"All good, Carter?" Agent Buswell asked, holding out a hand.

Peggy let him pull her to her feet, hiding a wince with a laugh. "Not the first Russian spy I've tangled with."

He chuckled and slapped her on the back before turning to go. Peggy hung back and when he had left the room, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she unbuttoned her jacket and made a face at the blooming red stain in her blouse. She had managed to avoid the knife for most of the fight, but near the end had just gotten nicked. It didn't feel deep, so she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, pressed it against the red stain, and buttoned up her jacket again.

Back at the office, she filled out a report at her desk, detailing their pursuit of an attempted assassin from the governor's house to Industry City. When she was finished, she got up and had to grip her desk tightly to keep from falling back into her chair. Her vision swam for a moment, and when she looked down, she saw that her jacket was now also beginning to stain.

Peggy grabbed her overcoat from the coat rack and pulled it on before knocking on Jack's office door.

Jack waved her in, and she stepped inside.

"That the report for today?" he asked. "Could've waited till tomorrow."

"I wanted it still fresh in my mind," she said, setting it on his desk.

He nodded and flipped through it, then looked up at her. "Thanks, Marge, have a good night."

"You too, Thompson," Peggy said and turned to leave, which made her overcoat swing open slightly.

"Wait," Jack said, standing up. "Are you alright?"

Peggy looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Of course," she said. "All in a day's work."

He sighed and walked around the desk. He closed the blinds to the rest of the office, then turned to her. "Take off your coat," he said, all seriousness.

"I beg your pardon?"

He rolled his eyes. "I ain't trying to hit on you," he said.

Peggy exhaled sharply. "Very well," she said and took off her coat, laying it over the back of the chair.

He noted the bloodstain. "And your jacket."

"And my stockings next?" Peggy asked, undoing the buttons.

A muscle worked in his jaw at the sight of the blood-soaked handkerchief. "I'm assuming you did not have that looked at."

"I am fully capable of bandaging a scratch myself," she said. "I received the same training as you."

"And clearly you didn't listen to all of it," he said, voice rising.

She frowned. "Are you angry with me, Jack?"

But he was already digging through a cabinet and pulling out a first aid kit. "Sit down on the desk and take off your shirt," he said. "Unless your sensibilities are too delicate for that."

She rolled her eyes and began unbuttoning her blouse. "So long as yours aren't." She peeled the once-white fabric away from the wound. She sighed and sat on the desk. "It didn't seem this bad before," she said quietly.

"Yeah, that's why you get it checked out," Jack said, voice lacking its characteristic sarcasm. He pulled the chair closer to the desk and sat down, supplies in his lap. "Jeez, Peggy," he said, taking a closer look. He soaked a cloth with alcohol. "This'll sting."

"Yes, I know," Peggy said, somewhat irritably.

He clenched his jaw but began to clean the wound. Peggy controlled her breathing carefully, refusing to react to the harsh sting. Jack glanced up for a moment, noticed this, and shook his head.

She did not make a sound as he cleaned and bandaged the wound. And when he was finished, he tossed the first aid kit on the other chair and stood abruptly. He stalked to the other side of the office as Peggy inspected the patch job, then looked over at him.

"What's gotten into you?" she asked.

Jack turned around. "You want me to treat you like any other agent, and then you pull shit like this?" he said. "Any other agent would have been expected to get a wound like that checked out."

"What are you going on about?"

"When you don't let your team know about stuff like this, you put us all in danger, Carter," he said, deathly calm.

"It wasn't even that bad!"

"Oh yeah?" He stretched out his arms. "Try and take me down. Right now."

"This is absurd," Peggy said, buttoning up her shirt again.

"When you're a hundred percent, we're pretty evenly matched," Jack said. "What are you afraid of?"

Peggy frowned but gave him a once-over – a look he recognized. Before she was able to land a single strike, he ducked under her arms and punched her right on the wound. She cried out, but still managed to knee him in the groin. He grunted, stumbling back.

"Bastard," Peggy muttered.

"And you're a stubborn idiot," Jack said. "A stubborn idiot who is on desk duty for the next week."

"What?" Peggy exclaimed, looking at him.

"I'd do the same to anyone else," he said.

"You know they won't see it that way," she said.

"Deal with it," Jack said. "And next time you get hurt, get yourself looked at."

Peggy grabbed her jacket and coat and left the office. "You're an insufferable prick," she told him.

"Call me whatever you like as long as you take care of yourself," he said.