"— and I'm telling you, he's a menace! He flat out refused Kryzmenski! He's not going to work with us!"

"Listen," Peggy hears the reply, "it doesn't matter! The press and the mayor is on my ass about this case. I don't care how you convince him, just do it."

Her curiosity rises as she sees Jack Thompson and Director Dooley pass by her office. She's sure they're talking about the newest press scandal with the D.A.. But since they don't stop, she shrugs and keeps working on her own list of cases.

But within minutes, Thompson storms into her office and plops down in one of the chairs facing her desk. His glowering look informs her that he's unhappy with his assignment.

He doesn't say anything so she ignores him. She knows it pisses him off to be ignored. But he came to her. He can initiate.

After two minutes he huffs and glares at her, "So?"

"So?"

"Aren't you curious why I'm here?"

She pretends to be surprised, "oh, my! Jack? When did you get here?"

"Ha-ha, hilarious Marge." She narrows her eyes at him and he glares back.

"Either tell me what you want or leave." She rolls her eyes, "I'm not in the mood for your petulance."

"I need…" he wrinkles his nose, "assistance."

"Help." She clarifies with a smile, "you're here asking for my help."

His expression is like he's swallowed something sour, "Yeah."

She's pleased and her smirk shows it, "alright, with what?"

Even though he looks less than enthusiastic about needing her help, he sighs and leans back, rubbing at his eyes, "you know that case about the DA and the girl, the assistant that went missing?"

She nods, "yes."

"Well, do also know that when they were granted a search warrant and scoured his property they found nothing about the girl."

"Yes…"

"But did you know that they did find human remains concealed in his basement?"

She blinks, her eyes widening, "what!?"

He nods, not even looking pleased that he'd known something she hadn't, "yeah, and now the mayor is losing his mind because he's supposed to go to trial with that big shot who money laundered but he can't because he's on house arrest and he denies knowing about the remains but there's all this suspicion now and they couldn't get much DNA but what they could get didn't match any in the system and we need to figure out if the remains are the assistant's or someone else's."

"Well, geez." She breathes out, "that's insanity. What do you need my help with?"

His expression gets grimmer. "The mayor and the police want to keep this under wraps, they want the information tightly controlled."

"I'm confused, what do you need my help with?"

"Well…" he frowns, "they want to identify the remains. See if it's the assistant or someone else. And there's this guy. He works at the Smithsonian here in DC. He's an expert on bones and facial reconstruction. He does all this historical stuff you know? Digging for remains and then using the bones they excavate to reconstruct what they might have looked like."

Her disbelief rises, "you're joking."

"I'm not." Thompson grits out, "the mayor wants an unbiased, and untampered with, third party to identify the remains. But he also only wants the best and this guy is the best. Except we can't tell this guy where the bones are from and what he's doing really. We just need him to reconstruct what he or she may have looked like. And last time a government agent asked, he refused."

"On what grounds?"

"I dunno, all Kryzmenski said was that the guy was a total prick and wouldn't work with him."

She narrows her eyes, "and you think Agent Kryzmenski was the best foot forward to send?"

Thompson groans, "we just wanted someone who would sorta intimidate him."

She huffs and rolls her eyes, "you're trying to bully this person into helping us? Truthfully you are masterful agents." Her tone makes it clear that she thinks the exact opposite.

"Yeah, well." He frowns, "now I'm here asking for your help."

And that makes her frown, "and why, pray tell, do you want me along?"

He has the good sense the Lord gave him to look sheepish, "we were uh— hoping you would soften him up…"

"If you even think I would—"

"Not like that!" He clarifies, "just you know, you're better with people, Marge. You're good at manipulating, you know."

Whether a backhanded compliment or not, she sighs, "fine, when do we leave?"

He looks relieved, "right now."

—-

They're heavily vetted as they walk through the building. Security checkpoints one right after another and her eyebrows raise higher as they're asked to leave their phones or any other devices outside of the large glass enclosure.

They get the green light and both her and Thompson are in awe as they enter the huge open space. A huge elevated square space in the center of the room is the focal point of the whole place. She can see three people working up there, as she tries to take in any details she can. Huge hallways wing off in every direction and security guards dot around the room.

It is the Smithsonian. So she shouldn't be surprised.

A man appears at the bottom of the steps, "Can I help you?"

"We're agents Thompson and Carter." Thompson says with what he thinks is a charming smile, "we made an appointment to see Dr. Rogers?"

The guy grins, "oh, yeah. The suits." He waves a security card and the panel beeps green. He leads them up the steps and gestures to the three people, "this is the team—" he points to a dark haired man, "Barnes deals with the particulates and the wound identification—" then he gestures to a younger guy with wild facial hair, "this is Tony, he does all the engineering of the technology and tools they need." Then the guy gestures to the last person, a blonde haired man whose back is to them, "and that's Rogers, the fearless leader." He grins, "Rogers! Suits are here."

The man is bent over a table, and he doesn't turn, "I already said no. Did they not understand that word? Can someone please get them a dictionary?"

Barnes, the man to their left, snorts and keeps working. But Tony looks up, and eyes them, "it's different suits, boss."

"And the answer is still the same. No."

Tony's grinning, "but they brought along a hottie this time."

This makes Barnes look up, and he does seem to be surprised by her, but she just stares blankly, annoyed that that's his first assessment. But not surprised, that's usually what men see first.

"I don't care if she's a curvy red lipped brunette, the answer is still no."

There's a long pause. And she has to purse her lips to keep the amusement from her expression. Tony is positively giddy and Barnes looks on the verge of laughter. "Oh yeah?" Barnes says, teasing in his eyes, "are curvy red lipped brunettes your thing? I never knew that."

"I don't know why I'm still explaining the word 'no' to multiple adults." The man says again, placing splinters of bone precisely in formation, "tell them to go somewhere else with their smoke and mirrors case."

Her eyebrow raises, so he was smart enough to guess that they weren't being truthful.

"Well," Thompson starts, "we just want you to hear us out, give us a chance."

"Are you going to tell me the truth of what you want?" The man asks, still not having turned around, "because if not, my answer remains the same."

"What if—" She starts, her accent crisp, "we explain that a life may hang in the balance? And while we can't be specific, we can be sincere?"

She watches his hands pause, and he straightens. Her eyes catching on his slightly longer wavy blond hair, "whose life?"

"A young woman's."

"Not the remains?"

"If the remains are hers, then I suppose we are too late."

"And if they're not hers?"

"You may be able to help us put a killer away—" Thompson jabs her with his elbow but she just glares at him to shut up, "or possibly help us with another lead."

And he finally turns, slowly eyeing Thompson first and then his eyes land on her. She expects embarrassment or maybe amusement, but there's only a brief moment of something like surprise and then he nods, "okay fine, we'll help."

She smiles but Tony groans, "but we have so many other remains to identify."

"None from this century." Barnes clarifies, "this is urgent." He eyes her and he seems positively mischievous with the way his eyes dance between her and Rogers. "Let's get started."

—

They're recalled to HQ and the remains are sent over to the Smithsonian.

They try to be as patient as they can, but days turn into a week and Thompson is getting antsy, "what's taking so long! I thought he was the best!"

"He's the best because he's thorough." She states, having now gone back and researched him. Born and raised in Brooklyn. New York. Three PHDs one in archeology, one in fine art, and one in anatomy and physiology. Published multiple articles and one book which was on the bestseller list for 14 straight weeks. Peggy requests more thorough files on him, finding the man fascinating for reasons she can't explain to herself.

"Ugh—" groans Thompson, "this is torture."

"Patience is a virtue, Jack."

"For you maybe."

She just laughs, going back to her work.

—-

"I have a rendering."

She looks at the number and registers the number, "Dr. Rogers?"

"Yes, I have the rendering."

She nods, and taps her pen, "alright, we will be over in an hour, what percentage accuracy do you project?"

His voice comes through annoyed, "I'm 100% accurate."

"No one is—"

She hears a sigh and a dial tone.

Her mouth gapes open in disbelief at the fact that he had just hung up on her.

"Was that him?" Jack asks, looking almost excited.

"Yes," she snaps, "that was him. He's ready for us."

—-

They're ushered to a different room this time. This one smaller and with a holographic table in the middle. Which already impresses her.

"Okay," the man named Tony is saying, "I entered Steve's drawings from all angles and composited them into a 3D image. We don't know coloring yet, although—"

"She was mixed." Rogers interjects, "my opinion is Korean and Caucasian."

Thompson looks at her, a frown visible. That didn't match the assistant at all.

But then the photo pops up.

And Peggy finds herself leaning forward, gasping as Thompson lets out a choked sound of surprise.

Barnes leans forward, "what, what is it? Is it her?"

The image spins slowly, the woman, maybe early twenties an exact portrayal of the DA's first wife. The one who had allegedly cheated on him and left the country with some rich tycoon.

A paper trail had confirmed it and no one ever even questioned it. She had been seen with a rich man about town and there had been "eyewitness" reports of her at an airport leaving the country.

"Are you sure this is accurate?" Thompson asks.

"He's always sure." Barnes says, "and these remains? She died by stab wounds. Her ribs were covered in them."

Rogers looks at her, "it's not the victim you're looking for?"

Her countenance is grim, "it's not. But now we have an even bigger problem."

"Which is?" Tony asks.

Thompson shakes his head, "sorry, that's classified."

"But we sincerely thank you for your assistance." She adds, glaring at Thompson for his lack of decorum, "you've truly been a huge help."

Rogers looks at her, and he sighs, shaking his head, "is this going to at least help your other victim?"

She winces, "I hope so."

Her phone rings and she looks at it, "it's Dooley." She says to Thompson, "we need to tell him immediately."

Thompson nods and they start to exit, but a voice calls their attention, "you'll tell us?" She turns, looking to see Roger's looking at her, his eyes sharp and observant, "if you save her. Or… if you don't. You will let us know?"

Thompson is on the verge of saying "no way" but she nods and holds up a hand to quiet him, "we will. Thank you." Then she turns and ignores the incredulous glare Thompson is throwing her.

—

"It's interesting to me—" Thompson starts slowly, circling the DA in the interrogation room, "that you're still pretending that we don't know."

The DA, defensive and sharp tongues glares at Thompson, "stop trying to pretend you know something to trick it out of me."

Thompson grins, "oh, no Mr. DA sir. I would never use such subterfuge. That's your skill."

"Either charge me, or let me go. You're running out of time."

"Oh." Thompson laughs, "you're going to be charged."

"With what?" The man snaps.

"With murder." Thompson emphasizes.

"What!" The man explodes, "I haven't done anything! You've got no proof that I had anything to do with her disappearance!"

"Whose disappearance?" Thompson asks with a grin.

The DA looks at him like he's crazy, "my assistant. Isn't that what you've pulled me in for?"

The slow shake of Thompson's head makes the DA shift in his chair.

"Remember your wife?"

"Donna?" He asks with wide eyes, "is she okay?"

"No. No, not Donna. Anna. Your first wife."

The stricken surprise makes Peggy grin. But he doubles down, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Thompson grins, "sure you do, you stabbed her and stuffed her body in your basement where you thought no one would ever look, but you didn't account for the high rainfall that weaker your foundation and the new concrete you'd laid there. So now you're going to—"

"You can't prove anything!" He snaps, face getting red, "this is all conjecture!"

"Ha!" Thompson laughs, looking gleeful to have gotten under his skin, "we can prove it. Hell, we have an expert at the Smithsonian willing to testify it's your wife—" Peggy blinks… was he? She hadn't heard that. Thompson could be lying to goad him. "And he's an expert that the judge will listen to. He can list the wounds and what type of weapon it was and—" Thompson laughs, "it's probably still in your house right? The murder weapon? You sicko." He kicks at the table leg, "we've already got it squared up that you're spending a pretty chunk of your life in prison. Don't make it more. Tell us where the assistant is."

The DA's face hardens. "I want my lawyer."

And that makes both of them grin. Thompson turns to her, and even though he can't see her behind the glass, he gives her a thumbs up, "got him."

"You ain't got nothing!" The DA splutters, "I want my lawyer!"

Peggy knocks on the glass signaling him to come out.

—-

"They'll want him to testify." Dooley stated, shuffling through the images, "he'll need to explain how he made these renderings and how he had no knowledge of who the remains were attached to before working on them. And I want him to give us descriptions of what the weapon might be. Maybe we start looking for it in his house."

"Have Marge call." Thompson says, "she's the only one whose made any progress with him." He says it with a smirk and she glares.

"I believe the reason I've made progress is because I utilize a very specialized skill called politeness and transparency when trying to gain an ally. Try it some time."

He goes to flip her off and she's ready to do the same but Dooley waves his hands, "I don't care who calls. Just make sure he's on the stand."

—

"Hello, can I speak to Dr. Rogers?"

"He's not in."

"Can you tell me when he'll be back in, I need to speak with him rather urgently."

"Uh—" she can tell by the voice that it's the man named Tony, "I don't really know. He was supposed to come in yesterday and he didn't. Took off on some transatlantic archeology bender."

She frowns, "did he leave a contact number? How long is he usually gone?"

"I think our director just got an email from him saying he'd be gone. You want me to transfer you to him?"

"Yes please."

"Comin' right up."

There's a pause and a bit of waiting music before she hears a click, "Director Phillips."

"Hello, I'm Agent Carter with the FBI and I'm trying to reach Dr. Rogers. His teammate informed me that you might have a way to contact him?"

She hears a harumph and annoyance creeps into his tone, "Listen, I only received a lousy email that he had heard of some discovery of remains and was taking off to go look at it before they screw up the dig site." She can hear him roll his eyes, "other than that email I don't have anything to give you."

Her thoughts pause and she tries to clear it of the paranoia she feels, "I would like that email please." Then her curiosity wins her over, "Is this a normal occurrence? Him just trotting off with no warning or way of contact?"

"Usually we get more notice, but it's not unheard of. He's real particular if you didn't notice."

"I did. Which is why it surprises me that he didn't leave more ability to contact him. I'd promised to contact him with more details."

"Don't know what to tell you. He's got PTO and he's allowed to use it."

"RIght of course, I didn't mean to sound rude. Could you send me that email?"

He reads it off and she thanks him, hanging up.

Then she sends off a quick email to the address, asking for a more secure way to connect with him.

And then she waits.

—

Two days later, with no response, she does her due diligence. She starts checking on the DA's history and associates to find out if anyone has ever disappeared before.

His first wife sort of fell off the map, and now they know why.

A low level clerk in his office from 5 years ago, and now this assistant.

She takes a deep breath. Trying not to let her suspicions run wild.

Finally, she does some checking into the DA's lawyers that had come and seen him that day they'd interrogated him. She finds that one of the men has a long standing history as a lawyer. And his partner that had come with him has no record of being a lawyer at all. In fact she can't find his name or information anywhere.

Panic starts to take over so she does pushups in her office, letting the energy out through the exertion. While she does that, she runs facial recognition of the footage from the police station.

She hears the ding and she pops up, looking at the results. Which makes her blood run cold.

His record matches that of an associate directly tied to the mob who ratted out the money launderer in the first place.

Which means… That mob has an interest in using the DA to put their rival, the money launderer, away. And Steve stands in the way of that.

If he testifies against the DA… they lose the validity of their case…

She slowly walks to Thompson's office.

He looks up at her entrance and tilts his head, "what's up, Marge?"

She takes a long deep breath and frowns. "Feel free to tell me I'm being paranoid."

His eyebrows furrow and she sees the expression shift, from curiosity to seriousness, "about what?"

"You told the DA, who is most likely a murderer, and now I've discovered in bed with the mob, that we had an expert at the Smithsonian."

His eyes are wide but his response is slow, "yeah…"

"And now that same expert is suddenly off the grid on some archaeology trip, only an email address to communicate with him, and he's not responding to that, either."

Slowly his mouth gapes, "you don't think…?"

"I don't know what to think. I'm here asking you whether you think that's paranoid…"

Thompson stands, and she's grateful he's not mocking her. "Has anyone checked his house?"

She shakes her head, "no, I haven't done anything because I didn't want to be seen as over reactive."

He grabs his coat, "let's go talk to his team and get a better feel. If they think it's suspicious then we'll follow that trail."

She nods, "let's go."

—-

"I mean…" Barnes says, looking at some shattered pieces of a tibia under a microscope, "Steve doesn't usually jet off without warning. But he has. He's sort of a fly by his own route kind of guy."

"So you're not concerned."

Barnes turns to them and he huffs, "I'm always concerned about that punk. We grew up together. But usually I get an hour lecture and a long suffering glare from him. So I've backed off. He's not nearly as…" the guy trails off, grimacing as if he'd spoken too much, "he can take care of himself. Like he reminds me often."

"You grew up together?" Thompson asks.

"Yeah."

"Do you have a personal cell number? Some way to contact him? It's about that case and it's time sensitive."

Barnes nods, "you want me to just try calling?"

"Sure."

He pulls out a phone and clicks something before holding it to his ear. But not more than 5 seconds later he pulls it away. "Went straight to voicemail."

Adrenaline spikes in Peggy's nerves but she stays calm. "Do you mind if we have that number so we can try again later?"

He looks at her, curiosity growing to wariness, "Steve doesn't like his personal number shared. I can just try calling him again tomorrow."

Thompson looks at her and she can see the nervous way he pulls at his cuffs. "Alright." She relents, " but… you'll let us know if you hear from him?"

Barnes leans forward, "what is it?"

She looks at Thompson and he shrugs, "we should. Because if so… then time is… important."

Peggy turns to the man who now looks concerned, "We have a concern that your friend may be in danger."

Hie eyebrows shoot up and suddenly the other man, Tony is there too, looking at them, "what do you mean, in danger?"

"The man we are after is associated with the mob. We didn't know this. And we need Dr. Rogers to testify. But now he's missing. And it seems rather convenient on the timing."

"How does this guy even know Steve is involved?" Barnes asks.

"We were interrogating him," Thompson says, "and we wanted to break him down to get him to admit, so someone mentioned we had an expert at the Smithsonian—"

Peggy rolls her eyes. Yeah. Someone.

"And now Dr. Rogers is gone. So we're concerned. We need him on the stand."

Barnes glares, "you told the mob that Steve would testify against them and you're worried about him being on the stand!" He slams the tools down and starts to stalk forward, away from them, but Peggy reaches out, grabbing his arm, "please, we are worried about his safety. Can you take us to his residence? Perhaps there's something there."

He glares at them but nods, "you better fix this. If he's hurt, it's on you."

Thompson looks annoyed but she nods, "we just want to make sure he's alright."

Barnes narrows his eyes, "he better be."

—-

"Steve?" The man knocks on the door but there's no answer.

"I can pick the lock."

Peggy offers, but the guy shakes his head, "No, I have a key." He opens the door and freezes. Peggy lokos over his shoulder and hears the sharp intake of air she breathes in. The apartment has been trashed. Papers and books scattered. A broken lamp and an upended entryway table. A mug and a plate smashed on the kitchen floor and Barnes makes a choked sound at the sight of something. She hurries forward, following his trajectory to see what has made him go rigid. A bloody handprint, next to a pool of blood that then has drag marks. Then a hand dragging along the wall as if he'd tried to grasp something, anything, to keep them from taking him. Abruptly the blood disappears as if he'd been lifted off the floor.

"Oh shit." Thompson breathes out.

Barnes turns on him, "if he's dead, I will tell every news outlet that will listen about how you guys fucked up! So you better find him, and he better be alive!"

Peggy can see his panic is rising and she reaches out, placing a hand onhis shoulder, "we will. I promise we will."

He turns back around and stares at the blood, "oh, I'm going to kill that punk and whoever did this!"

She starts looking around, "perhaps he fought hard enough to leave us a clue." Peggy says hopefully, eyeing the chaos.

"I'm going to call Tony." Barnes explains, "he has this device that scans for fingerprints."

She looks at Thompson and he looks impressed.

—-

Two hours later, they have three sets of prints, one belonging to Steve, and two belonging to known mob associates. An address is connected to one through a past incarceration and they decide to start there.

"I'm coming." Barnes insists.

"Sorry, Mr. Barnes—"

"It's Dr." He snaps, "and Steve's my friend!"

"Friend or not—" Peggy interjects, "we can't bring a civilian. We promise to keep you up to date."

He glares, "you better."

—

She knows they're on the right track when they arrive at what looks like an abandoned house except the new door handle installed on the front door.

"I'll go through the front." Thompson says, "and you go around back."

She upholsters her pistol and nods, creeping around to the back of the house.

But when she sees the back door, she hesitates. Her eyes catching in the outside cellar door. A chain and lock secure it, but intuition tells her that that is where she needs to go.

Without thinking, she steps back, shoots the lock, breaking it and yanks the chain away. Now they will have precious seconds since she's announced their presence.

The doors creak open and she quickly walks down the steps. Must darkness greets her and she hears shouting up above. She really must hurry.

A long dank hallway leads her to an ajar door and she peers inside. Her heart leaps at the sight and she pushes in quickly.

A chain hangs from the ceiling, holding Steve's wrists above his head high enough that his feet barely scrape the floor.

Peggy races forward, "Dr. Rogers?" His head is tipped back, a massive swollen black eye and bloody mouth are the only things she can see on his face from her lower angle. "Steve!"

He shifts, his muscles moving and she hears him groan. She goes to grasp him, to spin him gently towards her when her hands pause, his lower back and side are on display as the angle of his hands being restrained upwards makes his shirt rise up.

Long thin lines coat his back and side. White scar tissue crisscrossing and marring the tan skin beneath it.

Her hands gently grasp him, his skin too hot and flushed, "Dr. Rogers, can you hear me?"

Then gunfire sounds in the hallway outside and she knows she's running out of time. She hopes Thompson is still fighting, as she'll need someone's help to carry the man dangling in front of her. "Dr. Rogers!" She urges, spinning him to face her. A long bloody gash is on his side, but it looks scabbed over, so he's not still losing blood. "Dr. Rogers!"

His throat bobs with a swallow and he blinks with his one good eye, "hmm?" Is all he manages to say as he lifts his head to look at her.

She's about to respond when she hears her door crash open and she goes into fight mode. She dodges two bullets and kicks at the attackers legs. He grunts, stumbling sideways and she slams her body into his, sending them both sprawling. She hears the clatter of the gun and she yanks it off the floor, quickly dispensing a bullet into each of his legs. His cries of pain cease when she knocks him unconscious with the but of the pistol.

She hears a weak, "duck!" And she obeys, a bullet whizzing right where she was a second before. A grunt of pain is all she registers before she's returning fire, sending the man crumbling to the ground. A third man storms into the room and this man is smarter, using his weight to his advantage as he tackles her, smashing her against the ground. They tumble, each fighting for dominance as he tries to grasp the pistol in her hand and she tries to keep hold. A loud register of a gun sounds and the man on top of her goes rigid before slumping down. Pinning her. She yelps, shoving him off and scrambling to her feet.

Thompson stands at the doorway, bleeding and limping but alive. "You okay?" He asks.

"I am." She responds, "help me get—" she's turning to Steve when her words die on her lips.

At first she thinks he's unconscious again, but then he looks up and he looks paler than he had minutes before. She looks down at his chest, where his ripped and bloody white button up has a new hole in it. The his head does slump forward and his muscles relax into unconsciousness.

Duck

She gasps.

She'd been standing in front of him! Her ducking meant he had taken the shot. She lurches forward, pressing her fingers to the hole, 'Dr. Rogers!" She chokes out, "Hold on, help is on the way!" She turns to see Thompson limping over, "have you called for backup?"

He nods, "yeah, yeah they're coming."

"Help me!" She demands, trying to hold pressure to the wound. "Dr. Rogers?" She looks up, his eyelids staying shut, "stay with us, stay awake!" She knows her tone is more frantic than she would like.

"What the hell?"

She looks to see Thompson is about to lift him to help take the weight off his wrists, but his eyes are on the skin of the man hanging in front of them. He looks at her, "what are these?"

She shrugs, "I don't know, not really the time to ask."

"These look like—"

"I know." She snaps. "I know."

Thompson slowly picks the man up, grunting with the effort and she holds one hand to the wound and holds a pistol up towards the doorway. Just in case.

—-

"You should go home."

"You should shut up."

"Jerk."

"Punk."

Peggy steps into the doorframe and purses her lips in amusement. Dr. Rogers lays on the hospital bed, propped up and with paper work on his lap. Barnes sits on a chair, looking almost more ragged than the man who was shot. It had taken a couple days for him to come around, but he'd pulled through and was improving with each day.

"Agent Carter."

"Dr. Rogers, Dr. Barnes."

"It's all ready for you." Dr. Rogers says, grasping a few papers and holding them out to her.

"Thank you. We appreciate it very much."

"I hope so." Barnes snaps out, "he almost died for it!"

"Buck." The man says chidingly, "it's fine."

"Fine." Barnes grits out, "slashed, beat, hung up, and shot and he says it's fine. Great. Just sucking great."

Dr. Rogers laughs, "All in a days work." He looks up at her, "right?"

A small chuckle escapes her, "I suppose so."

She has the papers in her hand. She could go. She should go. But her curiosity is not easily sated. "Dr. Barnes?"

He looks at her, "yes?"

"Would you ever so mind if I spoke to your colleague alone for a moment?"

They both look surprised but he nods, "uh, yeah, okay. I'll go grab us some coffee and be right back."

"Not that trash from the cafeteria please!" The doctor shouts after his friend. She laughs and he looks at her, smiling, "how can I help you?"

She sets the papers back down and sits in the recently vacated chair. "I must admit it's morbid curiosity."

He blinks, "about what?"

There's a long pause as she decides how to ask, "when we found you in that room…" she starts slowly, "your arms were pulled above your head…" He's looking at her, uncertain where this is going, "and quite a bit of the skin of your back and side were visible—" she watches as the realization of where this is going dawns on his face.

"Oh."

"I've seen marks like them before."

He looks out the window and says nothing.

"What…" she wonders if she's pressing too far, probably is, but she has to know, "what happened?"

His chest moves up and down with the deep breath he takes. "It's a long story."

She makes a show of glancing at her watch, "I have time." Then she adds quickly, "if you're willing. If you'd rather not…"

She leaves the statement open ended and he shifts in the bed, looking at his hands and then back up out the window.

"I was only two years into the job." He starts slowly, "I had been excavating a small house where remains had been found. Some sort of natural disaster trapping them inside. Then, I was told that there was another potential dig site 30 miles northeast of where I was at the time. And I got tapped to go first to the new dig site and scope it out and wait." His voice is soft, eyes far away as he remembers. "I got there and there was nothing there. So I explored a little bit, maybe a few miles to the south I found what I thought I was looking for… I could tell that something important had been buried there. I didn't know what it was, but the way the area was clearly taken care of should have been my first clue."

There's a longer pause, "I was supposed to wait." He frowns, "but I didn't. I was sure that this was going to be a dig site of importance." A soft sigh, "I was right. Just not in the right way." She watches as his hand scrapes at his side through the hospital gown, "No one had told me there was a village close. I'd been told it was miles from any civilization. So when some of the people who lived close by found me digging that afternoon, I was very confused. They didn't know I was excavating. And I hadn't waited for the translator to show up." His face goes blank and then he blinks, "They thought I was grave robbing. Some white foreigner digging up their treasure." Her eyes are wide, "which…" his face gets sad, "I guess I kind of was. I had no idea it was the mass grave site of their children from a sweeping plague two years earlier. All buried lovingly and with whatever earthly treasures they could afford to ensure passage into whatever afterlife they believed in. And there I was disturbing it."

She feels the guilt and shame radiating off him. "The punishment in that village for grave robbing is 39 lashes in the center of the village." He shrugs, "so I took the punishment I deserved."

Her own voice is quiet, "but… they sent you to dig there?"

He shakes his head, "turns out it was supposed to be 30 miles northwest. Error in the translation."

"I'm… I'm so sorry."

He looks at her with a frown, "I was so eager to dig and feel like I'd discovered something important first that I didn't wait. It's my own fault. I don't need apologies. I dug up people's children. I deserved what I got." He looks at the far wall, "and I never made that mistake again."

Realization of why he's been so particular about his cases settles in her mind.

"I see." She responds softly for lack of something to say.

"Did I satisfy the morbid curiosity?"

Her nose wrinkles, and she tilts her head, "just one more question."

He waits and she looks at his chest where she can see the bandage from his gunshot wound. "You told me to duck. And at that angle you must have realized the bullet would hit you if I wasn't in the way."

He looks at her, waiting, and then when she says nothing else, he tips his head towards her, "is there a question in there somewhere?"

"Why would you take a bullet for me?"

His brow furrows and he looks genuinely confused, "why wouldn't I?"

Something in her heart cracks at that statement, and she reaches forward, resting a hand on his, "I am grateful. Thank you."

He shrugs as if it's no big deal. The black eye having reduced swelling some, his two blue eyes search her face, "when do you need me on the stand?"

"I'm not sure, I'll contact you as soon as I know. And…" she keeps the smile from her lips, "I may call upon you if there's a new case or remains I need help identifying."

"Have you found the original person you were searching for?"

"Not yet, but we're following new leads."

"If you need my help, I'll be there."

She rises to leave, "see you when I see you, Dr. Rogers."

"You unhooked me from a ceiling. I think you can call me Steve, Agent Carter.."

She does smile then, "It's Peggy."

He winces at the cut in his lip as he smiles, "alright. See you when I see you, Peggy."

"Take care of yourself, Steve."

Then she tips her head and walks out the door.

—