SPOILERS for Civil War from here on in, folks. You have been warned.

"…We just thought that you would want to know. Mr Souza has informed us that the funeral will be on Friday, I can email you the details."

Eva stared unseeingly at the wall of the apartment. "Yes, please," she said, unaware of Rachel Carson bumping her head against her shins to get her attention. "Thank you telling me."

"It was no problem. We at the home were aware of the bond that you two had, and thought you would want to be told directly. My condolences, Miss Kresk."

Eva nodded, and hung up. There was a second or two of hanging silence, and then she flung her mobile against the wall with a scream. Rachel Carson bolted to the balcony and out to freedom with a yowl, and Eva sunk to her knees in her kitchen, shivering fingers going straight for the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink. Right at the back, hidden behind the fire bucket, a cheap and nasty bottle of vodka waited.

Peggy was dead. Nothing else mattered. The alcohol stung on its way down, making her eyes water, but she was crying anyway. She slumped back against the far wall, staring at the shattered remains of her phone, before curling up into a ball and screaming again, like a deer with its leg in a bear trap. Peggy was dead, and there was going to be a funeral on Friday. Mr Souza had wanted her to know. Peggy was dead. The superheroes were turning against each other, and Peggy was dead. She was alone with a bottle, and lovely, brave, good Peggy Carter with the stories and the accent and the unbendable pride was dead, and the world might as well have been over. She took another gulp of alcohol and sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself until they hurt like vices. She sat and wept until the world was salt water and grief.

"Eva?"

"Go away!"

"Eva, please." He sounded so calm. How dare he sound so calm?

"The door's locked!" she yelled, "go away!"

There was a pause, the soft shimmering noise that was unique to the action of someone going temporarily intangible, footsteps, and then Vision was kneeling in front of her. "You really thought a locked door was going to stop me? I am not leaving you," he told her, and she hugged the vodka bottle tighter to her chest.

"You know?" she asked, and shook her head. Of course he knew. Why else would he be here? "She wasn't supposed to die! But now she is! She's dead, V!" She gasped for air and upended the bottle until her head spun. "And now I have to go to her god damn funeral and I don't want to, I don't want to go, but I have to!"

"I'm sure they would understand if –"

"It doesn't matter what they think! It's not fair! How come she has to die when I get to live and I'm not even worth anything!"

"Eva –"

"Don't!" She stormed away, unable to look at him. "Don't make excuses for me! It's a human thing, Vision. Don't even bother. How the hell would you understand?"

She slammed the door of her bedroom behind her and collapsed face down onto the bed.

What did you say that for, you idiot? Peggy would be ashamed.

Oh, if only her brain hadn't turned against her and whispered that little thought. Dropping the bottle, clear liquid spilling across the threadbare carpet, she ran out of her bedroom and met Vision in the centre of her apartment, flinging her arms around his neck and noticing how he didn't even hesitate before hugging her back.

"I didn't mean it," she whispered, "Vision, I didn't…"

"It's quite alright," he murmured. "Oh, Eva. I am so sorry."

She broke down onto his shoulder. Peggy was dead, and she was not, but her best friend was here with steady arms and a soft voice. That mattered.

%

She woke up in a nest of bedclothes and a state of hungoveredness. When she managed to get her head free, she saw Vision sat cross-legged at the foot of her bed, reading Gulliver's Travels. He looked up, gave her a small smile and nodded at the bedside table, where a crystal-cold glass of water was waiting. She drained half the glass, spilling it a little, and sat up.

"Are you awake?" he asked her, and she nodded.

"Vision, I –"

"Me first." He closed the book, turned to face her and gave her a serious look. "You are not worthless, Eva Kresk. You deserve to live. And the next time you feel the need to drink, you call me."

"I broke my phone," she mumbled.

"The apartment next door has a phone. The apartment across the floor has a phone. There is a payphone at the bottom of this block, and I know you know my number. No excuses." He held out his hand with the smallest finger extended. "Do we have a deal?"

She paused, then shook her hand free from her duvet and wrapped her pinky around his. "Deal."

"Excellent. And you were right, last night. I do not understand why you need to go to the funeral. Not if you are as upset as this."

"No! No, I need to go." And she needed to make him understand why, too. "I owe it to her. It's the same reason you came here to see if I was… it's a duty." She looked down at her extended arm, bare and pale except for the tattoos, which she counted now. Tree roots from her shoulder, spilling down to her elbow and interwoven with flowers. Below the joint were the circuit lines, all the way to her wrist, and on the back of her palm there was a flickering campfire, trapped in ink where it could not damage anything or set off her fire alarm. "ARBO" was spelt out across her fingers, one half of the Latin word for tree; "REUM" was on the other hand. They were as much a part of her as the blood that ran through her veins, and they had kept her alive like the drinking and the fire-setting had.

"You're really mad at me," she said quietly, "aren't you?"

"Just a little." His hand took hers; a uniform dark red, synthetic and perfect. "But no matter how many times you think you have failed, Eva, I am your friend, and I will be here for you. Did you love her?"

"Yeah." The pain would become bearable; she would learn not to cry, she knew. She would have to. "Steve'll be there. It's in London, he'll probably let me go if I ask. It's gonna be horrible. They always are, funerals. I had to go to a great-aunt's once, when I was a kid. Barely knew her. Only time I saw my mom cry, and then my dad yelled at me when I didn't, and then obviously I did start crying, and I ran off, right in the middle of the ceremony. Everyone was staring. I got into so much trouble."

"You are smiling, Eva Kresk."

She hid her lower face with a pillow. "No, I'm not! You're smiling!"

He laughed, and she dropped the pillow. "Thanks for not hating me."

"I could never manage such a thing. Now go and shower, Eva Kresk. You have a world to face and your worth to prove."

"No, I don't," she said, stumbling out of the bedsheets.

"Know your value, Eva. It is no small amount."

A/N *slides my last £20 note over to the Marvel execs* "this is for you if you renew Agent Carter on Netflix". Seriously, they could cancel the MCU movie line-up up to and including Infinity Wars, and I would be less upset than I was about Agent Carter. I JUST... I LOVE PEGGY CARTER SO MUCH. IN A PLATONIC WAY AND A GAY WAY. (I'm also trying to make this A/N funny because I am distinctly aware that this is a very sad chapter and I am sorry)