(A/N: This one's a tad shorter than the rest, sorry about that. I won't be updating as frequently for a while, I'll be starting rehearsal for a musical next week, so I'll be busy during the day. Besides, I feel like we're sort of coming up on the end. Not quite, though.)

14/2/55

Steve,

I would have written sooner, but I've had the most unbelievable few days.

On the twelfth, when I returned from England, there were two men from the CIA outside my apartment door, waiting for me. Naturally, they wouldn't say why they were there or what the CIA wanted with me, but I submitted nonetheless. On the drive there, we were caught in traffic outside SHIELD HQ, and the building exploded.

Afterwards, they took me to a safe house, and told me to await further instructions. Yesterday, I received a telegram from Howard, saying he would be coming by to see me. I do hope he'll be able to shed some light (if any) on just what the hell is going on.

And I do hope he's alright.

As soon as the pen dotted the period, I heard a knock on the door. Slowly, I stood, holding a Walther PPK behind my back, and drew closer to the door.

"Who is it?"

"Just open the damn door, Peggy." I chuckled from relief as I opened the door and recognized the unmistakable moustache of Howard Stark. He came in and closed the door behind me, then embraced me, very suddenly.

I could tell he was very grateful to see me. He pulled away, and as I noted tears in his eyes, he cleared his throat.

"It's, uh...it's Dugan."

My throat tightened.

"They found him in the basement. We're guessing he tried to fight off the bomber, but…" He shook his head, then went into the kitchen. I sat on a chair and held my face in my hands, gritting my teeth to hold back tears. The gun clattered away from my grip. Every memory I had of Sergeant Dugan flooded in at once, from when we first met after Steve rescued him, to seeing him for the last time in the break room, munching on a bagel. God, if I had known that would have been our last conversation...

"Haven't you got any booze in the place?" Howard's voice startled me all the way from the kitchen, and I cleared my throat.

"It's a bloody safe house, Howard." He shuffled back into the living room with two glasses in hand and set his coat on the sofa.

"Yeah, well, good thing for you, I always bring my own."

As he poured the drinks his hip flask, I stared at him, and ten years of concern furrowed my brow.

"Howard, do you think...you might have a bit of a problem?"

He screwed the top of his flask closed and handed me a glass. Our fingers touched, but neither of us paid any mind.

He held the glass to his mouth and paused to answer me.

"No." Then he swallowed the lot in one gulp and winced. I set mine on the table. The Walther was facing away from it. He cleared his throat again.

"Then again, if you consider the fact that the Headquarters of a top-secret espionage organization that the two of us are supposed to be handling, just went up in smoke a few days ago and nobody knows why, then I wouldn't say I don't have a problem." I didn't reply, he just kept staring at his own empty glass. Then, I downed my own, and it was roughly the equivalent to how I imagined swallowing paint thinner would be. I coughed, then he chuckled.

"You act like this is your first drink." I chuckled, knowing full well it wasn't.

"...Why are you here, Howard?" He sobered up at that (not literally, of course).

"I've gotten word that some folks from up high will be coming down to see you soon. Maybe today, I don't know. And...I needed to make sure you were alright." I wasn't surprised, but still felt warm towards him for saying it out loud.

"Thank you, Howard."

There was an awkward silence, and it was thankfully interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Peggy Carter?" The voice sounded gruff and official. Howard and I both stood and looked at each other. Then I went to open the door. Three men in dark suits walked in, all holding suitcases. They looked like your typical G-Men.

"Miss Carter, if you could please have a seat." They gestured to the couch, so I sat. Then they turned their attention to Howard.

"Mr. Stark, we're gonna have to ask you to leave." He looked at the men, then at myself. He smiled at me, then picked up his coat.

"Well, I guess that means I better be off then." Then he went outside and shut the door behind him. I suddenly began to recall my feelings of outrage at the American government. Before I could voice my thoughts, one of the men started speaking.

"Miss Carter, what we're about to tell you is classified, and we're going to tell you what's happened in the order it happened as best we can." He opened his suitcase and took out a reel-to-reel sound recorder. Then he turned it on. As it spun, I stared, never meeting any of their eyes, although I could feel them resting on me.

"At approximately three o'clock in the afternoon on February tenth, we received an anonymous tip stating that you were affiliated with the Communist Party." Before I could protest, he pulled a few photos out of his briefcase of myself and Howard Stark drinking together back when SHIELD was in its infancy.

"What is the nature of your relationship with Howard Stark?"

"What's any of this got to do with Howard?"

"That's classified."

"He's no Communist, I assure you."

"We have evidence to the contrary."

"Show me."

"That's classified."

"Then I'm not saying anything." He sighed and rubbed his temples.

"There's more to it. We received word from the same source that you were planning to bomb SHIELD HQ on the twelfth. But once we looked into it, we found out that you weren't the culprit at all.

"Who was?" He pulled a file out of his suitcase and handed it to me. I opened it, and paper clipped to a field report was a photo of the same red-haired girl that I'd seen walking out of HQ and as I left on the tenth.

"Natasha Romanoff."

"The KGB's top operative. We've been calling her 'The Black Widow.'"

"She doesn't look any older than eighteen. Seventeen, even."

"We know." I looked over the file. She'd been seen in Manhattan, Los Angeles, Hong Kong, Paris, all the major cities. I remembered watching the building burst into flames, with concrete falling onto the streets, and Howard telling me about Dugan.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Since the loss of SHIELD HQ, we're shuffling all the operatives to other agencies until we can repair the damage made. We think that, given your nationality and experience, you should be transferred to MI6."

"What?"

"Until further notice."

I gritted my teeth and frowned.

"That's absurd."

"Those are your orders, Agent." I exhaled and glared at all three of the men.

"When do I start?"

"Immediately. Your jet leaves in an hour from JFK." He pulled a large manila envelope from his briefcase and handed it to me. The whole thing felt so painfully familiar.

"Yes, sir." He closed the briefcase and held his hand out for me to shake. I took it.

"The United States government thanks your for your service, miss." Then they all left, single-file, out the door. I stood up and folded the letter to Steve before putting in an envelope, then in my coat pocket. I began to pack, and as I did, I began to hope that, by working with MI6, I could track down this "Black Widow" and bring her to justice. I told myself it was what Steve would have done, and I didn't bother for one second to think I was wrong.