A/N:I decided to use this chapter to acknowledge all the canon at once before I can move on with the actual story. Don't worry, Romanoff is going to show up in a later chapter. I admit, this one's a bit weaker than the first two, but really only if you haven't seen the movie or the Marvel One-Shot. If you haven't, do it, they're both great.
1/5/46
Steve,
Last night was...eventful, to say the least, so I'll try to word what happened as plainly as possible.
The SSR office received a tip regarding "Zodiac" yesterday afternoon, and of course, we didn't catch him. Agent Flynn kept me working after hours for some menial office work, when another tip came in. I was the only one in the whole bloody building, so I went after "Zodiac".
The tip I received led me to a warehouse in the Bronx. There were two men on the outside, and one in the office. I dispatched them with ease. The man working in the office told me there were four men, including Zodiac, but he must have missed a day in primary (sorry, elementary) school, because there were, in fact, five. The last one was a big fellow, reminded me of someone I knew back when I was just starting out in the SSR.
But, naturally, when I reported back, I was berated by Flynn, the misogynist bastard. He reminded me of protocol and all that, but we all really knew he wouldn't have said anything if I was a man. But right in the middle of that, he received a phone call from our good friend Howard Stark. With great exasperation, Agent Flynn told me it was his honor to inform me that I was to run SHIELD with Howard Stark.
So, we'll see where that takes me.
I'm honestly surprised neither of us were disavowed. Naturally, Stark and Erskine heard about what happened (as well as a few of the higher-ups), and immediately put Brick on probation. I sat outside the executive office, waiting for my turn. He came out looking constipated, and I saw a few of the interns nearly drop their coffee mugs when they saw him. He looked sort of like an angry mountain. He gave me what I perceived to be a death glare as he walked away. I returned the favor, not blinking once. He didn't have the right to be angry. He wasn't the one society perceived as something to be rescued or captured.
Once again, I sat on one side, and Erskine/Stark sat on the other. Howard had a drink in his hand, and Erskine had my file open on the table. He looked up at me and smiled.
"Well...this is familiar, eh, fraulein?"
"Yes, I suppose." To myself, I sounded mechanical and bitter. I can only assume Erskine got the same impression, because he sobered up and Stark drained his glass.
"I suppose you know why you're here."
"Yes, I do."
"Well, then, judging from yours and Agent Marconi's reports, I see we have every reason to remove both of you from active duty."
I had suspected he would say something to that effect, but that didn't make it sting any less. I clenched to keep my posture.
"I see."
"Do...you have any defence regarding your actions?"
"No, sir. I still maintain that I am in the right. I had the situation in hand, and Brick-er, Agent Marconi completely flubbed the operation of his own accord."
"Yes, you said so in your report."
"So why are you asking me again?" The words tasted bitter coming out of my mouth, like insubordination, but I felt as if I deserved it in some respects. I had been wronged, and the universe owed me some recompense.
"Because, Agent Carter, we wanted to make sure."
I could feel the muscles in my neck squeeze together ever so slightly as I compulsively tilted my head in response.
"Make no mistake, protocol dictates that you be taken off the active duty list, but in reality, you're simply being transferred."
"To where?"
Erskine's eyes smiled for his mouth.
"My department."
And the rest, as one might say, is history. I met Steven Rogers in 1943, just before my twenty-eighth birthday, and I wasn't impressed, at first. But that doesn't make me any different from anyone else who only knew him with their eyes. Erskine was practically in love with him. He made such a grand effort to make sure that everyone else understood how perfect Steven was for his "Super Soldier Program".
When he and Howard explained to me what the program entailed, I remember thinking it was a load of rubbish. Then again, I wasn't exactly in the best of moods, so the idea took some time to grow on me.
And so did Steve. He had such a genuine way about him, as if he were something utterly and irrevocably good-hearted. It took some time, but I finally saw what Erskine was going on about.
And I truly think that he died for someone he believed in. After the HYDRA agent came forward, we all blamed ourselves for not weeding him out before it was too late, myself included.
But there was still a war on, damn it. That tosser, Senator Brandt, sent Steve off to collect war bonds. Bloody war bonds, when there are millions of people dying, and the Allies have the key to ending the war sitting in their lap. I wasn't the only one who felt that way, of course. Steve, Howard, Colonel Phillips, we all felt like we'd cheated Doctor Erskine's ghost out of his dream.
Fortunately, things didn't stay that way. Steve rescued Sergeant Barnes' squadron from a POW camp behind enemy lines, and the Army finally realized what they were doing wrong.
The year 1944 was a good one. We were all doing good work, finally. Steve was in his prime, and so we all were.
Once, between missions, I caught some private attempting to seduce Steve, and in retrospect, I may have overreacted a bit. In my heart of hearts, I knew he didn't mean to hurt my feelings.
Rogers and his team raided a HYDRA train, and we were able to capture Arnim Zola. Unfortunately, Sergeant Barnes was lost in the mission. Steve was devastated, and I felt awful for not being able to do anything except pat him on the shoulder and go back to work.
Using information we extracted from Zola, the final HYDRA stronghold was located, and Rogers confronted Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull. I remember seeing Steve board the plane and wishing I was on there with him. But Colonel Phillips convinced me I was better off on the ground, as if he knew Steve would be gone by the end of this mission.
And he was. I felt as if I was standing still on the edge of a cliff while every man I'd ever loved was falling off the edge. I sat at the radio for at least ten minutes after Steve's end went silent. Howard finally pulled me away. We went into an empty conference room, and he poured us both a drink. His hands were shaking, and there were tears in his eyes. Eventually, we both broke down into angry, stifled tears, crying into the other's shoulder. I hated myself for being weak again. I'm sure he felt the same way.
In 1945, the war was won, but to Howard and I, it was just another day without Steve. He took to drinking even harder, and often times, I couldn't reach him for days. I still had a job with the SSR, although after the war, things mostly involved cleanup and filing. I didn't have another field assignment until 1946. I began living in Brooklyn, and the dust in the world seemed to settle.
After the "Zodiac" incident, I went to work at SHIELD with Howard, and it was certainly an exhausting job. The organization was still in its infancy, but we knew we were doing good work again. And that's all that mattered.
But the pangs of loneliness were still there. As the months went on, I began to think seriously about getting married, often with short staccato bursts of awareness directed at my own stupidity. I was pushing thirty, single, and completely devoted to my job.
Once, at the end of the day, I was approached by a conventionally handsome young man, and he asked if he could take me out for a drink sometime. I recognized him from my days in the SSR as one of Flynn's "golden boys", and figured he'd been transferred to SHIELD as well. I took care to decline as politely as I could, and he nodded, looking crestfallen, then walked out the office door. I heard him whisper "frigid bitch", but I pretended not to hear.
Although that's not to say I didn't have friends. Howard, Sergeant Dugan, and I often had dinner delivered directly to the office on late nights, and we shared many a laugh and a good story. Inwardly, I often marveled at how different the three of us were, and how well we got along.
But I still wished Steve was there. Whenever Howard was away looking for him in the ice, and it was just Dugan and I, we wished Howard was there, too. We shared quiet drinks and shuffled on home when we realized there was nothing left to say. More than once, I missed the war. To me, the war meant Steve, the work, Michael, Father, and everything else I'd lost. But life went on, as it always does. The dust always settles, no matter how bad it gets and how much you don't want it to.
