*A/N - I went to post the second chapter of this story only to realize I'd never posted the first one. I've been traveling and its way harder to post on FFN than Ao3, so I must not have had the opportunity and then must have forgotten! But all the better for you as you get two chapters in one go! Enjoy!
—
The crash of the stapler and mug of pens and papers against the wall makes her want to startle. But she stays perfectly still as Phillips huffs, his face red and shoulders heaving in his anger.
"We knew it was a risk." Thompson says calmly, his face pinched.
Phillips points a finger at him, so angrily and with such vehemence that she watches as he swallows a bit in fear.
But Phillips says nothing. Just angrily waves them out of his office. They comply without a fight.
—
"Has family been notified?"
Peggy looks over at Kryzmenski's desk. "I believe he had a brother. He's being tracked down."
"Shit." Thompson breathes out, pinching his nose. "That's three guys."
Peggy just nods absently, staring at the nameplate on his desk. She hadn't seen him for 2 months since he'd been undercover. And he hadn't always been the best colleague, but she hadn't wanted him dead. NoR the two men before him.
"Phillips needs to cut ties." Thompson continues, "we're getting nowhere."
"In case you've forgotten," she starts with a snap, "these men are conducting the largest money laundering scheme in the city, importing the most drugs and illegal goods, and wreaking havoc on our crime rates. They are a danger to the city and they need to be stopped."
He sits up, glaring at her, "yeah, well they're also the richest, tightest knit, crime syndicate family in New York's history. So what the hell are you proposing?"
She huffs, leaning back in her desk chair and swirling it in a slow circle. Her phone lights up with some notification, revealing the picture of her and Michael.
An idea forms.
"Family."
She gets up and walks back into Phillips' office without knocking. A dangerous thing to do. But her face must read something fierce because he doesn't rage, just narrows his eyes, "what."
"We need a family."
"Excuse me?"
"We're sending in single males. Not only are they expendable but they're probably threatening. We need something softer to break their ranks. We need a family."
"Carter. Have you lost your damn mind?"
"Send me in."
"Oh, that's your plot? You've been itching to go for the better part of a year. This is how you think you'll trick me?"
"It's no trick. Tell me you don't think I'm one of your best spies. Go on. Lie to my face."
"They won't trust a woman, Carter." He growls out, "even if you break into their ranks they're not going to share shit with you."
"Hence—" she snaps back, "why I go in with a husband. Someone nonthreatening. Make him the holster and I'm the knife."
"Three agents have died—"
"And how many more people die of drug overdoses? They flood the streets with guns and drugs and sow discord that ends in violent fights and ruin lives. I'd give my life to try to stop it."
Phillips stares at her for long minutes. Then he shifts, his shoulders heaving a sigh. "And who is this holster?"
"I don't know yet. Someone unassuming. Someone who doesn't pose any sort of physical threat. Men like them don't trust who they might not be able to beat in a fight."
Phillips rolls his eyes. "Start looking."
—-
She asks around. She searches the lower floors of the SSR. The areas of analysts and secretaries and those not who were deemed not fit for the field or didn't want to be in the field. And while she pulls a few candidate's names, in the end she doesn't trust them. They need to be able to handle the stress.
And…
"Who do you know who speaks Gaelic?"
Thompson looks at her, "'uh, what?"
"Gaelic. From Kryzmenski's last intel we learned their books are written and encrypted in Gaelic code. Do you know anyone who speaks it?"
Thompson thankfully takes a moment to think even as he eyes her like she's gone crazy.
"I dunno." He responds slowly. "Only Irish guy I can think of is that big guy Phillips had in here a few months back."
Peggy sighs, "Dugan." Her head shakes, "he's much too threatening."
Thompson shrugs, "maybe he knows someone else." And her eyebrow raises and Thompson grins, "what? I'm not a total idiot like you seem to believe."
She grabs her phone and chuckles, "I'm hardly wrong." Then she's heading towards Phillips' office.
—
Phillips drives with her down to the base, saying he doesn't trust her to make a final decision. But she knows the truth. Even though he has concrete walls up, he needs a break too. A change of pace. A breath of fresh air that isn't in the vicinity of three empty desks.
—-
"Howdy again, Carter." Dugan greets with a grin, "heard you're looking for an Irishman?"
She nods, "yes, someone who speaks Gaelic. I need someone incredibly fluent."
Phillips is talking to someone else a few feet away and she can see other people curious about their presence.
Dugan whistles slowly, "sheesh. Well, I speak Gaelic." He offers, "but something tells me I don't match what you're looking for, or you would'na come all this way. Would have called instead."
Peggy grins at him, "unfortunately you're correct. I'm looking for someone a bit less physically alarming than you I'm afraid."
He guffaws, "What other qualifications you looking for in this Irishman?"
"Just need him to be unassuming. A very non-threatening presence."
Dugan glances around, "and you're looking for that at a military base?"
She sighs, leaning against the large metal desk, "I couldn't find anyone who fit the description at the SSR. It's actually incredibly difficult to find a man who speaks fluent Gaelic in the first place. And even more difficult is one who can handle undercover work."
He sucks in air through his teeth as he crosses his arms over his chest, "speaking Gaelic fluently is a tall enough order in itself. Why do you need that?"
She eyes Phillips who is engrossed with his conversation. She motions with her head to walk a bit further away as if they were just casually drifting around the room, "the Dreykov crime syndicate is destroying the city. We're trying to get a mole planted in the Foley family. They are the head of the Irish mob."
"Why the Irish? Why not go straight for the Russians?"
"They don't let anyone in. You have to basically be born in their family circle to be included in the business deals. But they work with the Irish. Sometimes. And on shaky terms. But it's the best shot we have of getting close to the inner circle and taking them down."
"I bet more people speak Italian."
She rolls her eyes, "the Morelli family is too busy struggling to stay afloat. The Russians have almost no dealings with them. Except to force them to do their bidding on occasion. It's not close enough. It's Irish or nothing."
"Carter!" She turns to see Falsworth coming towards her, "how are you?"
"Monty! I'm lovely, how are you? You're back from deployment?"
He nods, "yep. For a bit. What are you doing here?"
"She's in search of an Irishman." Dugan whispers with a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous tone. "An unassuming one."
Monty wrinkles his nose, "what the devil for?" Dugan points to Phillips. And Monty's eyes widen, "oh, it's serious enough the colonel came to look too?"
She nods, "it's imperative. And time sensitive. There's a big power shift coming, and if we don't strike while the iron is hot and in limbo." She shakes her head, "we may miss our shot."
They sit there quietly for a bit before Monty shrugs. "Only Irishman I know is this fellow really. And he sure isn't unassuming."
Dugan chuckles and looks at her with a regretful expression. "Only other person I know who speaks fluent Gaelic is a civilian. Sorry to not be of help."
Monty looks at him, "who?"
"Barnes' buddy. The small guy from Brooklyn."
Monty nods, "oh, I forgot about him. He's a firecracker." He laughs, "Barnes would have your hide for even suggesting his name."
Dugan laughs, "I'm not suggesting it. I'm just saying he's the only unassuming Irish guy I know."
"Is he military? Or intelligence?" Peggy wonders.
Dugan shakes his head, "no, he's a newspaper guy I think. Only met him a few times."
She sighs, "well… I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. If you think of anyone, you'll call me?"
"Absolutely."
She and Phillips leave in more unpleasant moods than when they arrived.
—
Peggy watches the news footage in horror. Her eyes wide and hand over her mouth. Three tenements are ablaze. Black smoke, thick and choking, rises in immense curls, filling the sky.
They're saying authorities are looking into it.
Maybe a gas leak.
But she knows better.
A drug lab resides in the basement of one, and the Morelli family owned and operated out of the other two.
She snatches her phone and her keys and she slams out of her door.
—
"You have to send me in! I'll figure it out!"
"Carter, did you hit your head? Not only are you British but you're a woman, they're not—"
"I'll do an American accent! You know I can—"
"It's like talking to a wall with lipstick. I'm not sending you alone—"
"People are dying!"
"And so will you!" The man bellows, bringing the entire office outside to a halt. She's wide eyed staring at him. But he heaves the biggest sigh and she finally sees how tired he really is. "I'm not sending my best agent to die alone for a fruitless mission. If I thought you could do this alone, I would have sent you first—"
She opens her mouth but he pins her with a glare. "That's not me denigrating on your skills. That's me being realistic about your chance of infiltrating and being trusted." He glares at the office outside his windows and everyone starts to pretend to work again. "This isn't an act of get in, get out. They don't write things down. It's all kept in Gaelic code and on one bookkeeper who never lets the books out of his sight. Even if you managed to steal that record book, you'd have to have been in the meetings to know the encryption codes. And they're not letting you in those meetings."
She groans and slams her palm down on his desk, "we have to do something! Over 30 innocent people died in those fires! We're just sitting here!"
"We don't have anyone." Phillips responds, Turning his back to her and looking at the map. "We have to wait until we figure something else out. Maybe we need to go more head on with the Russians."
Peggy shakes her head, she knows that's desperation talking. "There has to be someone…"
Her voice trails off and he turns back to look at her. "What?"
Dugan's words echo in her mind. "You're going to be angry."
"About what?"
"What I'm about to suggest."
"Which is?"
"There is someone."
"And you're hiding him where?"
"He's not SSR. Or military."
"So he's what?"
"A civilian."
"Have you lost your damn mind?"
"I'd protect him." She starts, leaning forward, "you said it yourself, I'm your best agent. But I can't do the job that needs to be done. But I can protect the person who can."
"Carter, the last three agents have ended up dead. In gruesome ways. You want to add two more to that? And one a civilian no less?"
"How many civilians are dead because of their actions? Their crimes are lining the city morgues!"
"So you wanna add another?"
"I just need someone as a front!"
Phillips throws up his hands, "you're talking about a civilian, Carter! Not an internationally trained spy! How the hell are you expecting a civilian to be a double agent?"
"I'll train him."
He huffs in annoyance, "we have less than 5 weeks until Morneaux is out of prison. That's when all hell breaks loose. You cannot train a civilian to be an adequate UC in that amount of time."
"I can, and I will. We are, like you've just pointed out, running out of time. We have to take this chance!"
There's a long pause as they glare at each other. Like a teenage girl fighting for her independence from a grumpy, overprotective, but well meaning father.
"Does this civilian even understand the risks?"
She grimaces, "I haven't spoken to him. Yet."
Phillips rolls his eyes, "how do you even know this civilian?"
"I don't. Dugan does."
"And what if he's a total moron?"
"Then we're back to square one where we already fucking are."
"What's his name?"
"I don't know."
He huffs, "what the hell do you know about him, Carter?"
"He speaks fluent Gaelic and he's unassuming. That's all that Dugan and Monty said."
"Falsworth knows him too?"
She nods, "and they mentioned he's pals with someone named Barnes."
Phillips eyes narrow and he leans forward, "James Barnes?"
"I don't know. They didn't say a first name."
Phillips glares at her as he picks up the phone, dialing a number. When someone on the other end answers he doesn't even blink, "get up here. Bring Falsworth."
Then he hangs up and she feels the first bit of hope start to bloom.
—-
"You can't be serious about giving them his name."
Peggy is listening to their conversation from around the corner. Phillips had asked them for the man's name and before Dugan could answer, Monty had yanked him from the room. Phillips had silently pointed for her to follow them. So now she peers around the corner.
Monty is shaking his head, "he'll kill you. He'll murder you in your sleep."
"Barnes in on deployment." Dugan responds, "he won't even know. It will be over before he gets back."
"And what if he gets back to Steve being dead, huh? What are you going to do then?"
"Carter's the best. You know she can do this."
"I'm not doubting her." Monty responds, "I'm just saying being undercover is unpredictable. And Steve is…"
Steve. She sears that name in her mind.
"—he's too upfront. He's not trained for this."
"In case you're forgetting, he tried to enlist too, remember? Barnes said he wasn't accepted because of health, not because he lacked the will to fight."
She hears Monty sigh, "he'll kill you when he gets back. And I'll just watch."
Dugan chuckles, "fair enough."
—
"Rogers." Dugan says with a grin, "his name is Steve Rogers. He lives in Brooklyn."
"That's good," Peggy starts, "at least he's familiar with the area."
Monty just looks vaguely pained in the back.
"And this guy isn't a moron?"
Dugan chuckles, "only met him a few times. Had a pretty sharp tongue when he would banter with Barnes."
"You think he might be willing to help us?" Peggy asks. "It's incredibly dangerous."
Dugan nods, "my guess is yes. He always seemed fired up about helping. No harm in asking. Worst he can say is no."
"What is the best way to approach him?" Philllips asks, "straight on? Or maybe warm him up a bit?"
"Again," Dugan responds, "I only met him a few times. But I think he's more of a straightforward guy. I could try talking to him. He'd know me at least."
Thompson pops his head in, "Phillips, you've got a state secretary being obnoxiously impatient."
The eye roll is deep as he huffs, "fine, I'm coming." He points to the three of them, "Under no circumstances are you to convince this guy. He either says yes of his own will, or not at all. Understood?"
They nod and he's gone.
A quick search using the SSR's veritable search engine reveals his home and work address. She looks at the clock and decides they could probably catch him at the end of a shift if he's working normal hours.
She smiles, "let's go to Brooklyn, shall we?"
—
Dugan, a head above the crowd, spots him first.
"There—" he points and she sees a head of blonde hair moving smoothly along with the Brooklyn crowd.
They follow him for a bit until he enters a diner.
"I could go for a bite." Dugan says with a smirk.
They hear the bell jingle as they enter and see him alone at a booth. A waitress walks up and they can see them chat for a second before she laughs and he's grinning. "Comin' right up." They hear her say.
With a aura of nonchalance they approach his booth. Dugan raps on the table, "mind if we sit?"
He looks up and blinks before he grins, "Dugan—" he catches sight of the other two, "and Monty! And—" hepauses.
"I'm Peggy." She fills in quickly, "nice to meet you Mr. Rogers."
A bit of wariness adds to his expression but he nods. "Nice to meet you."
"Can we?" Dugan asks again.'
"Oh, yeah…" he gestures to the empty seats, "sure."
Monty sits besides him and she and Dugan across.
"You know Bucky is deployed…" he pauses searching their faces, "right?"
"Yeah." Dugan responds, "we're here for you."
"Me?"
The waitress reappears. Setting down a soda glass and a plate of fries. "Uh—" she blinks at him, "didn't realize you were expecting compnay."
He shrugs, "neither was I. Angie, this is Dugan, Monty, and Mrs. Carter."
She frowns, "It's just Peggy." She corrects, holding out her hand. The waitress shakes it and smiles, "well you don't sound like you're from around here."
"Indeed." Peggy laughs softly, "what a lovely diner."
"Thanks. My great step uncle owns it or thank god I wouldn't have a job. Break enough plates to put them out of business." She laughs, "what'dya'll have?"
"Rueben." Dugan responds quickly, "with fries. Extra mayo. And a coke."
"BLT." Monty adds, "add avocado. Do you have kettle chips?" She nods, "okay yeah I'll have those. And a hot tea."
She's writing and then looks at Peggy, "a burger. With cheese. No onions. Fries. And a coke as well."
"Comin' right up." She looks at Steve, "your order is almost ready."
"Thanks." He responds, then turns to them as she walks away, "what can I help you with, fellas?" The Brooklyn accent is strong in that word and she wants to smile. He clears his throat, "and lady?"
Dugan leans forward, his voice going low. "What did Barnes tell you about when we met?"
Steve furrows his brow, "nothin. Just that it was a joint mission."
"It was." He gestures to himself and Monty, "army." Then to Peggy, "with the SSR."
Steve looks confused, "am I supposed to know what that is?"
"No." Peggy jumps in, "you're not. Wer'e an intelligence agency. And a security one. We work as silent partners along with the governments and the military branches."
Steve waits, and when they say nothing else he leans his head forward, "okay, and?"
"And we need your help."
Steve looks at them, and then he looks around the rooms as if waiting for something to happen. When they say nothing he just tilts his head, "you need my help…"
"Yes."
"With what?"
"A mission." Peggy answers, "we know it's highly unusual. But you're one of our best chances to infiltrate a mob and bring down a crime syndicate that's destroying this city."
The man blinks at her and then he frowns, "I don't get it."
"Get what?"
"The joke."
Dugan leans forward, "this isn't a joke, Steve."
"Ha-ha." He says, his face guarded, "very funny. What, Bucky can't prank me because he's deployed so he sends you guys?"
Monty's expression turns sad and she's glad Steve can't see it. "No one is pranking you." She responds, "we're really here to ask for your help."
His expression turns mockingly serious, "oh yeah? You want me? For a super secret undercover spy mission? And I'm the only one who can help?" His expression is more raw and annoyed than she expects, "hilarious. Really. Well done. But you can tell Bucky to shove it." Then he gestures for Monty to move so he can get out. Monty doesn't. "I'd like to leave now."
"Steve," Monty starts, "wait."
"This isn't even a good joke." Steve says, glaring at them, "Bucky was thrilled when I got 4F'd. So this doesn't make sense and it isn't funny, it's actually just hurtful. So please move. I'd like to leave."
The vulnerability in his hurt expression makes her feel guilty. Of course it would be hard to believe. She reaches across the table, resting her hand on his arm. He looks up and she pours every ounce of honesty she can manage into her voice, "I swear on my dead brother's grave we are not pranking you. I needed someone who spoke Gaelic and Dugan suggested you. That's why we're here."
Thankfully he takes a second and listens to what she says. Then he tilts his head "Dugan speaks Gaelic."
"True," she concedes, "but he's too recognizable."
Dugan nods, "true."
Then without being asked, Peggy pulls out her badge, showing her agent card and the SSR logo. His eyes widen a bit and he leans back, "you're being serious?"
"Infinitely." She answers.
"To do what?"
"Like I said," she starts, "there's a very dangerous crime syndicate. And we need your help to infiltrate them and take them down."
He stares at her and his brow furrows, "you can hear how ridiculous that sounds, right? Like I'm supposed to just believe an intelligence agency needs my help? Expects me to go undercover? I'm not a spy or anything even related to that."
"It is unusual." She agrees, "but we wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary. There are certain aspects of you being a civilian that will benefit this particular mission. And there will be some training involved before it begins. That is, if you decide to say yes."
"You're being serious." He asks again, this time really studying them, "this isn't a prank or a joke. You're being 100% serious."
Dugan leans across the table and gets eye to eye with Steve. "I swear."
Angie appears at that moment, carrying cups and a plate. She sets the food down, eyeing them curiously. "Everything alright?" She asks, eyeing Steve.
"Yeah." He responds, "we're fine. Thanks Angie."
She disappears again and he sips at his drink before looking at them seriously. "So about this crime family, start at the beginning."
—
It takes the entire meal for her to explain. She starts from when the feds handed the case over to the SSR as they hadn't been able to get a foothold. And works all the way to the fires.
"That was them." Steve's eyes blaze, "those weren't accidents?"
She shakes her head sadly, "unfortunately no. I'd bet my life savings it was a scare tactic."
"People died." He grits out, "I knew a family who lost a dad in that fire."
There's a silence as he seems to take it all in, "okay." He responds quietly, "I'll help you."
Elation fills her, hope that maybe just maybe they can end their horrid regime. "You will?"
He nods, "I have to. They have to be stopped. This city won't be safe until they're taken off the map." He neatly stacks his plate and silverware and cup and looks at them, "when do we start?"
—
Phillips drills her with questions.
"What did he look like?"
"Shorter than me, probably 5'3" and a half. Blonde hair, blue eyed. Sharp features. Definitely unassuming."
"Social cues?"
"Perfectly adequate. Doesn't miss a beat."
"Intelligence?"
"Seems well versed. Not worried about his comprehension skills."
"Gaelic?"
"Dugan spoke with him for several minutes. Stated that Steve's is better than his own."
"Your confidence in him to be able to not get killed?"
At this she hesitates. He had seemed very head first. Not really a back down type of guy. But she has to work with that. Maybe it would be an asset. "He's our best bet."
He very clearly sees her avoidance in answering that question but he just nods, "prep him. I need you to make contact in a week. Apartment and backgrounds will be formulated."
"Yes, sir."
—
Steve's brought into the large conference room and she and Thompson sit across from him.
"Our last three agents ended up dead." Jack spits out.
She glares at him and he just shrugs. She turns to Steve who looks a bit stunned before his expression settles, "it's true." She admits, "but that's why we're taking a different approach."
"Which is what?" Steve asks, "just someone who can speak their language?"
"Yes—" she starts to say.
"Someone not scary—" Jack adds with a smirk. "You know. Someone non-threatening."
She wants to yank the mug out of his hands and smash it against his head. But she refrains, "what Thompson means to say is—"
Steve holds up a hand, "I get it. No explanation needed. Last three guys were seen as potential physical threats, therefore held at arm's length by the people they're trying to get to trust them." He turns to her, "that's why you're not using Dugan. Right?"
She grimaces slightly in guilt. "Yes."
"I get it." He thankfully seems unphased. "What do I need to know?"
"We're going to teach you how to go undercover." She starts, "and we have to do it quickly."
"Yeah," Thompson adds, "hope you're up for a challenge."
Steve eyes him and speaks, "Téigh léim as cé."
Thompson blinks, "what does that mean."
Steve's smile is mischievous as it is cheery, "means 'I'm ready'."
Thompson's eyes narrow. Peggy grins, she doesn't know what he said but she's almost positive it wasn't "I'm ready."
—-
Peggy is not just mildly impressed with Steve's ability to adapt and learn, but she's almost flabbergasted by it. He learns simple codes easily and difficult ones with just a bit more effort. He's excellent on their logic tests and phenomenal on their strategy assessments.
His scores and results from the tests are so exemplary that Phillips shows up looking annoyed, "we've already agreed to him. No need to cook the numbers."
Thompson looks pained as he responds, "she's not. It's all him."
Phillips furrows his brow, "then where the hell has this kid been all this time? Why hasn't he been working for the SSR?"
"Not sure." Peggy admits, "but he was 4F'd from the army. Maybe health reasons?"
"Anything we need to be aware of?"
"I don't think so. I'll double check."
He assures her after he's returned from being measured for a new wardrobe, that he's fine. "Only asthma." He admits after she puts a bit more pressure on him, "that's all."
The SSR contacts his workplace under a pseudonym and gets him a sabbatical.
"What was it that you did?" Thompson asks, chewing on something vile.
"Layout editor." Steve responds, studying an Irish history book.
"Exciting." Thompson says with a drawl.
"Pays rent." Steve responds, not looking up.
And that makes Thompson fall silent.
—-
3 days into training, she's already halfway to being on the moon. He's somehow a perfect trainee. He listens, learns, applies and adapts. He shows no partiality to who is teaching him, man or woman. And she finds his presence to be strangely calming.
They spend almost all day every day preparing, and yet she knows next to nothing about him. It's on purpose. No point getting his real backstory confused with the false one.
Phillips drops teh file on her desk, "backstory, details, and physical assets all set. You have two days."
She nods, "he'll be ready."
—
It's the second to last day and she settles across from him, the backstory file in front of her.
Thompson and Phillips come in discussing whether they should have a car or not.
"Alright." Thompson begins, "now we need to focus on your identities."
Steve looks up at him, "Identities… plural?"
Peggy blinks, searching back in her memories. Never once had they told him this would be a duo mission. They had been focusing so hard on just training him that she had never mentioned she would be included. He had thought he was going in alone this whole time.
"Yeah," Thompson says with a sarcastic tone. He points to Peggy, "you'll be a married couple."
Steve laughs. True humor in his eyes as he tips his head back. When he looks back at them, she can feel the confusion on her face matches Jack's and Phillips.
"What?" She asks.
His expression turns to a frown, "wait, you're serious?"
Annoyance creeps into Jack's tone, "yes."
His brow line goes down, "What? No one is going to believe that."
She bristles, "oh and why not?"
He looks at her like she's insane, "are you kidding? We can't play husband and wife."
"I can assure you," she answers, agitated, "I can act like your wife just fine."
He shakes his head, "that's not what I'm saying." He huffs, "I'm saying that there's no way on God's green earth you would marry me." He gestures to himself. "No one in their right mind would believe that we're a couple."
Thompson seems stunned by the response, as does Phillips.
But none more than she. "I beg your pardon?"
He just looks at her, as if he expects understanding to strike her at any moment.
But she's full out annoyed now, "oh, and you're the bloody expert on who every woman is willing to marry, now are you?"
He points to Thompson and Phillips, "you're telling me you think it's a realistic cover?"
Thompson snorts and Phillips frowns. Now she's offended on both of their behalfs, "husband and wife is the best cover—" she starts again.
"Why can't we be siblings?"
She snorts, "oh sure, the clearly irish man who can speak fluent Gaelic and his sister, the one their parents refused to teach the language too and who looks absolutely 100% different."
And for the first time since being thrown into this wild situation, she sees panic, unease. "No one is going to believe that cover." He reiterates.
And now she's had just about enough of that. "And why the hell not? You're smart, kind, and you're handsome," the room is stunned silent, "you think I have a problem with your looks? Your size? I don't. And it's infuriatingly rude to think of me as that vain—"
"Not you—" he interrupts, looking shocked at her words, "society—"
"Is full of mismatched pairs." She snaps out, "if you're so dead set on believing a woman could never love a man who what..? Is shorter than her? Skinnier than her? What a load of codswallop. Women don't give a shit about that stuff. It's how we're treated. Everything else is simply a bonus. Besides, no other cover makes logistical sense. We're husband and wife for this cover and that's final."
Thompson looks at her funny, "you think he's handsome?"
"Oh for bloody sakes!" She practically bellows, "it doesn't matter! What matters is that we learn these covers so thoroughly that we don't get killed!" The men stare at her and she takes a deep breath. Unruffling her skirt. "Now. As I was saying…"
—
She's not exactly sure how to describe it. But Steve shifts. Becoming more sharp, more careful, calculated in a way he wasn't before. It's performative, strange after the first four days of ease and rounded edges.
He's perfectly cordial, but now it's like he's cautious of her. And it's annoying.
"Stop." She snaps, slapping a file against the table the next morning.
Thompson wasn't in yet and Phillips was in a meeting until noon.
He looks up, and looks wary, "stop what?"
"You went from quickly becoming one of my favorite and strangest recruits to practically robotic." He doesn't seem to know what to say to that, but his shoulders get more stiff and she sighs, "Steve."
His eyes are back on the files, "yeah."
She slowly decides that maybe she does have an inkling about what's bothering him. "Steve."
His eyes flicker up, but then back down, he knows he's being baited. "Yeah?"
"Am I not your type?" She asks. It's a tease, but she keeps her tone serious.
"What?"
"You don't like brunettes? Or girls from England? What is it? What makes you not want to be my husband?"
"Of course I want to be your husband." He says quickly. Then he looks up, mortified, "I mean, on this mission. I'm just…" he swallows thickly, "I was just trying to be realistic."
And now she wants to have a little fun. Because she's somehow attracted to the fact that he doesn't think he deserves her. Go figure.
"I don't think you're seeing yourself clearly." She says, shifting her voice to a bit of a lower and slower register. She turns to the blinds that cover the conference room windows and she closes them, one by one.
She turns back around to see total confusion on his face.
When she walks around the table and sits in the chair next to him. "Face me, please." She asks nicely but with an air of command.
He turns, and she waggles a finger, gesturing to his chair, "all the way."
He shifts, sliding his chair so his entire body is facing her.
"What can I do to make you at ease about the situation?"
"I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar."
And that elicits a grin, "let's hope not or we're both screwed."
"Touché." She remarks, then she rolls her chair a little closer, her legs now between his, "then why the sudden change?"
"Change?" He says softly, his eyes on their legs.
She gently presses her knee against his inner thigh, "from at ease exceptional recruit, to rigid and cautious."
She sees his throat bob and his pulse is pounding in his neck, "I'm not."
"You do know if we're to pretend to be married, we're going to have to be a lot more comfortable than this."
She rests her hand on his leg and watches his reaction. "I'm comfortable." He lies.
"Oh? Are you?"
He shifts, jostling her hand from his leg and putting more space between them. "Yeah."
She leans back, "I would beg to differ."
"Is this some sort of test? Because if so, it's not really a fair one. I've never been married. Don't exactly know how to act like it."
She scoffs, "and you think I have?"
"I dunno. You don't see me running my hand up your thigh."
She smirks, "would you like to?"
His face turns to a frown, "this is why this isn't going to work. I can't—" he cuts off, standing and turning his back towards her, looking at the white board.
She drops the act, sitting up, "can't what, Steve?"
He turns to her, and he looks resigned, "I can't pretend to be married. Hell, I've never even dated. You got the wrong guy."
"It's not difficult." She says softly, getting him to turn around. He must sense her shift of posture and he realizes a bit, "In fact…" she huffs a sort of sad laugh, "It's actually incredibly easy. Acting like we're in a good relationship will be easy. It's when it is real." She frowns, remembering Fred, "that's when it's difficult."
"You're married?" He asks, astute in his observations of her.
"I almost was. But thankfully, no."
"What changed?"
"I did. Realized a housewife's life wasn't for me."
"That's what he wanted?"
"Expected."
"Ah…"
"Would you come please sit down? I promise not to tease you again."
He complies easily. And she adds another mark under her mental tally. He can read people. He knows when they're being sincere.
She holds out her hand, palm up. "Let me show you one of the easiest parts. One of the most lovely parts."
Peggy holds her hand out a bit further, making it clear what she wants. But she keeps her facial expression open and soft. Not a hint of teasing or mockery.
And softly he places his hand in hers, clasping hers in his.
And something in her heart gives a delightful little twinge at the way he smiles at their hands. "That does feel nice."
"I moisturize." She says with a smile, "and holding hands is something that transcends relationships. Partners of course, but friends, children with their parents and families." Her fingers gently squeeze his hand and then she lets it rest between them, "a lovely sign of affection."
He nods and is quiet for a moment before looking up at her with sincere eyes, "thank you for the assurance." And his fingers grip her hand just a bit tighter and she smiles.
"You're very welcome."
—
They spend the rest of the day solidifying every detail. Searing it into their memory and making it their new reality. They also learn the drop off locations for intel, safe devices, and encryption codes to ensure safe transit. They study city maps and building blueprints.
"I'm never going to be able to remember this all." She looks up to see him rubbing at his eyes. Then he curses, "shit." And suddenly one eye is squeezed shut and he's feeling the table with his hand.
"Everything alright?"
"Lost a contact."
She pauses, "you wear contacts?"
He looks over, blinking one eye rapidly before rubbing at it, "yeah… Is that bad?"
"It is a wrinkle. How many do you have left? Will you need your prescription renewed?"
"I have glasses." He comments, "I could just have those on hand. Just in case."
"Probably a good idea. Anything else we should know about?"
"I have an inhaler."
"Will it be enough for a few weeks, possibly months?"
"Should be. I don't use it too much anymore."
"Anything else?" He's slow to shake his head no, as if he's deciding whether to tell her something else. But eventually it's a firm shake.
"No, that's it."
"Alright."
—-
Steve's using the restroom as their wrapping up for the evening when Thompson looks at her funny.
"What?"
"You actually like him. Don't you?"
She rolls her eyes. "He's a perfectly pleasant human being I've known for less than a week."
"And yet…" Thompson opens his arms in a 'look at this' gesture, "you're smiling. Being pleasant. I haven't heard you snap at him the way you snap at me."
"Maybe that's something you should take some inward criticism from."
"I'm pleasant." She snorts and gathers up files. "You kiss him yet?" She doesn't respond, only sighs in annoyance. "You know you gotta. Can't have your first kiss in front of the targets. That'd be awkward."
She picks up her phone and answers a text from her sister-in-law, ignoring him.
"Ten bucks says the runt falls for you."
"Ten bucks says the runt can separate fiction from reality." They both look up in surprise to see Steve standing in the doorway, looking only slightly unamused. When neither of them have the brain power to respond, he grabs his phone and coat, "I'm going to grab dinner. I'll come back when I'm done and we can nail down the plans for tomorrow. Alright?"
"Alright." She manages out as he walks out the door. Then she picks up a pen and throws it hard at Thompson who yelps and glares at her. "In case you've forgotten! He's doing us a massive favor and putting his life literally on the line! Maybe show some decorum or respect, you Neanderthal."
Thompson looks grumpy as he tosses the pen back on the table. "I'm just saying. Mark my words. You'll be lucky if he lasts a week before he confesses his love. He seems like the mushy romantic type."
She glares at him, picking up her own phone and coat, "You say mushy romantic like it's a disease."
"I mean…"
Peggy rolls her eyes, "a man showing a woman affection? Oh the horror." And then she slams the door behind her.
—-
But the thought never leaves her mind. Thompson, unfortunately, is right. They should be familiar with each other before jumping in with the sharks. She doesn't think necessarily they'll be put on display, but his hesitancy with physical contact in general is what makes her worried. If he's shy to her touching him with simple affection gestures, then he'll be thrown off by a kiss.
So as they wrap up for the evening, she walks him to the front door.
Thompson throws her a smug look that she responds to by flipping him off.
But she talks easily with Steve in the elevator who when he returned from dinner had been more pointed and sharp with Thompson which had amused her to no end.
She pulls the envelope from the packet Phillips had dropped off before having to leave for yet another meeting and slips out the tiny velvet bag.
"Here." She deposits the three rings in her palm and selects the smooth gold wedding band. "For you."
He gently plucks it from between her fingers and slides it into his ring finger. "It should feel just a touch small." She states, so that way it looks like you've been wearing it awhile.
He nods, watching as it glints in the lobby lights.
She slips the two on her own finger and then up to him, "I have what would normally be an awkward proposition, but in truth is just somewhat of a necessity for this case."
His blue eyes flick up to hers, "uh… okay?"
She then pushes at his elbow gently, leading him out the door and onto the sidewalk. They join the evening crowds and she walks aimlessly for a bit.
"Is this something I'm supposed to guess?"
She ignores him, leading him past a bodega and some sort of indian take out plce and then spots a small alleyway. She turns, pulling him down it and then spinning to face him. He looks confused, "am I supoosed—"
And she's about to just kiss him. Get it over with and the awkwardness out the door but his words from before reappear like an echo.
I've never even dated.
So perhaps he's never been kissed, either.
She thinks back to this past week. How adaptable and flexible he's been. How when it comes to understanding strategy and playing a part, he's excellent. Only when it's something that's about him personally does he hesitate. So she decides to start their mission a bit early.
"Do you love me, Riley?"
Something in her face must communicate that she's serious because he blinks slowly and shifts, becoming his cover, "ya know I do." She smiles at the strength of the Irish accent and how he makes it sound so natural.
"You'll love me till the end?"
"O'course."
"And you know I love you the same?"
He nods, "I do."
"Will you let me kiss you to prove it?"
She watches as the realization dawns. But this time it's not panic, it's resignation. "I'd ask nothin' less."
She feels guilty. His potential first kiss stolen for this scheme, but it's a necessary evil. And she can make sure it's at least enjoyable.
So she pulls him closer and then presses him gently against the alley wall.
She's leaning forward to kiss him and she can see he's trying to think about it. Think his way into and how to kiss.
"Don't think." She says softly, getting his eyes to flick up to hers from her lips, "just respond."
Then she's pressing her lips to his, a firm kiss that isn't inventive or wild, just a solid kiss. Instinct takes over for him and while he doesn't necessarily kiss her back, he does respond, matching her.
She breaks apart and smiles, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"
He looks about to respond but she doesn't give him the chance. Kissing him again, more tilted, a different angle, forcing him to adjust. It takes a second but he does, tilting his head a bit and moving his lips with hers.
And she's not sure he notices the way he's now gripping her waist tightly. But she doesn't mind.
And she decides to pull away. Stepping back and putting a bit of space between them. "There." She says softly, "now if necessary I think we can be convincing."
She can see his pulse in his neck as his eyes are pointed to the ground and cheeks high with color. But he nods. "Yeah. Great," he whispers out.
"Remember to wear casual clothes for moving in, and I'll meet you at the agreed upon location at 6am. Alright?"
"Okay."
Then she hesitates. "Steve, are you alright?"
"You don't have to worry about what Thompson said."
"I normally don't pay attention to anything he says. But can you be more specific?"
"I know I'm inexperienced. But I'm not an idiot. I won't fall for you."
She knows he means it as a reassurance. But she's kind of offended. And then she's annoyed at herself for being so. "I'm not worried." She answers, "and I'm not so high-headed I would think so. Thompson's just a prat."
Her words make him seem to relax, "okay. Well then I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow." As he takes his leave, almost back to the street, she thinks of one last thing. "Steve?"
He turns, the lights of the street gleaming around him and making a halo of light around his frame, "yeah?"
"If you have anyone you love… It might be good to be prepared. A letter perhaps. Or a video. Just in case."
His face takes on a very serious quality. "I understand."
—
"Whew." She says, wiping the back across her forehead, "I think there's only a few more."
Steve, now Riley, nods and sets his box down on the floor, "sounds good."
She walks out of their "new" apartment and starts to head down the stairs. They're posing as a couple who is moving into the area. Steve follows her down and they get the last two boxes out of the back of their clunker car that Shield had found for them.
"Last trip to the top." She teases. The summer sun is beating down and both of the are sweating.
"Thank heavens." He replies with a grin.
"When we're done, you wanna find a place to eat?" She asks. It's an innocuous question, but he nods, understanding. There's an Irish pub, O'Hanlans that is a money laundering and drug front. They need to start being regulars.
"I'm famished." He responds.
"Me too."
They're almost to their floor when someone appears at the top of the flight of stairs. "Whoops." She says in her American accent, "'scuse us." She scoots to the side and Steve looks up from behind her, seeing why she moved and moving himself.
The guy, a nice looking older gentleman in his 50's, grins at her, "no worries, move in day?" His Irish accent is clear and she goes into instant agent mode.
"Yep!" She smiles, "picked a hot one."
He's about to respond when his eyes move behind her to Steve. She can see the greeting on his lips, before he pauses. Then a grin grows, "As I live an' fuckin' breathe. You're Joe Rogers' kid!"
Steve seems stunned, but then he clears his throat, "uh—" his eyes flick to her but then he laughs, "yeah, I am. Do I know you?"
"I mean, naw, we met when you was a wee lad. Not too old. Have'na seen him since you all moved back to Brooklyn."
Steve's brow furrows, "but you recognized me?"
The guy gets closer, instantly comfortable with them. His hands clasp the sides of Steve's sweaty face and the man is grinning, "There's no hidin' ya ma's delicate features. What a beauty that Sarah is. She still in Brooklyn?"
Steve's smile is small and pained, "no, she… she died a few years back." Peggy is stunned. They hadn't really gone over any personal details. Better to not know the truth. Can't get details confused if you don't know them and can't let something slip if they are caught by the enemy.
The man's face falls. "Oh no, lad. Is é bás aon rud ar chor ar bith."
Steve's throat is tight, but he smiles, "Níl sí ach shleamhnaigh ar shiúl go dtí an seomra eile."
The man grins, "she always taught you right." His hands clap softly against Steve's face again, "good for an Irishman to be home where he belongs. We never forgave your father for stealing her away to that Romanian neighborhood." He spits, not really, but as a show of disrespect, "filthy gypsies."
Steve's back straightens. And she sees him warring with saying something, but she thanks her lucky stars that he just nods and clears his throat, "I'm glad to be home too. It's been too long." Then Steve surprises her by taking the lead, shifting the ox in his grip, "you live in this building?"
"I do. Me and my wife." He looks down at the rings on their hands and then up the few steps to Peggy, "speaking of matrimony. You newlyweds?"
Peggy looks at Steve softly and smiles, "no, we've been married almost five. But finally had the finances to move to where we want to."
"Well, you made a good choice." He is perfectly at ease, and Peggy can't decide if this is the most incredible stroke of luck, or the beginnings of a disaster. "Welcome to the neighborhood."
Steve tilts his head, "I…" he looks at the man, "did we live in this neighborhood? Sorry, I was young, I don't really remember."
The man laughs, guffawing, "no. No. It was a few blocks over, but our kingdom has expanded. The Irish taking back the streets that should be ours." Then the man eyes Steve and he narrows his gaze at him. His eyes flick to Peggy and then back to Steve. "You pick up any of your pa's bad habits?"
Steve stiffens and the man sees it. "No."Steve says through tight teeth. "Thankfully not."
"Good lad." The man says, "well, I'll let you get back to it and I'll look forward to seeing you around."
He waves and disappears down the next flight of stairs. They walk silently up and into their apartment. Peggy picks up the Shield issued phone and dials Thompson.
"Carter? What the hell? This number is for emergencies only. You can't have succeeded or failed already."
"Shut it!" She snaps, "listen to me, get Phillips. Put me on speaker."
She hears shuffling and then a gruff, 'what?' Before Thompson says, "There's something wrong with Carter.".
'Phillips." She whispers, "I need the lease to the apartment, the car, and the bills all switched to Steve's legal name. And the last name of my cover needs to be switched to Rogers. Immediately. Right now."
"What? Why?"
"One of the residents recognized him. Knows his…" she winces, "parents." She turns to see Steve standing at the counter, hand over his eyes, "but it was a good interaction. Perhaps this will actually lead to faster inclusion. The man was very positive towards Steve's mother. So perhaps he will be accepted into the group faster."
"Shit." Thompson breathes out, "what are the odds."
"I don't know. Very unlikely. Which means it's either an immense stroke of luck or we may have to pull out of this mission. We will see how it goes and check in every day. Change our covers immediately. Understood? Everything."
"We will." Phillips answers, "good luck."
"Thanks."
She hangs up and looks over to Steve. He looks wracked with guilt. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I didn't live here for very long. Maybe a few years. I don't even… And it wasn't even close to here!"
"Steve." She walks over, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, "what's done is done. And who knows… maybe this is just the inlet we need."
But his expression doesn't change. "Peggy… They know me. If they know who I am… They can find my friends. My best friend…" he groans, "He's Romanian! He and his family are my second family. I can't let anything happen to them."
"Nothing's going to happen to them." She assures. She grabs her phone, "who is close enough to you for you to be worried about?"
"Just the Barnes'. George and Winifred Barnes. And their daughters. My friend, their oldest son, is overseas right now."
"Okay, I'll have a detail placed at their house and places of work and school. They will be protected."
His head sinks into his hands and he seems weary, "how did I screw up this quickly?"
"It's nobody's fault. We couldn't have known." She looks at their small apartment filled with boxes, "but now we need to restrategize. And I can't do that on an empty stomach. Might as well press forward, shall we?"
He seems to take the lifeline she's throwing to him and square his shoulders. "Okay. Let's do it."
