77.
Brooklyn, New York City
September 29th, 1945
Isabel is napping on her bed after an overnight shift when the shrill of a phone ringing jolts her awake. She walks over to the phone on the receiver in the kitchen, lifting it off and holding it to her ear. In her sleeping haze, it takes her a moment to realise it isn't the phone ringing, but the intercom downstairs. Someone rings again, and Isabel puts a finger to the intercom.
"Hello?"
"Letter for Isabel Barnes, ma'am," a male voice says.
"One moment." Isabel hangs up the phone again and goes downstairs, opening the door leading to the street. A postman stands there, in his hands a small envelope with Isabel's name on the front.
"Miss Barnes?" Isabel nods. "This is for you. It was marked as high importance, so it was to be delivered by hand."
"Thank you," Isabel says, taking the letter and hurrying back upstairs.
She recognises Peggy's handwriting on the front, but she wonders why it was marked as high importance. Surely a regular letter from Peggy wouldn't warrant such care. Isabel sits at the kitchen table and rips the envelope open, pulling out the letter.
Dearest Isabel,
Sorry it has taken me so long to respond to your letter. I know it's been nearly two months. I hope you haven't feared something has happened to me. Life has been hectic as we wrap up the war. There's been a lot of meetings and contracts signed between men who truly have no idea what they're talking about that I've been required to attend. Working with the Howling Commandos had been much, much more enjoyable. However, not to worry, I was able to set most of them straight.
I'm glad you're settling back into life. I was worried letting you go, but I see now that it was probably best for you. I see no reason why the hospital wouldn't have welcomed you back but thank God for the good old doctor. I'm grateful that you somewhat enjoy it again, but I see what you mean about the war following you home – it seems to be everywhere, in every town and village and within every person. I agree that it will take quite a few years before it stops following us like some poisonous shadow.
I love hearing about Brooklyn, it seems like a lovely place. However, I'm sure it would be much nicer in person. I'm afraid our letters are still being censored so some things may not make the cut, but I hope you can get the gist of what I'm going to tell you. The reason why I write you is not just to correspond, but also to let you know that with the action officially dying down and our little friends considered to be finished, I'm being sent elsewhere. To you, actually. I had the letter marked as high importance to ensure that it made it safely to your hands.
I was hoping that you'd be around and we could meet up. Perhaps you could show me around your beautiful city and assist me in locating lodgings as I'll be in the state for the foreseeable future. I'm travelling by ship this time, so I'll know a little of what it was like for you. My ship is set to arrive through Ellis Island on 2/10/45 around eleven in the morning. Hopefully I'll see you around.
Love,
Your friend Peggy
It takes Isabel a moment to realise that 2/10/1945 is in face not an error on Peggy's part but the date, written backward to how it's written in America. That means Peggy will be arriving at Ellis Island in three days.
Isabel smirks at the letter, and then squeals giddily, clutching it to her chest. She won't just show Peggy around, she'll help her friend get set up for a new life in Brooklyn. The idea of having a friend in the city, a good friend, and of not being alone is like a weight off her shoulders. Isabel goes to the calendar on the wall beside the fridge and circles the date of Peggy's arrival. She'll meet Peggy at the docks three days from now, Isabel decides with a smile.
Brooklyn, New York City
October 2nd, 1945
The day of Peggy's arrival, Isabel takes herself to the cemetery. She's been a few times since she returned to Brooklyn, but usually she has Winifred or Becca in tow to see Bucky and Steve. This time, she's alone.
She walks through the cemetery, a bunch of flowers clutched in her hand. Under the hot sun, she kneels in front of the headstone and smiles down at it.
"Hey, Stevie. Hi, Buck. I hope you're looking after one another and keeping out of trouble," she says quietly. She wipes over the headstone, getting rid of the layer of dirt that's settled there. "I hope you're both doing okay. I'm doing fine. But I have some exciting news. Peggy's coming today! She's going to be living in New York. I'm really excited. This means I'm going to see her all the time. It will be nice."
She swallows. "I'm just worried I won't be much company for her. I haven't exactly been full of life. And I've been working a lot. Though, I suppose Peggy will be working as well."
Isabel sighs. "I just wish you both were here. I wish the four of us could've been together again when Peggy comes. Just imagine it, if we could have all lived a normal life together. Well, somewhat normal. Bucky, you and Peg could've settled down and bought an apartment. And Steve, we could have, too, just like we talked about. And we could have–" gotten married and had kids and been a big, happy family. Isabel pauses then and tries to let go of the thought, knowing it will never be possible.
But Isabel suddenly feels a burst of anger rush through her. Immediately that anger is directed toward poor Steve and Bucky, who are really undeserving, and she knows that, she does, but she just can't help herself. "Why'd you have to leave?" Isabel whispers, frowning deeply. "Why'd you have to go? You took everything of me with you. Especially you, Steve. You took my heart–"
No, no, you are angry at Hydra, not at Bucky and Steve. Hydra.
Isabel sighs again, putting her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm not angry at you," she says hurriedly. "I'm not angry at you, I promise," she repeats, imagining how upset they'd be if she truly was, if they were here to hear her say that. She hopes they didn't hear that, or at least understand her frustration enough to know it isn't really directed at them.
She's angry at Hydra, and Isabel feels her blood boiling with rage. She wants to see Zola pay for what he did, more than just a room in a jail cell. And she wants Madame Hydra dead, since she managed to get away. Even though Peggy has reassured her that Hydra is finished, officially, Isabel wishes she could see them burned and left in ashes. She wishes she could be sure, but no one ever really will be. There'll be no way of knowing if Hydra is truly destroyed. They can only hope that they've been damaged enough that they're irreparable and cannot start up again. And even if there was more Hydra to take down, Isabel just doesn't have any energy left. She's exhausted and miserable and she's had enough.
She feels her body physically slump in defeat. It's as if she has allowed the floodgates in her mind to collapse and the water begins drowning her, pulling her into a darkness where she can't tell up from down. She clenches her eyes shut to try to force the tears back in and brutal images flash across her eyelids, stealing more and more of her reality from her as they materialise. She sees the carnage, the darkness of war surrounding her, and the red – so much blood.
You are not there. You're safe, in Brooklyn, she tells herself, but it's too late, as it usually is when she suffers from a nightmare or a flashback. She's suddenly standing in the midst of hectares of blood stained, muddy fields and trenches. Looking down at herself, she's wearing her combat uniform – a ripped off-white t-shirt a few sizes too big with a red cross sewed into the shoulder, and sloppy olive green pants tucked into brown combat boots. The bouquet of roses in her hand has transformed into an Army-issue rifle. The metal feels cool against her skin, small beads of sweat coating the silver where her hot hands hold it.
Before her are the bodies of thousands of soldiers, both allies and enemies, still where they lay after succumbing to their injuries. The death clock has clicked, chimed and claimed hundreds of lives, as it has from day one of the war. Isabel feels a horrible tightness in her chest, like someone heavy is sitting on her, but she walks forwards, stepping gingerly over the bodies. The smell of rotting flesh is overwhelming and sickening, but it's also strangely familiar. Being surrounded by death for so many months, years even, has become a reality.
Ahead of her, through the fog settled upon the fields, are two familiar looking silhouettes, and she would recognize the two men anywhere. She feels a smile tugging at her lips and a pull from behind her navel toward them, like she's programmed to go to them. She starts forward, breaking into a run, but no matter how hard she pushes herself, how far she runs, she can never quite reach Steve or Bucky. They're always a finger's breath too far away, their clothes just scraping along the tips of her fingers–
A wail from across the cemetery breaks Isabel out of her visions with a jolt. Her breathing is fast and uneven, kneeling on the grass before the headstone. She looks around her, clearing the confusion in her muddled mind and struggling to remain in the present. It seems the nightmares won't only stay in her dreams. She's been pulled further into the flood than ever, and she's currently swimming frantically, but the memories are catching up fast, plowing through the water toward her like the fin of a shark. Whenever she thinks she's a step ahead, that she's starting to heal, she's proven wrong.
Isabel sighs and wipes a hand over her face. She puts the flowers down in front of them, and once again, they're crinkled. "I'm sorry. Why do I always do this?" She cries, laughing at her own weakness. "I come to visit you and all I ever do is cry and have flashbacks. I wasn't so scared when you both were here."
Isabel stares at the headstone for a long time, hoping that Steve or Bucky will respond to her. They don't. She's only rewarded with the rustling of the trees, the chirping of birds above, the wail of the wind.
"I just hope that having Peggy here will help me. Maybe she'll keep me more distracted than work and the family are. Now that Becca and Robbie are back at school, there's really only Mama free to go out with. Where should I take Peg? She wants to see New York and Brooklyn. The Statue of Liberty is a given, but she'll see that today when she arrives at Ellis Island. I can take her to Coney Island, Prospect Park, the art gallery. Oh, and the Sunday Market by the river, she'll like that."
Isabel talks and talks to distract herself, making a mental list of things to show Peggy, things that the three of them always liked doing and even things they usually couldn't afford. She's got more money now, so she can afford such luxuries. If Bucky's right about being with them in spirit, he and Steve will be able to experience it with her.
No one responds, but that's okay. If only she knew that they were listening.
"We'll pretend you're both there. If we talk about you enough, it'll be like you are. And I'll be able to see you because we grew up going to those places. I can remember all those times. I'll just relive it. It'll be okay," she reassures, but she isn't sure if she's reassuring herself or Bucky and Steve. Isabel looks at the time on her watch. "Well, I've got to go if I'm going to meet Peggy at the docks over in Manhattan. I know, ugh. But you gotta do these things for your friends. I'll say hello for you both. She'll probably want to visit, too, so I'll be back soon. Hopefully I'll have more to tell you then. Love you both, be safe."
I love you, Belle. Just remember to keep living, okay? She can hear Steve say in her head, his voice so vivid it's like he's standing right beside her.
Be good, doll, and have fun. Let your hair down a bit. Your face is too pretty to be sad, Bucky tells her, and she can just see his smug smirk.
Isabel smiles brightly, her eyes welling with silent tears. "I knew you'd both be listening."
The docks are crowded once again, and the sun is warm above her as Isabel waits for Peggy. A slight cool wind comes off the water, but it does little to quench the heat. Isabel sits against one of the flower beds and fans her face, her cheeks red under the heat.
Isabel watches as soldier after soldier disembarks from the ferry from Ellis Island, all of them lugging suitcases. They pass her without a glance, unaware of who she is. Isabel doesn't expect a celebrity status or anything, but there's a small chance she fought next to some of these men, or even saved their lives. It seems… strange for them to not even recognise her, and for her to not recognise them.
Isabel spots Peggy from a mile away. The woman looks elegant as ever, dressed in a short sleeve blouse and a flowing red skirt. Peggy steps easily off the ferry as though the two suitcases in her hands that look as though they weigh nothing, despite them being awkward to hold. She looks up at the towering buildings of Manhattan around them, breathing in a breath of fresh city air.
Isabel gets off her perch and walks over to greet her. "Hi, Peggy."
Peggy spins around, eyes wide. "Isabel? I wasn't expecting you here!"
The two friends hug, tight, laughing with each other. "I thought I'd come meet you. New York can be a big and confusing city."
"Well, I'm grateful. I have no idea where to go," Peggy laughs, still looking around in slight awe at the beautiful park along the riverside, a rustic church and cemetery only a few hundred yards away buried in the trees. "Are you sure it's okay you're here? You didn't have work?" Peggy asks, sounding worried.
"I took a few days off so that I could help you settle in," Isabel reassures. "I've been working a lot of double shifts filling in for some of the other nurses. They owed me."
"Fair," Peggy allows. "Are you still enjoying the hospital?"
"It feels normal. Anything that feels normal or familiar is good, including you. So, are you staying anywhere?" Isabel asks. If they're going to get a taxi to drop off Peggy's possessions, she needs to have an address for the driver.
"Not as of yet. I thought I could just find the nearest hotel until I found something more permanent."
"You aren't staying in any old hotel. It will cost you an arm and a leg, especially in Manhattan," Isabel protests.
"Well, the Strategic Reserve base is actually located in Brooklyn. They needed it somewhere with easier road access since Manhattan can be a nightmare," Peggy explains.
"Oh, well then perfect. You're always welcome to stay with me, there's a spare room," Isabel assures with a shrug, the desperation for company clear in her voice. "It would be easier to help you settle in if you were living with me. You don't have to stay forever, of course. But I don't mind if you do. And perhaps I can show you around Brooklyn without impending experiments and wars and super-soldiers?"
Peggy pauses, seemingly tossing up whether that's a good idea or not. "That sounds lovely, actually. But I don't want to step on your toes, you need your space–"
"Nonsense," Isabel says with a smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way. That wouldn't be very hospitable of a Brooklynite. You need a place to live, I need a roommate. I think it works perfectly."
They walk through the park to the main road and Isabel hails a taxi, a few instantly skidding to a stop for the women. Peggy hoists her suitcases into the trunk on her own, refusing the driver's help when he hurries to assist her. They get into the backseat and Isabel rattles off her address to the driver before he pulls off the curb.
"I caught the subway to get here, but it would be hectic with your cases. A taxi is much easier," Isabel explains.
They drive through the bustling streets of Lower Manhattan and then across the Brooklyn Bridge, over the sapphire blue waters of the river. Peggy admires the views, the Statue of Liberty in the distance at the entrance to the harbor, the wires of the bridge on either side of them. They pull off the bridge with the traffic at the other side and drive through the quieter streets of Brooklyn. Peggy can vaguely remember the brownstone buildings of the neighbourhood they're driving through. It's the same neighbourhood that the antique store had been located, posing as a front for the experiment chambers of Project Rebirth. She'd only gone directly to the location, hadn't stopped to look around at all, and now she's almost in awe.
"You recognise it?" Isabel asks quietly. "The antique store is right there," Isabel points out as they drive past the familiar building. "This is the neighbourhood that Steve's Ma's apartment was in. A few streets over is my parents' apartment, and a few streets past that is mine. Well, ours."
They drive the few streets, as Isabel promised, and then the taxi pulls up outside a cosy-looking brownstone building. A bookstore sits within the store downstairs, a small door off to the side leading to the staircase and apartments upstairs. Isabel pays the driver and then leads Peggy inside, helping her carry the suitcases upstairs. She unlocks the door to their apartment and steps inside, Peggy following behind.
"It isn't much, but it's home," Isabel says quietly, looking around with a solemn but content expression.
Peggy smiles. It's a cosy apartment, lived in and worn and comfortable. The furniture is a little mix-matched, though Peggy guesses they probably brought furniture from Steve's mother's apartment and other pieces they'd bought on a limited budget. The bookshelves in the corner are filled with books of all shapes and sizes, some more read than others, their spines so damaged they can't read the name of the book anymore. Beside it sits some of Steve's old painting equipment and an easel, still holding an unfinished drawing Steve had been working on before the war.
"It's gorgeous," Peggy says sincerely. "It… it looks like all of you, somehow. I can see little bits of all of you."
"Well, we all sort of scrounged together to make it happen. The kitchen utensils we bought new. The beds and kitchen table came with the apartment. The couch, bookshelves and coffee table were Steve's. Everything else we just sort of threw together and it seemed to work."
"It does," Peggy reassures.
"You, uh, well, the spare room, which you can have if you want it, it used to be Bucky's," Isabel continues, leading Peggy into the second bedroom of the apartment which is still filled with Bucky's possessions and clothing. "Obviously he took most of his valuable possessions with him to the front, but I brought it all home with me, so I put it back where he usually kept it. I, uh, haven't gotten around to clearing anything out yet for you, but we can–"
"Oh, that won't be necessary," Peggy says, putting her suitcase on the unmade bed. There truly isn't all that many things of Bucky's since the man never had all that much anyway. There's his clothing, of course, but other than that there's just a few books, a telescope, a baseball glove and ball, a signed bat sitting in the corner, and some bed sheets folded on the bed. In the desk drawer in his room is some stationary and the letters he received from the front while he was fighting. "I think it will work just fine. I don't really see the need to move anything."
Isabel smiles lightly, knowing Peggy's caught on to her unwillingness to get rid of any of Bucky's things. Winifred had come by and had taken a few momentos to put in the Barnes' apartment, but she'd left most of it behind.
It had been very painful packing up Steve's room, and she'd almost been unable to. It hadn't felt right to move it all, to sell the partitions and fold up the bed sheets, to slide the spare mattress under her own bed and move his possessions into her own room for safekeeping in his momento tin. But she'd done it to free up the lounge room, hoping it would serve to help her move on, as a type of closure. Steve's books she'd put into the bookshelf with her own. His photographs and possessions she'd put into his safekeeping box at the top of her wardrobe. His clothes she'd put into boxes. None of it would fit him anyway if he came home, except for the few things he bought after the experiment. She may even take them to a shelter, should she be able to part with them; they'll be much more useful for someone else to wear rather than wearing away in a box. His art equipment she'd left out, since she could never part with any of it. His sketchbooks she'd put in her own room so that she could look at them when she wanted to.
"Well, I'll leave you to set yourself up, you must be exhausted from the journey on the ship. Make yourself at home. It can be your home, too, if you want it," Isabel offers easily. "What's mine is yours and all that. Whatever was Bucky's or Steve's is also officially mine since they left it to me, so it's yours as well. And feel free to move anything around. We tried our best to decorate in the months before we left but everything is a little mix-matched, so I hope that's okay–"
"Isabel," Peggy interrupts, halting Isabel's rambling.
"Yes?"
"Thank you," Peggy says with a warm smile. "For everything."
Isabel's mouth opens and closes once before she smiles brightly, practically beams. "No, Peggy. Thank you."
Peggy goes to sleep for a few hours in the afternoon, sleeping off her travels across the Atlantic. While she does, Isabel busies herself cooking dinner. She's been cooking for one nearly every night since she returned to Brooklyn, and only rarely for a few when Becca or Winifred or all of the Barnes' come over for dinner. It's nice to be cooking for more than one because it makes the effort feel more worthwhile, but it also poses the question of what exactly to cook. Cooking just for herself, Isabel would make one thing and eat it multiple nights in a row. She isn't entirely sure Peggy would be open to that, though she doesn't see Peggy as the type to complain much about such trivial things as food. Especially not after some of the terrible meals they'd been served up at the SSR base and out on the front with their rations.
Isabel sets on preparing a stew with a bit of leftover meat from a family dinner a few days ago and the many vegetables in the icebox. Peggy, awoken by the smell wafting through the apartment, emerges from her new room to find Isabel working over the stove, adding chopped carrots to the pot.
"Smells delightful," Peggy notes with a smile.
"After a week of food on the ship, I think anything would smell and taste nice," Isabel laughs. "So, how was the ship?" Isabel asks.
Peggy takes a seat at the kitchen table, watching her. She still looks exhausted, heavy bags under her eyes. "It was okay," Peggy says. "Bearable. The waves weren't too bad, the food was terrible. The plane flight was much more enjoyable."
"Agreed," Isabel chuckles. "We sailed through a storm when we were coming back. Steve and I flew through a storm as well on the way to Italy but sailing through one was much worse. For nearly four days we weren't allowed to leave our rooms, and everyone was seasick, including Dugan. God, did it stink."
While Isabel dishes up the stew once it's finished, Peggy walks around the apartment and thoroughly inspects every corner and cranny in the search for hidden bugs. Isabel's never thought to do that, but she considers she never talks about anything important, and she herself isn't exactly a highly wanted person. Peggy Carter, on the other hand, lives a life of spying and espionage and probably has an enemy list as long as her arm. Checking for bugs is just a regular part of her life and will probably be something she'll enforce on Isabel as well.
Peggy finishes her search as Isabel puts the steaming bowls down on the table. "I hope it's okay. I haven't cooked for anyone but myself in a while."
Peggy takes an experimental sip of the salty broth. "It's wonderful. You needn't worry so much. We all lived off mess hall food and rations for near two years and we survived."
"Well, I've never been much of a cook," Isabel admits with a laugh. "But if you say it's okay, I won't complain."
"So, you said you've been back to work?"
"Yes, at the hospital for a few months now. I slotted back in straight away, it was like I never left. But I have a lot more experience with war-related wounds now, so it's very helpful. I get called to other wards and departments a lot to deal with injuries some of the nurses have never seen before. And patching them up with any supplies I could ever need is much, much easier than working from Morita's medic kit."
"I can imagine, especially when it wasn't stocked correctly."
"Oh, don't even get me started," Isabel laughs. "Anyway, I have some money saved up, especially from our Army wage, so I didn't really need to get back into anything so soon, but I figured that money could be much better spent on something other than me moping around at home. It's good to be back. It's a nice distraction."
"Good. You deserve a break and a distraction," Peggy says sincerely.
"So do you," Isabel counters. "And hopefully you'll act as another distraction. I've got heaps of places to show you."
"I do have to work," Peggy laughs, a perfect eyebrow rising. "It isn't a holiday."
"I know. As do I. But we won't be working all the time. We'll both have a free few hours here and there, and I'm going to give you the full Brooklyn experience. If you'd grown up here and we'd been friends, we would have already done all these things. It's a rite of passage."
The two of them eat their stew in silence after that until their bowls are empty. Isabel stands to take the bowls to the sink to wash them, but Peggy speaks up, halting her mid-getting up. She sits back down to listen.
"How have you been?" Peggy asks quietly.
"You know..." Isabel says, her voice trailing off. "You?"
"Coping," Peggy admits. She looks at Isabel for a long time, so long that Isabel feels a little uncomfortable under her critical gaze. "There's something I want to say, and I hope it's okay that I do," she says vaguely.
"Of course, anything," Isabel reassures.
Peggy still carefully chooses her words. "Your brother and I, we had something, a connection."
"You did," Isabel agrees, frowning at the seeming randomness of the conversation.
"But I won't pretend that we had something as strong and – well let's face it, magical is the best word – as you and Steve had. That was just like destiny, or whatever it is you go on about," Peggy smiles at that. "Soul mates. You said something had put the two of you within a few blocks to meet each other and I fully believe it."
Isabel looks a little taken aback as usually people disregarded her speeches about destiny. "Well, maybe something made it that you'd happen to become an agent for the SSR and work with Steve, and you'd meet Bucky. If Steve had never been Captain America, you'd never have met Bucky. Maybe you were destined as well," Isabel tries, her voice optimistic and hopeful as ever. Peggy missed that about her.
Peggy gives her a faint smile. "Maybe. I loved your brother very much, but who knows where it could have gone. You and Steve – I never, ever, saw that ending. If you two could get through a war together like it barely fazed you, you could get through anything."
Isabel sighs and looks away. She stands and takes the bowls to the sink, dropping them into the water she's already run. "Well, we didn't really get through the war together, did we?" She asks quietly.
Peggy immediately realises the error of her statement. She tries to correct herself.
"It's okay, Peg. I just… I'm beginning to think maybe all that I used to say was utter bullshit," Isabel says, and Peggy's eyebrows rise in surprise. "I think maybe we were fooling ourselves thinking we were meant to be together. Everything just seemed to push us apart all the time. If it was really destiny, everything would have happened in favour of us being together, not apart."
"That isn't true," Peggy says immediately. She gets up from her seat and moves to the bench, standing beside Isabel. "You couldn't be more wrong. You and Steve, that was never going to end. That was the forever type of thing. I... can't imagine how you're feeling."
Isabel is sure Peggy would never mean to upset her, but the Brit's words hurt more than they help. It feels like Isabel's being stabbed in the chest repeatedly with every word and she buries her face in her hands to cry. Peggy immediately backtracks, putting an arm around her shoulders.
"Belle, I'm sorry," Peggy apologises, her tone worried and apologetic. "I never meant to upset you, love."
"I know, it's okay," Isabel manages, wiping away the few tears. "Maybe you're right, but it wasn't enough. He's gone. Love... wasn't enough."
"Love is always enough. If you believe in destiny, then he's gone for a reason," Peggy argues.
Isabel sniffles lightly, blinking to clear away the tears. "My Dad said he was too good for the world. Both Steve and Bucky. That they'd been wronged so badly they had to be taken away somewhere better straight away to save them. I hope that's true. I hope they're happy, wherever they are."
"They are," Peggy reassures. "Their greatest regret is probably leaving us all alone, and the rest of their families. They're probably watching us, feeling bad because we're upset."
"Probably. Steve'll be blaming himself as usual, dumb punk," Isabel says. Her voice is so exasperated, and she sounds so much like Bucky that Peggy barks out a laugh. It clears the solemness to the room instantly. "You've never called me Belle before," Isabel notes, a soft smile on her lips.
Peggy backtracks again. "Was that okay?" She asks hurriedly.
"Of course," Isabel reassures with a smirk. "That's what my family calls me."
Isabel watches from the doorway as Peggy prepares herself for sleep, laying out her outfit for the next day, which will be her first day of work in Brooklyn. She's picking a grey suit jacket and matching skirt, black pumps, and of course, her signature red hat.
"So, you're working for the SSR? Is that what's going on the resume? What do you tell people?" Isabel asks curiously.
"Yes, the SSR. And the SSR is kind of a secret, so no, that doesn't go on the resume I show just anyone," Peggy laughs. "Do you know the phone company in... Flatbush?"
"Yes? That's a few streets over."
"It's a phone company, but it's also a front for the New York SSR base. One of the operators doubles as an SSR insider and she allows entrance into the facility through a secret elevator that leads to the upstairs levels. It's similar to the antique store we went to for the experiment," Peggy explains.
"Sneaky. I walked past that phone company nearly every day these last few months and I never knew." Isabel hands Peggy an armful of clean sheets to make her bed with, helping the agent stretch the tight fabric over the mattress. As they're shuffling the pillow cases over the pillow, Isabel asks, "What are you going to be doing, exactly? What does the Strategic Scientific Reserve do now that their primary threat has been dissipated?" Isabel asks. With Hydra gone, she isn't sure what the SSR will be fighting, since they were formed primarily to fight Hydra.
"There are still some SSR agents being deployed on missions chasing up leads of Hydra, but they never find any. That will likely continue forever. But right now, the SSR is in a sort of transition mode to prepare for new objectives. They're converting into a newer, bigger organisation. We're still working on the name, but right now the acronym is 'SHIELD'."
Isabel pauses. "For Steve?"
"Yes," Peggy smiles. "It was my idea. We're all calling it Shield because it's much easier, but it's full name is the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division."
Isabel's eyebrows rise in humour. "That's a mouthful."
"We're working on it. All those things we spoke about in the last Hydra base - monitoring threats, supernatural occurrences - that's the aim of Shield. Howard is working with the SSR to build the organisation now, and I'll be joining in its infancy as one of its founding members," Peggy says, her voice barely boasting but more unsure.
"Really? That's great!" Isabel cheers proudly.
"Until then, I've been asked to work within the Strategic Reserve whilst they get Shield fleshed out. There are still some threats the SSR will need to deal with until Shield officially opens its doors and takes over."
"So this is only temporary?"
"Likely, but Shield will probably be based in New York, or maybe Washington. Either way, I can stay a while, at least. Problem is, at the Reserve, I'll still be only an Agent. I feel it'll be back to the drawing board as well. The SSR is majorly worked by men, and not all of them are as open to the involvement of women as the Commandos were."
"Oh, so they'll think you're some sort of secretary," Isabel jokes, but she's utterly right and they both know it. Women aren't exactly considered legitimate, particularly not in that world.
"Likely. So, I'll just have to prove myself to them."
"That sounds rather easy for you, not going to lie," Isabel tells her with a smirk.
"Depends how good my missions are."
