79.

Brooklyn, New York City

June 13th, 1946

Alarms blare at the SSR base as a phone call comes in through Agent Flynn's office. Every agent stands at their desk and places their briefcase in front of them, standing to attention and waiting for orders. Peggy has a desk at the back of the large and open room and stands along with them, looking around at the competition for the upcoming assignment.

Agent Flynn disappears into his office and takes the call, writing something down on a piece of paper. "Look sharp. Zodiac is on the move, crossing the white stone bridge in a green sedan. The enemy is considered armed and extremely dangerous. Two agents recommended. Please locate and pursue," the officer on the other end informs before the line clicks off.

Flynn walks back into the bullpen and the agents wait with baited breath. "Miller, Johnson, Wilkes," he says, handing a file to each of the men who approach him. Peggy rolls her eyes, disappointment washing over her once again.

The rest of the men who haven't been chosen take their suitcases off their desks and sit again before their typewriters getting back to work. Peggy remains standing only a second longer, watching her commanding officer with narrowed eyes, before taking a seat. She sighs at the typewriter before reaching to the bench behind her, pulling a case file out for her to work on.

A hand on her shoulder makes her pause where she's moving the files. "How are you holding up, sweetie?" Agent Flynn asks in a voice that drips fatherly care and condescending.

Peggy stands and walks away so he can't see the face of disgust she pulls. "Quite bored, actually," she replies.

"Really?" Flynn questions, flabbergasted. He follows Peggy as she walks to the bench along the window. "I thought we were keeping you pretty busy around here?"

"Well," Peggy says, trying to keep the anger and disappointment from her tone. "My area of expertise is in the field. Code breaking and analysis have always come easy to me," she says with a shrug.

"Well, we all just think you're doing a bang-up job," Flynn allows, clapping her shoulder as he walks away.

Peggy looks up and thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Agent Flynn, sir," she calls, following the man as he walks through the door to his office. The agent stops expectantly. Peggy feigns nonchalance and innocence. "It's been three months now and I'm yet to be sent on my first assignment–"

"Peggy, relax! War's over, we'll handle the rough stuff," Flynn reassures.

With that he turns and walks into his office, closing the door behind him, leaving Peggy flabbergasted in the middle of the bullpen.


As the sun sets outside, Peggy is still busy working at her desk. Her hand started cramping over an hour ago, but she's got so much of other people's paperwork to get through that she can't bear to stop. Isabel has gone to work anyway, finishing around ten, so Peggy would only be going home to an empty apartment.

She takes particular note when a few of the agents come up the staircase and hurry into Flynn's office, looking frazzled.

"They shot up your car!" She hears Flynn cry.

"Sir, they came out of nowhere–"

Anything else Peggy may have heard is cut off when another agent that sits at the desk in front of her turns around, leaning on her desk and looking at her expectantly. "We're gonna need a full analysis on all recent transmissions by tomorrow evening at the latest," he tells her smugly.

Peggy opens the top drawer of her desk and pulls out the analysis she's already completed, handing it over. "How about yesterday?"

The agent takes the files, looking surprised, and heads out of the bullpen to process it. Peggy rolls her eyes again, reaching over to close the drawer, but pauses at the sight of the framed photograph of Bucky she's put in there. Carefully, she pulls the photograph out to admire it, smiling at the way that, even in an Army-issued photograph, Bucky still has his cocky smirk and his hat is still tilted sideways on his hair.

She isn't sure how long she stares for with a reminiscent smile but jolts out of her reverie when a voice calls out to her. "Carter!" Flynn calls, making her jump. She looks up, and Flynn and three other agents are watching her. Hurriedly, she puts down the photograph in her lap out of sight and looks up expectantly. "The boys and I were heading out for a drink."

A smile pulls on Peggy's lips and she closes the drawer, preparing to stand and go along with them, misinterpreting it as an invitation. Perhaps she'll finally start to be seen as their equal?

"You want to polish up those field reports on my desk?" Flynn finishes. "I appreciate it, darling. Don't forget to lock up when you're done."

Peggy watches them descend the stairs with a huff of disbelief.

"What do you say boys, should we go to Nelson's? They got nice Manhattans," Flynn says as they walk out of ear shot. They shut the lights off as they go, plunging Peggy into eerie darkness in the empty bullpen.

Peggy sits there a long time, unable to believe what happened, before she finally gets up and heads into Flynn's office. Even though she wasn't given a choice in the matter of doing the work, she can't very well not, or else Flynn will have even more reason to think her incapable. She grabs up the thick file of folders and holds them to her chest to carry them back to her desk. She pauses, however, when the phone on Agent Flynn's desk rings and the alarm systems blare again, lighting up the room with a red light.

Peggy answers the phone. There's no introductions, only a man's deep voice. "We have a locked position on Zodiac. Four, zero, point six five one eight degrees north... seven, three, point niner five two two degrees west." Peggy hurriedly jots the coordinates down on the front of a new field report. "This enemy will not hesitate to use lethal force. Three to five agents recommended." Peggy writes the number, looks at it, and then crosses it out.

Damn them all. She'll go alone.


Peggy walks confidently and quickly across the pitch-black parking lot toward the factory building that Zodiac is apparently located at. She's in a less populated part of Manhattan, a part Isabel had told her was less favourable, but she doesn't come across anyone unsavoury. In her hands is a briefcase, filled with field gear she gathered up from the SSR. As she walks under a streetlight she's illuminated to the men in the office of the building, who notice her approaching outside. Two of the men stand and come out to meet her, a third remaining at his desk, reading from a file.

"Ma'am, you can't be here," the man wearing a fedora tells Peggy.

His friend stops at his side and they block her entrance into the building. The second man, wearing a newsboy cap and a brown leather jacket, puts his hands on his hips. "We got a gas leak issue we're dealing with," he explains.

"A gas leak? No injuries, I hope," Peggy says as sincerely as possible, faking naivety.

"You're not from around here, are you?" The man with the fedora asks, a sly smile growing.

"No, I live in Brooklyn, actually."

Before the men can move, Peggy slams her fist into their faces, punches them in their more private areas, kicks their shins with the heel of her pumps. She punches the top of one of their heads, forcing him down onto the edge of her knee before spinning around and punching upward into the other's jaw.

The third man inside remains utterly unaware of the carnage happening right outside the window, yawning loudly and munching on a sandwich.

Peggy smashes the briefcase into the man's nose, causing it to crunch. It knocks the fedora from his head as he falls backward, unconscious. She swings around again and slams the briefcase into the side of the second man's head. He stumbles to the side and she kicks him square in the chest, sending him flying through the glass of the window and landing on the office floor.

The man at the desk jumps up in surprise, eyes widely searching. He sees Peggy standing by the broken window. Immediately he ducks down, reaching under the desk and pulling a rifle from its holster under the table top. When he stands back up, Peggy has disappeared. The man circles the office, fear sketched into his face. He warily opens the office door and steps outside, searching for the dazzling brunette in her blue suit dress.

"Drop it," Peggy demands, coming up beside him and holding a pistol to the man's head, clicking the safety off. The man throws the rifle to the side with a clatter. "Take this," Peggy continues, handing him the briefcase. "Turn and move."

With her gun still pressed to the back of his head, Peggy pushes on the man's back to lead him back into the office. They walk through into a hallway and pass through a plastic sheeting into the main factory, piles of boxes and bags lining the hallways and separating the room into sections.

"Where's Zodiac?" Peggy demands.

"End of the hallway, on the right," the man says immediately.

Suddenly, Peggy spins the man to face her and with a hand on his chest, slams him back into the wall. He huffs out a breath as he makes contact, a metallic sound echoing through the factory as he hits a metal piping running up the wall.

"Drop, hands up." The man drops to the ground and lifts his arms, which Peggy handcuffs to the metal pipe.

Peggy puts her suitcase on the ground and opens it, getting out a black metal baton. The man stares straight ahead, petrified.

"How many men?" Peggy inquires, leaning in close intimidatingly.

"Four," the man answers, his cheeks going red with fear.

"Four, including you?" Peggy clarifies, raising an eyebrow in warning against lying. The man nods, his chubby cheeks shaking. Peggy sits back. "Now, I need you to scream for help."

The man purses his lips tighter together, maintaining eye contact with Peggy and staying silent. Peggy frowns. She raises her pistol, tucking it neatly beneath the man's chin. Immediately, he begins to shake.

"Help! I need help!"

Peggy smirks. "Just keep that up, love."

With that, Peggy disappears, tucking herself into an alcove of boxes to await the other men. She hears their footsteps before she sees them, two men running toward their screaming comrade.

"Help! I need help! Somebody, please, help me! Somebody help!"

The first man passes Peggy, hurrying to his handcuffed friend. Peggy steps out of her position into the path of the second man, swinging the metal bat into the side of his face. She spins and knocks out the second man before he can react, the two men fall to the ground within a second of one another. She slams the baton down onto the back of their knees and then gives them a kick to the head each for good measure.

"Help! Help!" The man continues to scream, his voice high-pitched and hysterical. He screams as though he's trying to call out to someone outside the building, but they're in the most deserted part of Brooklyn by the Navy Yards, and the chances of someone hearing are extremely low.

Peggy stands up straight again and fixes her hair, pushing it from her face. She levels the man with a look. "Thanks, that's enough." The man stops screaming, looking up at Peggy in disbelief. "One to go."

Peggy grabs up her briefcase and heads further into the factory. She stops at the end of the hall and tucks herself into another alcove. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out her powder, a small compact with a mirror at the top. Flipping it open, she slowly holds it outward just enough that she can see the reflection down the hallway and the metal door at the end, where the Zodiac is hidden.

She watches as the final man opens the door after a few moments and peaks outside into the hallway, scanning for intruders. "What's going on out there?" He yells, but there's no answer. The man looks increasingly worried with every second that passes.

As Peggy pulls the compact back, she quickly checks her reflection in the mirror, pushing a single strand of hair behind her ear, before the clicks it closed and pockets it again.

Rounding the corner, she storms down the hallway toward the door with her pistol in hand and shoots one, two, three times at the man. His eyes widen in surprise and he hurriedly closes the door, the bullets ricocheting off. Peggy continues to shoot, forming a large dent of bullet holes in the metal that eventually bursts open to form a whole around the size of an orange.

Peggy reaches into her briefcase and pulls out a cannister, which she pulls the pin out of and pushes through the hole into the next room where the man is cowering behind the door. The cannister drops to the floor and flurries of white smoke fly out each end, filling the room with an ominous gas.

Immediately, the man reaches for the doorknob, attempting to open the door and escape, but Peggy holds tight at the other side, holding it closed. "Let me out!" The man cries, but Peggy doesn't loosen her grip. Eventually, the man begins to cough, and Peggy hears him slide down to the floor against the door. The doorhandle goes still again.

Peggy places a gas mask over her face before forcing the door open, knocking the unconscious guard out of the way. She walks carefully across the darkened room and kneels down before the large containment box. Unclipping it, the case's lid opens with a hiss, revealing a vial of blue liquid that glows in the box, turning the smoke of the cold a light blue.

She carefully reaches in and plucks the vial from its resting place, eyeing the zodiac sign printed on the glass. She stands with it and turns around, preparing to escape with it, and runs straight into the arms of a fifth guard, his own face covered with a gas mask.

The man's arms are strong and thick and unescapable. He immediately reaches up, one hand grabbing Peggy's throat, the other ripping the mask from her face. Peggy takes in a deep breath in shock, taking in a whole lot of air and gas before the man's hands close tightly around her throat, squeezing and cutting off the flow of precious air.

Peggy punches upward, collecting his jaw, and then kicks him in the thigh, causing the man to let go. She hurries and dives for her briefcase, but the man grabs her around the waist and she falls heavily to the ground. The man straddles her, pinning her to the concrete, and collects her throat in his hands again, squeezing long enough for Peggy's thoughts to go foggy and her eyes to widen. She grabs at his hands to try to pull him off but it does no good.

Peggy's hand pats along the ground, searching blindly for her briefcase. She reaches for it, trying to open it, her face turning red and her mind panicking. Just as her vision starts to go black at the edges, she finally gets her hands around her knife and shoves it into the man's thigh, letting out a shout when he finally lets go of her neck. The man screams and lets go, and Peggy slides out from under his leg, appearing behind him. She kicks him hard in the face and then grabs the back of his head, ramming his head into the ground with the last of her strength.

She's breathing hard and coughing as she stands and collects her briefcase. With one last look at the now unconscious and bleeding man on the ground, she hurries from the room, Zodiac safely in her hands.

As she passes the man still handcuffed to the piping, Peggy stops and leans over him, her face bruised and streaked with blood. "Learn to count," she sneers at him.

The man looks terrified, and he nods quickly. "Okay."

Peggy stands again and strides away, confidently, leaving the man handcuffed and speechless, only inches from his unconscious workmates.


By the time Peggy makes it back to her and Isabel's apartment in Brooklyn, its past three o'clock in the morning. Peggy silently opens the door and steps inside, closing the front door behind her and locking it. She slips her shoes off by the door so that her heels make no sound of the floorboards and then walks through the kitchen, into the loungeroom and toward her room.

She jumps a mile when she notices that Isabel is on the couch. She's still in her nurses' uniform after her shift with a rug over her legs and she's fallen asleep against the flat decorative pillow from the sofa. The way she's half sitting up, Peggy wonders whether Isabel had been waiting for her.

Peggy goes to shake Isabel awake, since she'll get a crook neck from sleeping like that, but when her hand is only a few inches away, Isabel jerks awake. She looks around wildly and reaches for a pistol on her belt that isn't there before her eyes finally fall on Peggy and she relaxes. She rubs her eyes, looking around at the living room.

"Peg?"

"It's me," Peggy responds, voice calm.

Isabel sits up properly, frowning at her friend. "Where were you? You didn't come home!" She cries. "I was so worried about you, I feared you'd been attacked. If you weren't home by morning I was going to call it in."

"I'm fine, I got caught up at work," Peggy replies.

Isabel pauses and looks at Peggy more closely in the dim light, at the bruises and dirt and blood. "A mission?" A smile grows on her face. "You've been working there so long, and you got nothing. What made them change their minds?"

"They didn't exactly know about it," Peggy admits. "The call came in and I was the only one left at the office, so I took it."

"Did you show them what you're made of?"

"I'm hoping that by morning, I will have," Peggy says with a smile of her own. "I have to get it through Agent Flynn's thick skull that I am just as capable as any of his men. After all, one female agent taking on a mission that is suggested to be completed by five agents and coming back alive with the target will look quite nice on the resume."

Isabel hesitates. "Peg, that's really dangerous," she notes. "You could've been hurt, and no one would have known what happened to you. I know you want to prove yourself, but at what cost?" She hesitates again. "Don't tell me you're turning into Steve on me," she adds, trying to lighten the mood.

Peggy laughs at that. "You've no need to worry, love. I wouldn't have gone if I didn't know I could handle it," Peggy reassures.

Isabel sighs. "Let's just hope it pays off."


The following morning, Peggy puts on a little extra makeup and extends her foundation down her neck to cover the finger marks that run all the way around from when she'd been strangled. She heads to the New York SSR department with a confidence she'd lacked before, wearing a red plaid blazer and skirt ensemble, her hair bouncing as she walks.

She makes her way to her desk, wary of the men's eyes ogling her, and notices from the corner of her eye how Agent Flynn watches her from his office, parting the blinds to look out. Once Peggy is seated and getting settled for the day, Flynn walks into the bullpen, enraged. He waltzes up to her desk, forcing his steps to be louder. Peggy turns away, collecting up some files ready to be analysed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Flynn asks, his voice low and surprisingly calm.

Peggy turns slowly, files in hand, and feigns confusion. "Well, I was about to start some data analysis and code breaking–" She says, with a slight air of sarcasm, before she's cut off.

"Don't get cute with me, lady," Flynn warns, leaning on her desk. "You took a mission, last night," he says accusingly.

"I completed a mission, last night," Peggy corrects with a small smile.

"Without even attempting to report in or getting the proper authorization?" He asks, exasperated.

"The mission was time sensitive," Peggy points out easily.

"There are protocols in place. No one is above protocols!" Flynn grits out, his voice rising in volume with every word as he angers further. "Not even Bucky Barnes' old flame and Captain America's old friend," Flynn remarks condescendingly, before turning to walk away.

Peggy rises from her seat, hands in fists. "How dare you?" She grits out.

A few of the other men look up from their work.

"Oh, please, let's stop pretending, shall we? Everyone knows why you're here," Flynn says.

"Please, enlighten me," Peggy says, her voice verging on a yell.

"You were grieving, so they kept you on so that you would feel useful. I call it pity," Flynn spits before turning away again.

Peggy takes a deep breath. "If they wanted to make me feel useful, they wouldn't have made me work with you."

All of the men in the bullpen are watching now, unashamedly.

Flynn laughs, without humour, and turns back to Peggy. As he does, the alarm blares again, announcing another phone call. "You're gonna answer for that," Flynn warns, pointing an accusing finger at Peggy.

His phone rings in his office, cutting him off as he hurried to take the call. He picks up the phone off the receiver and holds it to his ear, grabbing a pen and a new field report to write on.

"Who am I speaking to?" The voice on the other end of the line says, and Flynn finds it somewhat familiar.

"This is Agent Flynn," he answers, hesitantly.

"This is Howard Stark."

Flynn immediately snaps into grovelling mode. "Sir, I wasn't expecting–"

"I have orders for Agent Carter," Howard says, cutting Flynn off from whatever type of greeting he was going to provide.

"If this is about last night, rest assured, she will be properly disciplined."

"I'd say that last night was more a notch in her belt, than a feather in her cap," Stark retorts.

"Yes sir," Flynn says, frowning at that. "What are your orders?"

"Phillips and I want her to help begin plans for Shield. She needs to come to Washington for the week," Stark says easily.

Flynn pauses, his mouth turning downward. "Say again?"

"We need her to come to Washington for the week for meetings regarding the foundation of Shield. Tell her she can bring Isabel Barnes should she wish to be involved. She is also being transerred to Division Four. Upstairs from you, if you'd prefer to put it that way."

"A-Agent Carter?" Flynn repeats in disbelief. "And who is Barnes? Wha–"

"And Flynn...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Let her know that you're honoured to bring her the news," Stark demands, and Flynn can hear the sarcasm and delight dripping from Howard's voice.

Flynn's eyebrows hitch and a muscle in his jaw twitches. "You want me to say that, verbatim?" The phone goes dead and the dial tone sounds. "Hello? Mr. Stark?" Flynn frowns in dismay, putting the phone back on the receiver.

He takes a moment to collect himself while the agents watch on, expecting orders. Peggy watches carefully, almost expectantly. Not many things could cause Agent Flynn to be so, apparently, flabbergasted.

Flynn finally emerges and walks directly to stand in front of Peggy, a dejected air to his walk that hadn't been there minutes before. He's far from the cocky, smug and condescending man that Peggy's always known him as.

"Agent Carter, it is my honour to inform you that you have been promoted to Division Four. You will be reporting upstairs from now on to Chief Dooley and working with his agents. I have also been informed that you are requested in Washington for the next week for meetings with Mister Stark and Colonel Phillips regarding Shield. You may take someone called Barnes with you if they would like to be involved," Flynn informs Peggy, as though it pains him to say the words. Peggy's eyes widen at the revelation. "And I'd also like to assist you in carrying your personal items down to your car."

Peggy bites her lip and looks down at her few items, holding in her smile. She opens the top drawer and pulls out her framed picture of Bucky, picking it up, and it only.

"Thank you, Agent Flynn," Peggy grits out, "but as has always been the case, I don't require your help."

She takes her photograph and her briefcase and makes her way to the stairs, finally allowing herself to smile once her back is to the men who've looked down on her and treated her unequally since she began working for the SSR. She descends the stairs confidently, leaving the once-smug men to stare at each other, fuming and lost for words.


When Peggy gets home from work that day, she can't keep the smile off her face. She quickly tells Isabel the news and the two go out for dinner to celebrate, clinking wine glasses in a toast to Peggy's new career prospects. Isabel is at a loss for words, however, when Peggy informs her that she has been invited to found Shield as well.

"But I'm not an agent," she argues. "Not really. What use would I be?"

"You are a part of the legacy," Peggy reasons. "You were a Howling Commando, and a pretty important member at that." She pauses, thinking. "There's no obligation, Isabel. But if you wanted to be a part of it, in the names of Bucky and Steve, then that's your decision. We can find a way for you to contribute, and you'll be a vital part. If you want to stay as you are and live the life you always wanted, a normal life, then you can do that, too."

"I'll think about it," Isabel promises, taking a large sip of wine.

"I'll only be in Washington a week, maybe two. Then I'll be back here. I'll have to work with the SSR for however long until Shield is up and running. It may be years before anything changes again."