author's note: Warning for attempted rape in this chapter. I have very much brushed over it.

In Bloom
6.

To Angie's pleasant surprise, Howard is not that bad of an actor. Despite being an infamous genius, his uniform covers his true identity, and he's allowed through the hospital, Angie in custody. Every time she takes a step forward, she can feel the gun in her pocket, tapping against her upper thigh. It's disconcerting, but also incredibly thrilling. For the first time in her life, Angie feels quite powerful. Yet she's aware that she is, indeed, outnumbered.

Neither she or Howard will be firing bullets anytime soon. A few men guard the entrance, hoping their target might miraculously appear and they can shoot her on the spot. Howard escorts Angie passed several wards, and once they're in the clear, he lets go off her arm. A breath of relief is shared between them. Angie subconsciously feels for the gun again; it's bigger than she remembers.

'Still think this is a good idea?' Howard asks. He doesn't expect a response. Instead, he turns and faces the staircase. 'I'd suggest we split up, but if anybody sees you walking around alone, they'll get suspicious. We should stay together.' He smiles crookedly. 'I hope you don't have a problem with that, Miss. A fair share of ladies would insist that I am very good company.'

'I've had better company,' Angie teases. Howard's left eye twitches; he doesn't need to think hard on whom she's talking about.

Both hear the sound of footsteps. Immediately Howard yanks Angie closer by her sleeve, and presses her into him. A man, dressed in the same uniform as he, descends the staircase, glancing between the two. 'What're you doing?' He asks, facing Howard. There's a brief pause, in which the man's eyes travel from Howard's shoes to his neck. He doesn't recognise him.

'Saw this precious gem trying to flee,' Howard says, putting on a distinct accent. 'Couldn't have that now, could we?'

Angie mocks a whimper as he shoves her closer. The other man meets the two on the ground. 'No need. I'll take care of her.' He outstretches his hand, 'This is no place for a lady right now.'

'Ah, y'see, I got her––'

'Give me the girl.' Howard and Angie exchange a quick glance. Reluctantly, Howard releases his grip on Angie and, to his astonishment, Angie cooperates, taking one step closer to the other man. A gasp escapes her lips when he pulls her to him, a soft smile reaching his lips. Angie can feel his breath on her cheek. 'There. I'll look after her––I'm sure she won't be too much of a hassle.'

'V––Very well,' Howard stammers.

'You can go.'

'Oh.' Howard looks at Angie, who hasn't broken her character. Awkwardly, he turns around on his heel and walks down the hallway, and out of sight. Angie feels her heart pace quicken when he has disappeared. That did not go to plan. Still, maybe this man can tell her where Peggy is.

She glances at him. His smile broadens. 'There there, darling. You don't need to look so scared. Come with me.' He escorts her away. Angie realises she's trembling, but makes no effort to calm herself.

'Please, sir,' she pleads, 'Can ya tell me what's happenin'? I––I didn't mean to cause any problems. Honestly. I'm a nice girl, I don't mean no harm––'

'Don't worry, my sweet girl. We're currently looking for somebody who has––' He pauses, '––been very naughty.'

Angie doesn't appreciate his patronising tone. Regardless, she feigns nervousness. 'Oh, golly! Are they gonna get caught?'

'We hope so. We are excellent at this sort of thing. Before you know it, you'll be able to walk out again. This is all simple precaution, sweetheart. Ah, here.' Angie faces forwards, and her heart falls to the pit of her stomach. They are about to enter a room, and from what she can tell, there is only one way out and one way in. Her muscles tense when he escorts her inside. 'Now.'

He lets go of her. Closes the door.

'You are a pretty thing.'

Angie deliberately makes her cheeks flush. She knocks her knees together, clasping her hands in front of herself, and looks up at him. 'Oh, well––I––Thank you, sir, that's sure nice of ya.'

'I'll take care of you while we search for this bad person.' He steps over, eyes greedily roaming her body. Angie doesn't move. She allows him to get nearer, until she can smell his breath. There is nothing at all strange about his smile; it appears genuine and friendly, but she has dealt with this type before.

He thinks Angie is the woman she portrays: frightened and fragile.

And, the reality is: Angie is anything but.

'Really good care of you.' His smile falters. 'Tell me, darling. Are you far from home?'

'I'm aways way, yeah.' Angie sighs dramatically. 'Oh, how I miss home! I miss my mama's special pies she makes every Saturdays. They tasted so good, y'know? And Daddy will always bring home treats from work––he'd spoil me rotten, he would. I miss 'em so much, it hurts me.'

'Aw. I'm very sorry. Maybe you need some company?'

'Maybe, yeah. Company's nice.'

'Mm.' He nods. 'So, why are you here, sweetheart? Visiting a friend? You don't look like a patient.'

Angie doesn't let her guard down. She produces tears in her eyes, and her lower lip quivers. 'A––Actually,' she stutters, voice wavering, 'I––I came to visit a friend, but she passed away only hours ago. I wanted to go home, and then there were all of these big, scary men everywhere and––and I dunno why I did it, sir, but I ran. I just ran, I was so scared and confused.'

He softens his expression. Angie's trick is working like a charm. 'Oh, boy.' Unlike Angie's previous encounter, he doesn't appear awkward. In fact, his confidence has spiked some. A hand slides up her arm, resting on her shoulder. Angie wants to smack it away, but she smiles sadly instead. 'Pretty gals like you don't deserve so much pain. Hey.' He tips her chin up with his finger. 'Wanna feel better? I know what'll help you, darling. You gotta trust me.'

'What, sir?' She sniffles.

'Let me show you.' His eyes fall to her lips, and he's about to lean in, but Angie retreats suddenly. The man frowns at her. 'What––?'

'Oh, Mister, you shouldn't!' She exhales heavily, as if flustered. 'You shouldn't tease me so!'

A grin. 'Haha, you are a minx. C'mere. I'm not teasing.'

'You first gotta promise you'll find this awful man you're tryna catch.'

'Of course! We will find her.' He stops. 'I–-I mean, him. We will find him, and that'll be that. Then you and I can go back to see your family; we can have one of those pies you spoke about?'

'That sounds real nice, Mister,' Angie flushes. 'Where d'you think this awful man is right now? Is they still in the hospital?'

'Yes. I last heard he is currently on the third floor; a nasty piece of work, but we'll sort of him.' He gets impatient now, and reaches over to take her hand. 'Let's forget about him, my sweet.' Angie notes that: third floor. Peggy is on the third floor. The thought makes her heart leap in her chest, and she's too distracted thinking about Peggy, thinking about the fact they may possibly meet, when the man grabs her wrist. 'I want you closer. What's your name?'

Angie comes back to her senses.

Now, she has the information she wants. She just needs to get out. But he's grabbing her wrist too tight, and her mind goes blank for a second, and then she blurts helplessly, 'Anne! M––My name is Anne.'

'That's a lovely name.'

She tries to yank her wrist out of his hand, but to no avail. Angie swallows, and steps back, but he steps closer, grin broadening. Her act begins to fade, and the fear she expresses is real. 'Get––You better let go, Mister.'

'Or what, pretty thing? You gonna hurt me?' He laughs.

'You––You ain't as nice as I thought you were!'

'Aw, honey. Don't be that way.' He snatches the collar of her diner dress, and pulls her forward. 'Lemme help you forget all the bad.' He kisses her so hard he nicks her lower lip, causing Angie to bleed. Angie's exclaim is muffled, and she slams her hands onto his chest, desperately trying to free herself.

This man is stronger than she realised. His arms wrap around her tiny frame, almost crushing her spine, and his tongue is disgusting in her mouth. She hates it. She hates him. She wants to be sick. Angie presses herself into him, finds his lower lip between her teeth and bites.

He screams, his lip sore and bleeding. The man pushes her away, nursing his wound. Angie slams into the wall, her head knocking into the brick. Her shoes slip on the floor, but she manages to remain balanced. Angie runs past him, but as she's about to reach for the door, he turns and yanks her back by her coat. Angie yells, hitting into his chest.

'Be a good girl now,' he whispers, hands busy at her dress.

And she thinks, no… No. She did not come all of this way to be killed by this man. To be handled by this creep. She did not go through her war just to end up in a monster's arms. To be used.

She has been through Hell.

She has been beaten and beaten. Abused, tormented, told she was wrong and unfixable.

She has lived a loveless life.

And she will not die like this––she will not be anybody's toy, anybody's damsel in need of saving.

Christ, she is done with that.

For she is her own person.

Angie's cheeks redden in her fury, and when she looks up at the man practically dribbling at the sight of her, she hates him.

Loathes him.

Her hand reaches into her coat pocket.

The gun is gold in her palm. Freezing cold, and ugly.

His hands squeeze her breasts, his tongue in her mouth, and she juts the end of the pistol to his crotch.

Angie pulls the trigger.

While the two nurses watch the door, Peggy makes her telephone call to the SSR headquarters. Her transmission is speedy, and she's done in less than twenty seconds. The two nurses wait in silence for Peggy to finish. She leaves the telephone off the hook, and decides to ditch one of the crutches. The more she walks, the easier it gets, but it still hurts more than she'll admit.

Peggy could run and flee, but what with all of these patients, nurses and doctors, she isn't keen to. 'I have contacted my people, and they shall be appearing shortly. I wish I could say what these gentlemen want. Alas, I do not. You'll have to bear with me, I'm afraid, while I figure out what to do.' The nurses still don't say anything. Peggy leans against the table, and is finally able to catch her breath.

Maybe these men are associated with Dottie?

But why would they kill her?

Dottie got what she wanted; she obtained Howard's weapon, so why on earth would she want Peggy dead?

Unless these men are not associated with Dottie, after all?

Peggy recounts the time she was shot by Hydra. That was so long ago, but it still happened. Could these people possibly be Hydra? Peggy frowns. Well, if that is the case, then the question still stands: what do they want from Peggy, and why are they trying to kill her? Who was the Russian fiend? And why did they want to know more about Howard's weapon?

It's all so confusing! Peggy sighs, slumping her shoulders.

She has to get out of here.

These men want Peggy. Not the patients, nurses or doctors. They want Peggy, and they want a bullet through her skull.

Peggy would be foolish if she stayed where she was. She has to leave; she is in no condition to fight––not properly, at least, and she's only putting these poor nurses at risk by staying with them. 'Please, stay with your patients. Help will be with you shortly. Thank you for your assistance; I'm very much obliged.'

The nurses do not hesitate in hurrying away to their separate wards. Peggy leans into her crutch, and searches for any type of weapon she could use within the room. She discovers a screwdriver hidden away in a cupboard, a splintered ruler, documents of patients' files. Peggy decides to settle with the screwdriver. It'll be crude work, but she's done crude before.

Mind, she does have her crutch, and that is a fantastic weapon in itself. Peggy leaves the room, checks her surrounding. Once she's sure that the coast is clear, Peggy follows the signs leading towards the staircase. She's aware that there are more men within the hospital, but she can't be sure just how many. Nevertheless, it's going to be hard work fleeing this damned building.

The lift is out of the question.

She takes the stairs.

Bang!

Peggy freezes when she hears the gunshot. Her heart races, she can feel her pulse pound in her ears, and she clings to the crutch. Pain shoots from the bottom of her spine, but she ignores it, focussing on any other noises. There is none for at least a minute, until she hears a door open. Slam shut.

Footsteps.

Peggy inhales, and reaches for her screwdriver.

This man has a gun on him. He has already shot, and God knows if he'll just shoot her on the spot. But she isn't taking any chances. Peggy quietly descends the stairs until she reaches the second landing. The footsteps of her victim slow. Peggy stops, pressing her back to the wall where she's out of sight. Then, the footsteps continue, light and steady.

Stop.

Peggy holds her breath.

She needs this man to walk in her direction, so she can leap out and stab him with the screwdriver.

Please, please, make this quick and easy for her.

The footsteps do not sound again. Peggy listens closer. She can hear him breathing, heavily, hurried––as if panicking. His breathing is particularly light, as if he were an adolescent, or even a child.

Then it hits: this man is a woman.

Dottie?

Peggy can't wait any longer. She's ready to duck when the bullet is fired as she turns on her heel and faces her assailant.

'Good Christ!' She gasps, the screwdriver falling out of her grip, bouncing off the floor. Peggy feels a shudder crawl up her damaged spine, and she collapses into the wall, shaking at the sight of who is before her. 'Why the Devil are you here?' Her words may as well have fallen on deaf ears.

There is a gun in Angie's right hand, limply pointed downwards. Blood splattered across her coat. And her small body trembles viciously, her pretty, sweet face pale and barely recognisable. She looks at Peggy, looks at the woman she has dreamed of meeting again for months, and her heart feels as if it has been yanked from its strings, and twisted.

Peggy.

She's looking at Peggy.

And Peggy is breathing.

Peggy is alive.

'Is it really you?'

When Peggy hears her voice, tears sting her eyes, and she clenches her fists, desperate to maintain her balance. But she can't stop staring at the blood, at that beastly gun in her darling's hand. Oh, God. Oh, dear God. What has Peggy made of this wonderful lady? What has she done to her?

She can't answer.

She wants to burst into tears. Peggy wants to cry. It's all too much.

Every part of her pinches. Her body can't take the strain, and she exclaims in agony. The gun hits the floor. Peggy's clutch clatters out of her hand. Suddenly, Angie is up against her, holding Peggy desperately, clinging to her, pulling at Peggy's white top, and pressing their bodies together, so tight, so close, so close they can't breathe anymore, but what does it matter? They are together. God is on their side! God is on their side for they are together at last!

Peggy leans into her, lets Angie squeeze the dear life out of her, their breaths ragged, hands pulling and grabbing at each other's clothes, holding each other just too, too tight.

Finally Angie does cry.

She sobs silently, pressing her face to Peggy's neck.

'My love,' Peggy whispers, the pain beginning to ease. 'Are you hurt?'

Angie can't let her go; she won't let her go. Her hands cling to Peggy's top as she faces her properly, eyes wide and teary, face flushed with joy and adrenaline. 'No, no, I'm not, but I––' They glance down at the blood on her coat, now printed onto Peggy. 'Peggy, I did something so bad, I––'

'Shh, shh, please, my darling, don't.' Peggy claims Angie's face between her hands, and her touch is so tender, so real. Angie can feel her. Can feel the warmth of her hands, and she needs more of her, she needs to embrace Peggy again, needs to feel her soft lips on hers. She needs, needs her. 'I'm sure whatever you did was necessary. Oh, you poor thing, what am I to do?'

'I came to find you. We need to get out. Mister Stark is with me; he––he went off somewhere.'

'Howard?' Peggy widens her eyes. 'Howard is with you?'

Angie has lot her breath. She opens her mouth to speak, but she can't. She can't. She sees Peggy's beautiful, bruised face, and feels a terrible desire to hold her again. Angie cuddles Peggy, lips pressed to her cheek, one hand stroking through Peggy's hair, 'I'm so sorry!' She cries. 'I let you leave me, and I'm sorry, Peggy––I never should've done that, I'm––'

'I'm sorry too.' Peggy's voice is considerably calmer, but her eyes are wild as she forces Angie to meet her gaze. 'We shall talk. I promise. But not here. We can't leave without Howard––do you know where he might have gone?'

'He's on the ground floor, I think,' Angie replies, rushed and frantic as she finds Peggy's hand.

'Okay.' Peggy looks Angie in the eye, and her voice is steady. 'Now, I need you to listen to me. I want you to retrieve the gun you just dropped, and I want you to use it only if you need to, all right?' Angie is about to object. She can't shoot another person! Not again, not again! But Peggy interjects, 'My darling, I hope you won't use the gun, but if we are to get out alive, I need you to protect us both. I can only do so much in my current physical state. I need you to help me.'

Peggy squeezes Angie's hand, and her face is gentle, sincere. All she sees is Angie, her innocence, her regret and her love. And it's all Peggy needs to keep moving. Her thumb passes Angie's engagement ring, and Angie stiffens. But Peggy doesn't even look, as if she expected it to be so, as if she knew.

She affectionately places a hand on Angie's cheek.

And, just like that, Angie stops trembling.

She isn't scared anymore.

'Have you got my back?'

Angie's answer is automatic; she has known it since the day she first laid eyes on her.

'You don't have to ask, English.'