Chapter Two
It was cold in here. Peggy groaned softly, flexing her feet, her legs, fingers, and arms.
"Easy, easy Peg, go slow."
Peggy peeled her eyes open, focusing carefully on Howard Stark's worried face. There were band-aids across the bridge of his nose, one at an angle on his right temple. Three of his fingers on his left hand were bandaged, a bruise across the rest of his knuckles.
"What happened to you?"
"You don't remember?"
Peggy paused, if she really focused, bits and pieces would come back, but they were fuzzy. "I fell, there was a siren going…"
"Don't strain yourself, you've had a concussion. There was a power surge in the lab, blew up the whole room, threw everyone off their feet."
Peggy glanced to her left arm, "it was burning, what happened?"
"That's the funny thing, it's amazing really. The odds are…slim to say the least." He ran his hand backwards through his hair. "Glass broke, cut your arm up pretty bad, pretty darn deep. The serum, that you were either fortunately or unfortunately close to, shot back off the table, tubes broke, serum ends up in your arm."
Peggy lifted her head, struggling to push herself up. "So…"
"So that burning you felt was the serum getting into your blood stream. You, my friend, for better or worse, now have some of Dr. Erskine's serum in your system."
Peggy glanced down at herself. "I don't feel any different. Am I taller?"
Howard shook his head. "Remember, it was just a prototype. In the plants and mice we tested it on, you'll likely live longer and look younger longer."
"Every woman's dream," she joked. "Am I going to be a dancing monkey like Steve?"
Howard shook his head. "I'll see to it that you don't. S.H.I.E.L.D. might be knocking on your door quite a bit, since you came through our potential super soldier treatment in one piece. All the better to keep the rest of the world deterred from conflict with the United States."
Peggy closed her eyes, not anxious to talk about enemies when her head was pounding and her stomach was churning. "Where am I? How long was I asleep?"
Howard checked his watch. "Seventy hours, give or take. And you're in the hospital, hopefully we can get you discharged sooner rather than later."
A knock came from the doorway, a smiling blonde nurse stepping in. "Miss Carter? I'm Trudy, I'll be taking care of you for the length of your stay. Let's get a look at those injuries of yours." Trudy began to unwrap Peggy's arm, then stopped. "I don't understand…" she trailed.
"What is it?" Howard and Peggy asked in unison.
Trudy shook her head, "it's just that…these injuries were deep, and it's only been three days, but look."
Peggy did as she was told, blinking hard at the sight of almost nothing. The skin on her forearm was a little pinker than usual, a bit raised, as if a cat had scratched her, a neat line of stitches running down the length, but other than that, nothing. "I've never had this happen before," Peggy explained, shocked.
"I guess, I guess I'll get the doctor and see about getting those stitches removed."
Peggy thanked her, staring pointedly at Howard when the nurse left the room. "I guess we can add 'healing quickly' to the list of your new attributes."
Howard and Peggy left quickly, not giving the doctor much time to ask questions. Her headache had subsided to a dull throb, but Peggy's vision was getting clearer by the hour.
"Hello, Agent Carter," Jarvis greeted cheerily. "These were left at your desk, I took the liberty of bringing them for you." He passed back a beautiful bouquet of brightly colored blooms. Peggy sank her nose into them, inhaling deeply. She flipped open the card tucked inside, 'Sorry' written in chicken scratch.
"Phil sent them, he feels bad for sending you down to the lab," Howard clarified.
Peggy shook her head good naturedly, "he didn't cause the power surge, it wasn't his fault."
Jarvis cleared his throat. "Miss Carter I also collected this from your desktop," Jarvis passed back a small green tube.
Peggy sighed happily, "you're a star, Jarvis." She tucked her signature red lipstick into her handbag, snapping it shut protectively. Jarvis turned the corner, entering the tall brick buildings that Peggy recognized as her neighborhood.
"Oh, I was supposed to tell you to take the day tomorrow. Jarvis and I are doing the honor of taking you home."
While annoyed about missing a day of work, she hadn't missed a day since 1941 when she got the flu, Peggy thanked the gentlemen for going out of their way. They continued coddling her, escorting her up the stairs until she was at her apartment door. "I think I can make it from here, but thank you all the same."
"If you're absolutely sure," Jarvis cautioned.
"I am."
"Then we'll see you the day after tomorrow," Howard said, gave her a signature half smile and wink, then trotted down the stairs. Peggy sighed, unlocked the door, locked it again securely, and relished in the solitude. She didn't like hospitals, didn't like to be looked after, and especially didn't like to feel weak, which the previously mentioned two always did. Not terribly hungry, she fixed herself a sandwich, showered, set her hair, cleaned her gun, and went to bed.
The morning wasn't much to look at: grey, fat clouds rolled lazily across the New York sky. Peggy let herself sleep late, dressed, undid her hair, brushed her teeth, put on her makeup, studied her reflection in the mirror-
The reflection changed. Peggy wasn't in her apartment anymore. She was in a kitchen. A kitchen she did not recognize. Her instincts kicked in, inspecting the room: linoleum floors, recently cleaned. A stainless steel double doored, refrigerator? She assumed refrigerator, adorned with pictures of people she did not recognize and artwork done by a small child. Peggy's senses spiked, someone was coming. She pressed herself against a cool wall, hand closing around her-
-gun! Where was her gun? Peggy didn't panic, Agent Carter did not panic, but she would have to get creative. She was reaching for a steak knife when the footsteps stopped.
A boy, no more than seventeen, stood in the doorway, bowl of cereal cupped in one hand with a spoon in the other. "Hi," he started cautiously, swallowing a mouthful.
"Hello, who are you?"
"I'm Peter Parker, please put the knife down."
Peggy, who did not realize she was white knuckling the handle, set it down carefully. "I am Agent Peggy Carter, and I-"
"Peggy Carter?" Peter Parker squeaked, discarding the bowl on a wooden table. "Like Steve's Peggy?"
Steve's Peggy? "I-" she started, confused to put it lightly.
"Ohmygod, Mr. Rogers!" The boy launched himself out the door, bare feet tripping over stones as he ran. "Wait, Steve! Mr. Rogers! Mr. Rogers!"
/
"Ready Cap?" Bruce asked.
Steve nodded. "Meet you back here-"
"Wait! Mr. Rogers! Hey, hey!"
Bucky jumped back as Peter barreled into the clearing. "What the hell is wrong with you, kid?"
"Steve…Peggy…she…I think…" Peter's chest heaved.
Steve, no stranger to gasping for air after years of asthma, jumped down from the platform, forcing Peter to sit. "Easy, Parker, what's the matter?"
Peter gulped from a water bottle offered by Sam. "Peggy…she's here! She said her name's Agent Peggy Carter, she looks just like the photos Tony had!"
Bucky and Steve's eyes met. His heart soared, but he didn't dare to hope, not yet. "Where is she?"
"In the kitchen, I had to find you because I don't know how long she'll be here," Peter completed his message.
"Ok." Steve said, starting out of the clearing and up the gentle slope to Tony's house.
Bucky caught up with him. "So do you think this is your Peggy?"
"There's no way, Peggy's dead, how could she have gotten here?"
"Well, let's remember our audience here, Steve: we're a hundred years old and look like we're twenty five. I think all possibilities are on the table here."
Steve scoffed, "you're supposed to be the cynical one, not the dreamer."
Bucky shrugged. "Maybe I've changed my mind."
The pair stopped at the porch. "You're not going in?"
Bucky shook his head. "Nah, she was never my girl." Steve nodded, slowly making his way up the steps and pushing open the door.
Bucky wasn't a betting man, but he surely hoped for his friend.
Steve slipped through the door, shutting it as quietly as he could. He winced at the sound the white armor made against the floor, but didn't dare shuck it off for fear of a Hydra attack. Hydra knew about Peggy, surely, how could they not? If they could make Johann Schmidt look like a relatively normal man with Red Skull hidden underneath, they could easily make a false Peggy.
But Peggy was dead, everyone knew that. He'd been one of her pallbearers at the funeral.
And yet.
Everything little Steve had pre-serum had been amplified in post-serum Steve; the little guy that held on to hope that one day he would be in the Army was pounding his bony fists against Steve's chest, begging him to say something. Incredibly hopeful Steve listened.
"…Peggy?" he called carefully. A chair screeched across the linoleum.
"Drop your weapon! Come here where I can see you."
"I'm unarmed," Steve said, raising both hands, inching into the kitchen doorway one finger at a time.
There she was.
And in one of his favorite dresses, the blue one with the white polka dots, to boot.
She swallowed hard, eyes filling.
"You're supposed to be dead," they said in unison.
"Me?" Peggy gasped.
"It's ok, this is new, I've been where you are, trust me. Though I don't know how you got here…"
"Nor I." Neither party moved. After decades of imagining his one love again, this is not how Steve imagined it happening. "Steve, is it really you?" Her voice caught.
"Yes. Is it really you? Are you…Peggy?" She nodded. He took a half step forward, running his fingers into her soft brown curls. "My Peggy?" he whispered breathlessly, still not quite believing. Peggy nodded, letting tears flow down her cheeks as Steve wrapped her in his arms. She sobbed openly, not caring who saw or heard, Steve crying softly into her hair.
She was back.
He was back.
They were back.