have some very strong words for you about staying out of the way," Peggy told Steve, grabbing the parachute he was holding out to her and slipping it on. "Remind me to shout at you when we land."
Steve merely grinned and saluted, and Peggy rolled her eyes as she fastened the last strap of her parachute, grabbed one of the radios, and stepped towards the door. "You remember how to do this?" she asked, looking over Steve and making sure he was buckled in correctly. He nodded, and she tugged the door open, sending howling wind through the cabin. She looked out, wrapped her hand around Steve's arm, and yanked him out of the plane behind her as she jumped.
The night air whipped by them as they plunged into darkness. Distantly, Peggy was aware of the lights of the descending aircraft disappearing into the clouds above them. She couldn't see much of Steve, but she could tell he was there, and close enough that hopefully her voice would carry over the wind. "Pull!" she yelled. She didn't know how much altitude they had lost before they jumped, and needing two thousand feet for the parachutes to open properly, sooner was definitely better than later.
They yanked on the cords of the parachutes, and as they got closer to the ground, Peggy could see that they were thankfully over land, and high enough up to prevent too jarring a crash.
Peggy kept her feet as they hit the ground, though Steve tumbled to the ground as he landed several feet away. Peggy took off her parachute quickly, and was relieved and a little bit amused to see him struggling to get out from underneath his. Eventually he came free, and she held out a hand to help him to his feet.
"Alright?" she asked.
"I must be getting used to this stuff," he said with a grin. "I don't feel like puking at all."
"Good," she said with a smile. She stared at him for a long moment, then, with a sudden surge of adrenaline and the feeling she should have done this long ago, she grabbed his face in her hands, pulled him forward, and kissed him.
"I thought you were gonna yell at me," he said with a dazed grin when she pulled back.
"I can do that later," she said. "This, I should have done earlier."
"I'll say," Steve agreed. He leaned towards her, a bit hesitantly, like he was worried he was pushing his luck, but Peggy leaned the rest of the way and met him in the middle. He weaved one hand up into her hair to cup the back of her head as he kissed her, and, yes, they really should have started doing this earlier.
They stopped when Steve seemed to be getting a bit short of breath, and for a long moment they simply stood there in the moonlight. "Wow," Steve breathed, looking down at their clasped hands.
"I'll say," Peggy replied, echoing his words and eliciting a delighted smile from him. She did love the way he smiled.
"Is this, I mean, this is really…" he began. "This isn't just some wow-we're-alive adrenaline thing is it?" he asked.
"Not for me," Peggy replied.
His smile grew even more delighted. "Me neither," he said. "Peggy, I…" He shook his head in amazed bewilderment. "Peggy, I love you."
Now it was her turn to smile in delight. "I love you too, Steve." She kissed him gently. "You are the most…surprising, wonderful person I've ever met. My life hasn't been the same since you appeared in it, and I'm terribly glad."
He was smiling at her in wonder. "Really?" he breathed. "I…" He huffed a laugh. "I was gonna say the same thing about you. I'd've never thought my life getting flipped upside down would lead to me meeting someone so…amazing."
He leaned forward again, no hesitation this time, and kissed her warmly. She kissed him back, and it was only as the radio knocked against her hip that she remembered they weren't quite finished yet. She pulled away reluctantly.
"I suppose we'd better check on the others."
"Right," Steve agreed a bit breathlessly.
Peggy spent a few minutes trying to tune the radio by moonlight, then was rewarded with a burst of static. "Howard?" she said. "Howard, are you there?"
"Peggy!" Howard's delighted voice broke through. "Hey, you're alright! I told you!" he added to someone in the background.
There was a scuffling sound, then a new voice came on the line. "Carter, are you and Steve okay?"
"Bucky!" Steve exclaimed happily.
"Hey, Stevie," Barnes greeted warmly. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Steve said. "I'm…" He looked up at Peggy and grinned. "I'm great." He turned back to the radio. "Are you alright? I saw him shoot you, and—"
"I'm fine," Barnes assured him. "I could tell a shot was coming, so I turned just enough that the bullet caught me in the shoulder. The metal one," he elaborated. "There was a lot of blood, and it shorted out a few of the wires, but Stark says he'll have it good as new tomorrow."
"And Thompson and Mr. Jarvis?" Peggy asked.
"I was wondering if you were going to ask," Thompson said. "Yeah, Barnes swam around to the warehouse and took out the guys holding me and Jarvis. We're good. What about Sousa?"
"I imagine he's dead," Peggy said. "But it would be prudent to check wherever the plane went down for a body."
They spent a few minutes working out where she and Steve were, and after consulting some maps, told her and Steve to wait by the road while Barnes and Thompson came to get them.
The road wasn't far away, and once they reached it, they found a fallen log and dragged it over to sit on, near enough to a streetlamp to give them visibility, but in the shadow enough to give them some cover.
"So what was in that book you were reading?" Peggy asked after they sat down. She picked up one of Steve's hands in hers and twined her fingers through his. "And how's your head?"
"Well, it's gone down from incessant pounding to a steady throbbing, so, getting better," Steve said. "Adrenaline's helping. And, you know…" he added, nodding down at their intertwined hands with a smile.
"I'm glad of that," Peggy said, squeezing his hand. "But once we get somewhere safe, you're going to be taking a great deal of medicine and sleeping for a very long time."
"No arguing from me," he said.
"What about the book?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah," he said. He grinned broadly. "Oh, Peggy, we got 'em. I figured he had to have something important in the bag he wanted to bring to the super-secret facility, but that book was the jackpot!"
"What was in it?"
"What do you need?" he asked. "Arena Club members? I've got names, addresses, and the dirt that would get them legally arrested. You want Dottie Underwood's safehouses? I've got twenty-four of 'em. Hydra senators? Check. Congress members? Check. F.B.I., C.I.A. and S.S.R. double-agents? Got it, got it, and got it. I could tell you who's Hydra in Parliament and Moscow. You want actors? Mob bosses? Elementary teachers and Air Force pilots?" He pointed to the sides of his head triumphantly. "I got 'em all."
Peggy gaped at him and he grinned even wider, clearly pleased with what he'd discovered.
"It would seem our friend, Mr. Sousa," he went on. "Was important enough to know who all the key players were and what they were up to. I mean, he didn't write that all down, obviously, but some names and codes just to help himself remember things, but that's all I needed."
A smile stretched across Peggy's face. "Steve, you're brilliant." She grabbed him and kissed him hard enough to make him squeak in surprise, and it was several minutes later before they came up for air. "Do you know what this means?"
"It means that by the time the election comes around next year, we oughta have this thing under control," he said happily.
"Exactly," she said, and kissed him again. There was a lot of work to be done yet, of course, but with this new information, they were miles ahead.
They sat there and talked about it all for the next hour until Jack and Barnes arrived. It grew cooler as the night drew on, and they shifted closer together on their log. Steve fit very comfortably against Peggy's side, and she'd been right before, it was very pleasant to do this under non-perilous circumstances.
The car finally pulled up, and Peggy greeted Barnes's raised eyebrow at how close they were sitting with one of her own, daring him to comment. He merely chuckled and nodded and elbowed Steve in the shoulder, making him blush. They got in and headed for home, filling in their comrades on what had happened since they'd left them by the harbour and on Steve's new discovery.
Jack let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Tell you what, Rogers, how set are you on going back to your museum job?"
"What?"
"The S.S.R. could use a guy like you."
Steve's mouth dropped open. "You want me to be a secret agent?"
"It's a desk job," Thompson clarified. "But, yeah." He looked into the rearview mirror and caught Peggy's eye. "And since my best agent is assigned to your protection indefinitely, getting you in my office gets her back too."
Peggy smiled warmly at Jack's declaration, though she arched an eyebrow at him. "You think flattery will get you anywhere, Chief Thompson?"
Jack chuckled, then looked over at Barnes. "You in? I've got an opening in my department—I don't think Sousa's going to need his desk anymore."
Barnes turned to look into the back seat at Steve and Peggy. "Yeah, may as well. You're gonna need all the help you can get."
"Oh, really?" Peggy replied.
Barnes smirked. "I was talking to Thompson."
Steve laughed and Thompson reached over and clapped Barnes on his uninjured shoulder, declaring him to be alright, and Peggy rolled her eyes. It would seem as though her life wasn't going to start getting dull any time soon.
As the conversation died away, Peggy found the combination of the stillness and the ending of a terribly long day settling a contented drowsiness over her. Steve had dropped off not long ago, slowly slumping over until his head rested on Peggy's shoulder. Deciding it was too dark for Jack to see them anyway with his eyes on the road, Peggy shifted so he could lean more comfortably on her and slipped an arm around his waist. If Barnes saw anything, he said nothing, and Peggy smiled and rested her head against the window.
That's it for the Bodyguard AU!
Next up, another TV show AU as Steve and Peggy drop into the Once Upon A Time universe and try to navigate their way through the Evil Queen's curse.
