1966
"I'm just saying." Bucky smirks at her, "you don't have to tell me. I already know."
Peggy sweeps her rifle and clears the room before rejoining him in the hallway. "and what do you know?"
"Oh come on. Steve is such a bad liar. I already know."
Peggy narrows her eyes at him and shakes her head. "Stop trying to get me to confess something. There's nothing to tell."
Bucky sweeps the next room and then lowers his rifle, looking at her, "I saw the property deed with your names on it, Peggy. Drop the act!"
That pulls her up short, "what?"
He rolls his eyes, "I get you guys wanting a proper house, but Manhattan? Really?" He sighs, "it's closer to your job, I know. But Steve leaving Brooklyn is like Stark shaving off that mustache."
Peggy's gaze blurs, and she snags Barnes' uniform, "come again?"
He starts to speak and then he pauses, registering her expression, "wait… you didn't know?"
"Steve bought me a house?"
Worry crosses Barnes' face, "uh… no?"
She yanks him forward, excitement filling her, "Steve bought us a house!?"
Barnes winces, "no?"
"You've just admitted he did! In Manhattan! Where is it?"
He sighs, knowing he's been caught, "it's a really nice brownstone… close to the SSR."
Peggy abandons all dignity and pulls him into an embrace, "oh, you ruddy loose lipped godsend!"
He huffs out a laugh and accepts her hug before she lets him go and steps back. "I didn't know you didn't know."
"Obviously." She smirks, about to say something else when an explosion rocks the building.
They both look up as the dust and debris clatters to the ground around them.
"Time to go to work." Barnes says with a grin.
—-
They're doing fine. Taking down enemies and setting things on fire.
Other than her and Steve, she and Barnes work the next best in tandem. Reading each other's thoughts and covering each other's six.
"Cleared!" She hears first, then Barnes shouts to her,"Carter!" She's about to respond, when the ground cracks. She only has one second, one split second to think and shout out a panicked— "Steve!"
—
Barnes is entering the room where Carter is, he'd just cleared the last room before they would head up to meet with Dugan and Jones, when he hears the heat and explosion unsettle the building. Then he knows they're in trouble. "Carter!" He shouts in warning, but it's too late. The ground cracks and he hears her gasp.
"Steve!—"
Is the last thing he hears before the world goes sideways.
—
He comes too pretty quickly. He can taste blood in his mouth, and he spits it out. It's hot. Too hot. But he knows he can take it. Whatever the hell Zola did to him changed him fundamentally.
"Carter!" He croaks out, "can you hear me?"
He just hears a groan.
Then he hears radio chatter and shouting in German.
It's his turn to groan, but he shoves rubble away from him and scrambles out. Another groan at the pain in his torso. Broken ribs probably. "Carter!"
"Bucky." He hears a weak call.
And her saying that name scares him more than anything.
"Peggy!" He moves towards the sound, "I'm coming, keeps talking."
"About what?" She jests, her voice sounding strained and pained, "how Steve will be so mad you ruined his surprise?"
He finds her, half stuck under a chunk of concrete, fetal position hands over her stomach.
"You get hit?" He asks, trying to examine her as he lifts off the concrete.
"Just a scratch." She snaps, her voice cracking. But he can see blood on her temple and shoulder.
"Come on," he encourages, "Steve will kill me if I let you—" his breath leaves him in a woosh. Electricity coursing though him at a rate so high he hears his own skin sizzle. His muscles contract and then he's on the ground.
A shout, Peggy shouts something, he can't hear what she says. It's just a muffled sound behind the buzzing in his ears.
The electricity courses again and he sees the butt of a rifle coming down, but there's nothing he can do to stop it.
—
"Stop!" Peggy shouts, seeing the way they practically fry James. "Please, stop!"
"töte sie. Wir wollen nur Zolas Projekt."
It's said in German. But even in her frazzled brain she understands.
Kill her. We only want Zola's project.
A trap. They set this trap to get Barnes.
"Du wirst mich nicht töten wollen." She says, barely being kept upright by the Hydra agent holding her
You don't want to kill me.
"Und warum ist das?" A man with a mask on replies.
And why is that?
"Ich bin schwanger."
Because I'm pregnant.
"Und warum sollte mich das interessieren?"
And why would I care about that?
"Weil es Captain America gehört. Sein Serum fließt in meinen Adern."
Because it's Captain America's. His serum runs through my veins.
He switches to heavily accented English. "You lie."
"I'm Agent Peggy Carter. You've heard of me, haven't you?" His silence is all the answer she needs, "the serum I have is a much purer form. And I know it works because it's affected me too. Take me instead."
Steve is going to be so mad at her, but she has to try something. They'll either kill her anyways and still take Barnes, or—
His voice interrupts her thoughts.
"Nimm sie beide."
Take them both.
And a rifle to her temple crumples her right next to Barnes.
And the only thought she has as she fades to black is she's glad they didn't use the electricity.
—-
"Wake up!"
Cold water sloshes across her face and down her body and she jerks into consciousness. Her hands rip against their restraints and a shiver courses through her at the freezing temperatures.
"Good." The man says, "now, how far along are you?"
She grits her teeth. Was capture really better than death? She's not sure. The only thought in her mind when she'd told them about the baby was stay alive stay alive stay alive.
Steve will find them.
If he's alive.
The thought makes her throat scratchy and nose tingle, tears forming without her consent.
They'd showed her the pictures that the SSR had uploaded of Steve. Mangled and burnt and practically unrecognizable.
They'd told her he was dead. And she supposed it could be true. But he'd come up out of that ice after 8 months in it and he'd recovered. They could be lying to her to break her spirit.
She hears a guttural roar from the next room and she pinches her eyes shut.
There's no point in feeling guilty at the moment. James would be alone here if she hadn't done what she did and at least when they toss his body into the cell at night she can tend to him a bit.
She's not sure pouring water over his wounds counts as tending but it's the best she can do.
—
"Maybe it's why he bought the house."
She shakes her head. They've been here for two months, and they've started going insane. And by going insane she means talking about anything and everything just to keep whatever sanity they can retain.
"It's not why he bought the house." She repeats, "like I told you. He didn't know."
He shrugs. Then winces at the motion, "I don't know. Steve always had a sixth sense about stuff. He could have guessed."
Had.
It overwhelms her again. The use of past tense.
"Sorry." She hears him whisper.
"It's not your fault." Peggy reiterates for the thousandth time.
"It kind of is. They set a trap for me."
They've circled through this topic a thousand times too. "But why you? Why not Steve?"
"Like I've said, they keep mentioning Zola's work. Something about his programming."
"Programming?"
He takes a deep breath, "my German isn't as good as yours, Carter." She glares at him softly before feeling a twinge and she places a hand on her stomach. His eye catches the motion, "you alright?"
"He or she is just moving about. Or I don't know. It's not like they tell me the results at the appointments."
His eyes track her hands movement and then he looks back up to the ceiling. "I'm going to get us out of this, Carter."
"Just like I told my other brother Michael, don't make promises you can't keep."
There's a long silence. They've discussed this only briefly, and it was really her mentioning it and him telling her off.
She expects them to dispose of her the minute the baby is born.
The thought makes her incredibly feral. It makes her want to scratch their eyes out and tear out of there like a wild animal. But she can't. The reinforced cells. The rigid patrol scheduling. The way she knows they're 13 stories underground.
Barnes had tried a few times.
And then they'd cut off his arm.
So she'd ordered him to stop.
Another twinge in her stomach.
If Steve is dead then this is the only thing she has left of him.
But does she want it here? Held captive and it in Hydra's care?
The warring of her thoughts fills her head. Like clanging drums that she can't pick out a beat too.
"Carter." She looks up, his voice drawing her out of the depths. "Stay with me."
"I'm trying." She whispers. He's begun to catch on to her foul moods more often. Seeing them appear before she gets too deep.
"Sing to me." He requests. "Sing something."
Peggy rolls her eyes, "you sing. I'm not your bloody canary."
"Yeah but you have a better voice and you sing that Irish lullaby so well."
And she complies. Humming the song that Steve used to humm. He'd humm it doing the dishes, or vacuuming. He'd humm it when he folded laundry or cooked. It was a song his mother had used as a lullaby when he was young and the tune had stuck with him.
When she finishes he shifts and looks at her, "Tell me about your days at boarding school." He yawns, "you were there for years. You've got loads of ridiculous stories. Right?"
Her laugh is soft but there is a bit of relief at the humor that pervades her mind. "I suppose I do have a few."
—
It's a girl.
A beautifully perfect little girl. Her eyes haven't settled colors yet. And her hair is sort of a light yellow, so she's not sure what color it will end up being either.
The moment that little girl had been born, after hours of agony, she'd known the battle was lost.
If after almost a year, Steve hadn't come to find them, then he was most likely dead.
They'd briefly kicked around the idea that they were hidden too well. Or that Hydra had planted corpses to fake being them, keeping him from looking for them. Any sort of reason as to why Steve hadn't come to get them yet.
But the most likely reason is that he is dead.
So she makes the little girl her world.
They draw blood, they run tests. And she complies. Never putting up a fight. Not that the fight has gone out of her. But the fight has shifted tides. Now she has a new goal. Keep this baby girl as healthy and safe as she can until they figure out something else.
When she behaves they reward her. Meals on time, enough water, no physical beatings.
It's frustrating how effective that is. She never forgets that these men and women have stolen her life. But she falls in line. Even if it's just for now, just for show, just for her little girl.
Stephanie.
When she'd told Barnes what she calls her in secret. He'd covered his face with his hands and wept. And she'd wept right alongside him.
She can hear the ghost of Steve arguing to give her her own name. That Peggy shouldn't name her after him.
But there's no more fitting way to honor the legacy of her husband and the gift that he gave her in the form of this child than for them to share a name.
Stephanie. Her crown.
The doctor's mention it. How healthy Peggy is. How she heals at an incredible rate and her aging. She's 49 and yet looks 21.
She knows the serum runs through her in whatever strange ways Howard alluded to. Not to mention the blood transfusion.
And Barnes is unchanged as well.
The only sign of his capture being the lack of a limb. All other scars and marks of torture have faded.
He behaves now as well. The last time he tried something they'd taken her baby away from her for three days, and she'd almost lost all sanity in fear and worry.
Now he behaves.
And so does she.
Good little Hydra prisoners.
—-
"She looks just like Sarah."
"She looks just like Steve."
"Well he looked just like Sarah."
Peggy feels the same weak and wilted smile cross her face.
Stephanie, now 1 years old, plays quietly on the concrete ground.
As far as she can tell, they've not really gotten anything from her blood or Stephanie's. Barnes is a different story. And she's noticed a change.
Everytime he comes back from his "sessions" he seems a little bit more off kilter. A little more forgetful. She hymns the song often. Or sings it when she thinks the doctors are paying attention. It seems to ground him. To remind him who he is.
But each session makes him worse.
She begs them to stop. To let them go. But never in a way that gets them punished. Never in a rebellious way. Those feelings are still kindled in her heart. But the precious baby by her side means she keeps them hidden.
She hates that she's grateful to a psychotic organization like Hydra, but she is for the fact that they haven't harmed her or her baby. Only twice has the little girl been removed from her possession and those had been some of the darkest days of Peggy's life. But she'd been returned unharmed. Although they always threatened.
Next time we will teach her the lesson you refuse to learn.
So Peggy learns her lesson. She obeys.
She hates.
But she obeys.
—-
"Barnes?"
A groggy "hmm" escapes him and she carefully extradites herself from the bed, not waking the now almost two year old.
"Barnes, we need to talk."
"Sleepy."
"I know. But the guards have started their shift change and we only have a few minutes where no one can hear us."
One eye opens and the eyebrow raises, "what is it?"
"When I'm finished breastfeeding—"
Immediately his eye snaps closed and he turns his head away from her, "I'm not having this conversation.
"You must listen!" She hisses, hearing the approaching footsteps, "once she weans, if they dispose of me, you have to promise me!"
"They're not going to get rid of you. They can use your blood."
"No, they haven't been able to. And I can't rely on that. I need you to promise you'll do whatever is in your power to keep her safe!"
"Of course I will." He snaps in a whisper, "but it won't be necessary. I'm not letting them kill you!"
"Well they're not going to kill you. So they'll threaten her if you try something. So you better not. Better that I'm dead than her, and I need to know that you'll do everything you can."
The guard is settling into place and he looks at her, misery etched into his once easygoing features, "I will."
She nods, resting a hand on his shoulder, right above the missing limb, "thank you."
Then she goes back and holds her little girl tight, humming the same lullaby.
—-
"Will you comply and allow her to be trained properly? Or will you choose the difficult route?"
Peggy looks at her daughter. Her eyes had settled. Bright blue with just a touch of a brown speckle on the left eye by the center pupil. And golden hair so soft and thick and with a natural curl. Just like her fathers when he would allow it to grow long enough.
"What does that entail?" She asks quietly, her eyes still on her daughter.
"If you behave as you have been, then you will be allowed to retain your mothership of her. If you deny us, then you will be disposed of and we will take her to be trained at the red room facility until we need her when she's older and properly prepared and then she can be fully integrated."
Peggy's only heard terrible whispers of the red room. And she'd encountered one facility back when Steve was still missing in the ice. Empty beds with handcuffs attached and a loop of old cartoons filtered with brainwashing.
She's getting tired of "live to fight another day". But she really doesn't have a better choice.
"I'll behave."
"Good."
—
Peggy's heart gets a thrill at the sight of him, as it's been almost four years since her last sighting. "Barnes!"
He does not look up or respond.
"James?" She tries.
But he stands guard at a far door across from her cell. The one they place her in while Stephanie is in class learning Russian. They don't know she speaks Russian. She hadn't told them.
Still no response.
"Bucky?"
His head twitches up, and she gasps at the blank eyes and blank expression.
She whistles the tune. The lullaby and he seems to frown. Like he's upset by hearing it.
"What have they done to you…" she breathes out.
But he just looks back at the ground.
—
"Mum?"
"Yes, dear?"
She never says Stephanie's name. Not out loud anyways. She's whispered it in her daughter's ear while she's slept. "My darling Stephanie—" and then she whispers in French or Mandarin about Steve and his heroism and his love for them. How much he would have loved her and how much Stephanie is just like him.
Peggy thought Stepahnie was always sleeping, but one day she had asked out loud: "where is my father, Steve?" And had received a slap across the face for the question.
Peggy had been very careful with what she whispered after that. Mostly sticking to humming the song. Peggy had been punished for that as well. But it didn't matter. Who cares what they did to her now. Her only goal was to ensure Stephanie's life.
—-
"You're 10 today." Peggy says with a small smile, brushing her daughters hair back and starting to braid it, "can you believe it?"
In truth, Stephanie only looks around six. Her growth is slow. But only her physical growth. Her mental acuity and acumen is phenomenal.
"I want to go outside mum."
Peggy rues the day she ever talked about 'the outside'.
"Someday, my darling." She lies. "Some day."
—-
She's never able to speak freely anymore. Their cell is watched and listened to ever since Stephanie had questioned them during one of her lessons. The scars on the back of her thighs may never fully disappear. They'd punished her severely when they realized she was not as "well-behaved" as they thought.
Now every word is monitored. But Peggy does her best to still imbue her and Steve's character into her. Honesty. Integrity. Humility. Everything she can hide underneath their insanity. They're training Stephanie. Languages, science, their mantras, their dogmas. Their beliefs and hideous goals for the world.
And every ounce of her spy skills is used to undo it every night with her words and actions without making them aware of what she's doing.
The struggle for her daughter's soul and mind takes up every ounce of her energy. Her day, her purpose.
—-
"Agent."
Her eyes blink open and she stands.
"Your ward is misbehaving."
The Agent wars against the thought. That's not my ward. That's my child.
No. You don't have anything. Nothing is yours.
"In what ways, sir."
"She refuses to obey our rules of engagement."
Good for her.
Stop. They'll punish her if she misbehaves.
"May the Agent speak to her?"
"You know communication has been forbidden."
Years. Six, ten, twelve?—years since they took her baby—child—teenager—- from her and refused to let her see her, speak to her. Her daughter—
Ward—
MY child! Her mind screams. Don't forget. Never forget. She's yours. She's St—
A sharp jab in her mind causes her to wince internally.
That name. The forbidden name. The name it took them over a decade to try to erase. And even now she can still grasp pieces of it. It's there. The empty void of where that name belonged yawns a deeper chasm than the name itself. A gaping hole in her heart, mind, soul.
His.
That's as close as she can get.
She's his.
Her ward— child is his.
Where is he?
She can't remember.
She just has a sense of peace that he would be there if he could.
"What course of action would you like the Agent to complete?" She asks. Her eyes glazed on the far wall.
"As her first trainer—"
Mother! Her mind screams.
"What are your first suggestions to entice good behavior? Such as you have modeled."
Because I had to. She rails. She's not well behaved, she's desperate. Don't hurt my baby. My child, my teenager, my ward. Mine. My last piece of Ste—-
This time the wince makes a physical appearance and the man studies her. "What is malfunctioning, Agent?"
"Nothing." She lies. "The thoughts were deciding a course of action. To ensure good behavior, the ward needs a trainer to trust."
An annoyed huff, and he slams the controls to tip her cryo tank upright, "and who the hell would that be!" He snaps. Looking annoyed, "she's too strong for most of our trainers, and the Asset refuses to fight her, even under pain of death. So what the hell am I supposed to do now?"
She knows this is not a question for her. Many times the handlers treat the Agent and the Asset as sounding boards. Air their grievances, mental and physical, and then walk away.
But this man studies her. He's new. He doesn't know she's her daughter. Her ward/child. Or at least, she doesn't believe he knows. The handlers have done everything to erase that connection. So it's never spoken of.
Perhaps it's in a file somewhere. But it's been— her brain fritzes, trying to pull a number— 28 years since she gave birth— assigned the ward.
She's almost 80.
The Agent is only 12 years old.
Once they took the child from her arms. And didn't bring her back, she tried to fight, to break out, find her ward— child and run. A last ditch effort as the possibility of escape was dwindling to nothing.
But then they'd caught her three floors from ground level and strung her up. Brought in her daughter to watch her punishment. Lashes and then into ice water that she had to tread or drown. The water was a murky bloody mess by the time they pulled her out, blue and practically dead.
Then they punished her daughter. And made her watch.
Nail removal. Followed by jolts so strong daughter's arm hair had singed off.
The sound of her ward—daughter's cry had been enough to break her. And she'd begged them to stop.
And they had.
But with the promise she would never be able to see her again.
And that's how it's been.
The "sessions" started soon after that.
Now she knows why Barnes had been so off, and now why he didn't seem to know them at all.
Only rarely does she see him. In flashes, glimpses. Hair that hangs down in front of his eyes. A silver arm attached to his stump.
He sees her child more than she does.
And no matter what they burn into or out of him. His knowledge and protective nature of Steph—-
Another jolt. That name is too close to the other.
"The Agent could train her."
Stop. Stop. Stop! Her thoughts rail. That's too dangerous. They might punish her for the suggestion.
He raises an eyebrow, "so the motherly instincts are still there, huh?" He laughs and dread fills her gut. So he does know. "Hard to erase that. I'll make a note in your file for your next session. They need to dig deeper."
The misery oozes from her soul.
—
"Agent."
She stands, her eyes flicking to the ground.
And something in her mind registers when the Asset with the silver arm appears.
But neither speak. Neither register the other's presence. Only a slight increase in her thrum of energy. That's the only connection that still exists.
"You two are tasked to work together on this next mission." Files are dropped before them and then he points to their chairs.
They sit. One arm is restrained and legs held in place.
Handlers run through the mission.
An easy kill.
Only once on the mission does he look up at her and meet her gaze.
They're both out in the open.
They are both out in the open.
There are no handlers around and they are both out in the open.
They finish the mission and return to base.
—
After that, they run missions together more often. Some test of loyalty passed.
The Agent isn't sure. Something tells her she must return to base after every mission. Something is there. Something is the Agent's. And it's there. Can't leave it there.
The Asset and she trade few words.
Mostly barks of instruction or warning.
They speak only in German or Russian.
—-
There is one mission where the Asset takes a strange route. They had taken three planes, one train, and six buses to reach this place. And it is mindbending in scale.
And yet the Asset makes a turn she doesn't expect.
And he walks, blending into the crowd with ease. They both keep their heads down and she follows his lead, wondering if he saw or sensed something she didn't.
While the Agent can hold her own, since her skills were considerable even before she was trained by her handlers, her senses are not as sharp or accurate as the assets and so she follows.
He stops and stares across the street.
A brownstone townhouse is what holds his gaze. A flower box on the large bottom window that can see into the living room.
A delicate brass number hangs by the door.
"Importance?" She asks.
And then stops. The English coming to her tongue so easily.
"Unknown." He responds. Not even blinking at her English use. "Continue."
Then he walks away and she looks at the house for a moment more. Something about it leaves an ache in her chest.
But she ignores it as she follows him.
—-
"It was too damn close!" She hears yelling through the glass as she begins to thaw.
"He didn't tell us he was coming!" Another shout, "he just showed up!"
"If he told someone, so help me, I will bury you in 6 feet of concrete!"
"He didn't! I stabbed him and then took the pods immediately! He probably didn't even know who they were—"
"Didn't know?" A loud scoff, "this was Director of Shield. Fucking Phil Coulson, you imbecile! He knows who they are! Haven't you seen the comic book in his office! This is why they've never run public ops! They cannot be seen! At all! By anyone!"
"They've run daylight ops before. They've never been seen."
"That was when Zola was a plant in Shield and could cover their tracks! Now we don't allow you, you know Pierce's orders!"
"I know!" The man sounds more annoyed than she can remember him being in the past. "But I'm telling you, he surprised us! He told us he was going one way and he faked us out, showing up there! We had no way to prepare!"
"Sloppy. Pierce will have your head if he finds out or if Phil managed to contact someone."
"I took his phone." The handler responds. "So he couldn't have contacted anyone. And Pierce said he was only minutes behind me removing the pods and that Phil was dead when he got there. So we're fine."
She blinks, her eyes finally having the ability to open as the cryo fully releases her.
"Besides." The handler says. "Even if he did recognize them. He's dead now. Who would he even tell? Who would believe him? And on top of that, who would even care, you know?" The man sneers at them, "two attack dogs from a bygone era. No one would give a shit about them. Hell. No one even really remembers them."
"I watched the cartoons." The other one comments, opening the Asset's pod. "Dunno why they kept his name and not hers."
Her handler's sweaty hands grab her and pull her from the pod, depositing her on the chair.
"Agent?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're being moved to a far location. The Asset will accompany you. Await there for further instructions. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Only Pierce's command code should be accepted. Other than his, do not move from your location or break in-house protocol. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
She hears him give the rundown to the Asset.
Who does not verbally respond. Just nods.
When they hand her her files and her bag, she has the distinct feeling she's forgetting something. Something she needs to bring. Something they haven't given her yet. She needs it. Where is it? Why wouldn't they give it to her? It's imperative to her mission.
It's her only mission.
But then they're being led to a van and a syringe enters her arm and the Agent's world goes black.
—-