Rhapsody in Blue (Captain America/Avengers) (7 & 8/13)
So, I've increased the chapter numbers (and likely will have to again) and have two chapters this go-aroud. It was supposed to be one chapter, but the tone was so different that I split it.
Rhapsody in Blue (7&8/13)
A Captain America/Avengers story
by mhalachaiswords
At AO3
Summary: For decades, Peggy Carter has had only two constants in her life: Howard Stark, and the Winter Soldier.
Rating: Mature
Characters: Peggy Carter, the Winter Soldier, Howard Stark, Maria Stark, Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Phil Coulson, Nick Fury, Original Characters
Pairings: Peggy/Howard, Peggy/Steve, Peggy/Natasha, Peggy/Howard/Maria...
Warnings: Gore and violence in chapter eight
Disclaimer: This is fanfic, I own nothing of the characters/worlds/franchises etc. All recognizable characters belong to their creators etc.
Chapter Seven summary: Even the most seasoned SHIELD agent sometimes runs up against the problems of Real Life. And if Sarah's not going to ask Peggy for help, someone else is...
January was growing stale when Phil Coulson hauled Peggy out of the mountain of Yugoslavian intelligence with the words, "You have a message, Agent Carter."
Peggy lifted her head from her hand and blinked at him. "Why wasn't it patched through?" she asked irritably. She hadn't slept in two days; hadn't slept much at all since she'd returned from Hawaii, working on uncovering anything she could about the Winter Soldier. All the dithering from the agents on her team was wearing on her nerves.
Coulson folded his hands together, standing at near-attention. "The individual didn't want to bother you," he said.
Peggy gave Coulson a glare as she picked up the phone and dialled into SHIELD's answering service.
"Miss Carter, my name is Luke Alvarez and I'm a friend of Sarah's," the recorded voice said. "She's fine, I guess, but we're all a little worried about her. She's been acting weird since she got back from New York and I wondered if something happened to upset her. She's skipping classes and she won't talk to anyone. If it was just me she was avoiding, I'd take the hint, but she's not talking to any of her friends, not Sally or Aramina or anyone." He took deep breath, and continued. "She's skipping labs, she never skips labs, and she knows how hard exams are going to be this year. Something's wrong and I thought maybe you could call her and see what's wrong with her and maybe help her, I don't know. She talks about you all the time and I know that you're important to her. Maybe you could make sure she's okay." A pause. "I guess that's all. Thanks."
Thoughtfully, Peggy replaced the receiver. She glanced up at Coulson. "Do we have a file on-"
"Lucas Alvarez?" Coulson said smoothly. He handed Peggy a thin folder.
Peggy had made SHIELD run security checks on all of Sarah's friends since the girl went away to college, just to make sure she was safe. With a father who made most of the weapons in the Western hemisphere, and mother who spent far too much time embedded in international espionage, Sarah was a logical target.
The personal profile of Luke Alvarez was unremarkable. A boy two years older than Sarah in medical school at Stanford where Sarah also attended, his family was from a small town in northern California. Comprised mainly of merchants and teachers, there were no known attachments to any overseas groups. Lucas' record was spotless, not even a speeding ticket.
And Sarah had not mentioned him once to Peggy.
According to the file, Lucas Alvarez had become part of Sarah's circle three years previous. There was nothing to make Peggy think that any of this was tied to the recent whispers of the Winter Soldier.
But Peggy hadn't lived so long by assuming that all was as it appeared.
"Coulson," she said. The agent waited expectantly. "Run a deep background check on this man. Check if he might have any connection to our current target."
"Do you expect he will?" Coulson asked as he took the dossier from Peggy.
"No." Peggy holstered her gun before reaching for her briefcase. "But I'm not going to risk it." She faced Coulson. "I have to go to California. I should be back tomorrow. In the meantime, continue with the analysis of the data we currently have. I expect that I'll have to get the real story on the ground, however."
"Would you like me to book you a flight to Europe for when you get back from California?" Coulson asked, taking the orders in stride.
"No," Peggy said. "I'll do it myself." She headed towards the door. "Can you get the Personnel department to reactivate Maggie Jenkins?"
"How deep a cover do you think you'll need?"
Peggy turned in the doorway. "I'm going after the Winter Soldier, Agent Coulson. How deep do you think I'll need to go?"
After working with Peggy for three weeks, Coulson had learned enough when to stop asking stupid questions. He kept his mouth shut.
Twilight was falling in Palo Alto when Peggy knocked on Sarah's apartment door.
Nothing.
Peggy tried to keep her anxiety in check. Perhaps Sarah was out running an errand. But if Luke Alvarez was to be believed, Sarah hadn't gone anywhere in the weeks since Howard and Maria's funeral.
Peggy scanned the area. The door did not appear to be forced; no scratches on the metal plating where someone might have tried to pick the lock.
Peggy pulled her gun and knocked again. "Sarah, honey, it's me," she called, stepping to the side of door in case anyone armed was in the apartment. And she waited.
After a minute, small scuffing sounds within the apartment came towards the door. "Mama Peggy?" Sarah asked.
"I'm here, love," Peggy said, taking her first real breath since Luke's phone call. "Can you let me in?"
The sound of a chain sliding off the latch, then one deadbolt flipped, then another. The door opened and Sarah peered out into the hallway. The girl looked like hell; dark circles under her eyes and cheeks pale. Her hair was limp around her face and she still wore faded pyjamas so late in the day.
Sarah's eyes went wide at the sight of the gun. "What's wrong?" she asked in a scared whisper.
"You tell me," Peggy said as she holstered the gun. "Are you all right?"
"I guess," Sarah said as Peggy pushed her way into the apartment. "Why are you here?"
Peggy looked around. Books lay in untidy piles, dirty dishes heaped in the sink. A nest of blankets on the sofa gave Peggy a good idea where Sarah had been sleeping.
Turning, Peggy held her arms out to Sarah. Sarah stepped into the hug, pressing her face against Peggy's neck, and then without warning the girl began to cry.
These were not the sobs from Howard and Maria's funeral; this time Sarah cried slow and quiet, as if her heart was broken.
Feeling helpless, Peggy patted Sarah's back and whispered soothing words. After a few minutes, Peggy guided her over to the sofa and settled her into nest of blankets.
Sarah pulled a handful of tissues out of the nearly empty box to wipe her eyes. Peggy sat beside her, one hand on her back. Something was wrong, and if someone had hurt her daughter Peggy was going to find that person (Luke Alvarez stood out as a strong candidate at the moment) and kill him.
It took Sarah a few minutes to calm down. While she was pulling herself back together, Peggy looked around the room. The coffee table was strewn with video tapes and boxes of saltine crackers. More books lay on the floor, beside a photo album Peggy recognized. Maria had put that album together chronicling all the times Peggy and Sarah had visited the Starks in New York. Sarah must have taken it with her when she left New York after the funeral.
With a final sniffle, Sarah sat back on the sofa, leaning against Peggy. "Sorry," she said in a small voice.
"Whatever for?" Peggy asked. She kissed Sarah's temple. "You don't ever need to say you're sorry to me."
"I said some horrible things to you in New York," Sarah said. "I was missing Maria and Howard too, and when you got into that fight with Tony I just got so angry with you."
"It wasn't that bad," Peggy said. "And I likely deserved it." She reached up to stroke Sarah's hair. "Now, love, why are you hiding in here like this?"
Sarah shrugged. "Why are you here?" she countered.
"I got a phone call from a young Mr. Alvarez," Peggy said. She watched closely for any negative reaction at the name. Sarah pulled back and frowned.
"Wait, Luke called you? What for?"
"He said that you're missing classes and he's worried about you."
Sarah stood up, crossing her arms over her chest in agitation. "I gave him that number last year in case something bad happened to me and he couldn't reach Mom and Dad. Why did he call you?"
Peggy got to her feet, took Sarah's hands in hers and held them tight. Sarah's fingers were ice-cold. "Sarah, did something happen to you?" Peggy asked. "Are you hurt?"
Sarah stared at her. "No, Mama, I'm fine. Really. Like, nothing happened to me or anything, there's just... you know, like stuff happening."
The icy ball of fear in Peggy's stomach began to dissolve. "Then why are you hiding in the dark?"
"I'm not hiding," Sarah objected. She pulled her hands away from Peggy and walked aimlessly across the apartment. "I'm just not up for company these days."
"Mr. Alvarez said you've missed lab classes as well."
Sarah let out an annoyed sound. "I missed two classes because I was at the doctor's, and one lab. I made up the work. Who the hell does Luke think he is, calling you about that?"
"I don't know," Peggy said. "Who does he think he is?"
Sarah stopped by the bookcase, running her fingers along the line of worn books. It took her a minute, but she finally said, "He thinks he's my boyfriend."
"And is he correct in this assumption?" Peggy asked.
Another long pause. "Yeah, he is."
That explained the phone call to Peggy. "Do you love him?"
"Does it matter anymore?" Sarah snapped, wiping her eyes with her shirt sleeve.
Peggy waited, then asked, "Did he do something that's making you avoid him?"
Sarah picked up a small box from the bookshelf and carried it back to the sofa. Curling up in the blankets, she said, "I stayed in New York long enough for the reading of Maria and Howard's wills."
Peggy hadn't considered anything to do with the estates; she'd been so determined to get out of New York that she hadn't thought about what Tony would have to go through after the funerals. "It's good that you were there to support your brother," Peggy said.
"I don't think he'd have gone if it was just him and Obadiah," Sarah said. "But the lawyer wanted to do it the day after the funeral, and there were some questions circulating about ownership of Stark Industries that were affecting the stock price so they wanted to hurry things along."
"What happened?"
"Howard's will was what everyone expected," Sarah said. "Some small amounts to the help. Tony got everything else. The company, the property, all of the money. He even got the patents, which I think made Obadiah a little angry."
"Did Howard leave you anything?" Peggy asked.
"Nope," Sarah said with false brightness. "I wouldn't want it if he did."
Peggy rubbed her hand over her eyes. "Sarah, he may not have acted like it, but he was your father-"
"I don't want a cent from him," Sarah interrupted. "He didn't owe me anything. I told Tony as much when he tried to cut me a check for half a million dollars."
"Why on earth did would your brother do that?" Peggy demanded.
"Tony was, like, really angry the whole time," Sarah said. "He tried to give me everything at first, saying I was the oldest and he didn't want anything to do with Howard's company or money, and the lawyer got all weird and was trying to explain to Tony that the will was valid and everything." She tapped her fingernails against the small wooden box. "Like, the lawyer was trying to get around saying that I wasn't entitled to anything because I was illegitimate, but Tony finally figured it out and lost it. Said the man was a heartless son of a bitch."
"The lawyer?" Peggy asked. That was a bit dramatic, even for Tony's over-the-top way of speaking.
"No, he was talking about Howard." Sarah took a deep breath. "I didn't take Tony's money." She looked at Peggy. "But there was something in Maria's will."
"What was that?" Peggy asked. She knew Maria had money in her own right, from her parents and from various investments of her own. But Peggy would have thought that Maria would leave everything to Tony.
Sarah opened the box and pulled out a ring. "She left me her engagement ring."
Peggy took the ring from Sarah. Maria hadn't been wearing it on the day of the crash, only ever wore the ring on special occasions. Sometimes, she wore the ring when she had dinner with Peggy and Howard, the three diamonds in the golden band glinting on her hand in the candlelight. "I was with Howard when he picked this out," Peggy said. She couldn't help a smile of remembrance. "That was when he still thought Maria would change her mind and call off the wedding."
"Would she have?" Sarah asked.
"Heavens, no." Peggy turned the ring over, the facets of the diamonds catching the light. "She was head over heels in love with him from the first day. But Howard was panicking and to calm him down I took him to a jewellery store after I was finished classes for the day."
The memory came back so clearly, Peggy could almost smell the smoke from Howard's cigarette as the store owner put trays of expensive engagement rings before them.
"And like all men with too much money, Howard completely lost his head and was going to pick something grotesque and worth more than a small Latin American country." Peggy gave the ring back to Sarah. "I told him to give his head a shake and think about what Maria would want. He said, what was the point of having money if he didn't buy an expensive ring, and I told him that if he really thought that Maria was marrying him for his money he should call off the wedding that minute. And then he got her this."
"It's really nice," Sarah said, her voice hitching as she slid the ring onto her baby finger. "When I was a kid and I stayed with them, Maria used to let me play with her jewellery. I'd put this on and pretend I was a princess."
Peggy put her arm around Sarah's shoulders and waited.
"And, um, Maria left me some money," Sarah continued. She wouldn't look at Peggy. "It wasn't a lot, but some, and I think it's because…" She took a deep breath." Because I told her something when we were in New York before Christmas," Sarah said, and the tears started flowing again. "And I think she just wanted to make sure I was okay, you know?"
"Sarah."
"I'm pregnant," the girl blurted out. She pulled the blanket tight to her chest. "And I'm going to graduate before the baby's due and I can find a job and everything but I don't know what I'm going to do."
The world rearranged itself while Peggy took in the fact that her little girl was having a baby. Sarah was barely twenty-two, still a child herself. Never mind that Peggy herself had been fighting a war at twenty-two, that had been a different time.
Peggy pushed her misgivings away. "Do you want this baby?" she asked. Sarah gave a small nod, tearing up again. "Does the father know?"
"No, I haven't told Luke yet," Sarah said. She rubbed angrily at her eyes. "And I can't stop crying and I hate it!"
"Hush," Peggy said. "That's normal." She pulled the blanket around Sarah's shoulders. "Let's be practical about this." She moved to sit on the coffee table so she could look at Sarah. "How far along are you?"
"Four months."
Peggy's eyes went wide in surprise. "When did you find out?"
"Just before we went to New York in November," Sarah said. "I only told Maria because she was helping me try on dresses for the winter formal and she didn't understand why I didn't want to get one that was too tight. She was so excited for me. That was why she left me the money in her will, it was for the baby in case… well, you know."
Peggy resisted the urge to ask why Sarah had told Maria and not her; there was no point in that jealousy of the dead. "How close are you to the father?"
Sarah pulled her hand free to stare at Maria's ring. "We've been dating for, like, two years? We started talking about maybe moving in together when I graduate in the spring."
"Do you want to marry him?"
Sarah gave Peggy a dark look. "Yeah, that'd go over great now. What would I say? Hey, you knocked me up, want to get married?"
"It's to the point," Peggy said. "And that wasn't what I asked."
"Get married because I'm having a baby? That's kind of rich coming from you, isn't it?"
Peggy held in a sigh. "Darling, you father was already married when I got pregnant with you. It wasn't possible."
"But if it was, would you have done?" Sarah persisted. "If Howard hadn't been married to Maria when you got pregnant, would you and him got married?"
Peggy let out a breath. "Honestly? I have no idea. I never thought about it."
Sarah twisted the ring around on her finger. "What if I tell Luke and he runs away?" she asked.
"Better he do it now than after the child's born," Peggy said. "Here's what we're going to do. You're going to take a shower and I'm going to make this place fit for human habitation, and then we'll figure things out from there, okay?"
Sarah nodded. Slowly, she stood up, and pressed one hand against her stomach. "Do, um… do you want to see?" she asked.
"How high you're carrying the baby?" Peggy asked. "When I was pregnant with you I could wear my normal clothes until the fifth month, then everything just fell apart."
Sarah smiled faintly as she lifted her shirt. The swell of her belly was visible now, and Peggy had no doubt that Sarah would start to show in regular clothes soon.
"I was thinking what I'd do if Luke bails on me… well, on us," Sarah said, pulling her shirt down and pressing her hands against her stomach. "If you managed as a single mother in 1969, I can do pull it off in 1992, right?"
"Oh yes, we did fine until I packed you up in a basket and dropped you on my brother's doorstep," Peggy said dryly.
Sarah wrinkled her nose. "I don't think it would be the best idea to let Tony raise this baby," she said as she turned toward the bathroom.
Peggy sighed as she straightened the blankets on the sofa. "It would be a great way to say 'fuck you' to Howard, though," she muttered to the empty room.
She put the books against the bookshelf, loaded the dishwasher and stacked up the video tapes. Most of the room was squared away by the time Sarah turned off the shower. Peggy was piling dirty laundry into the hamper when Sarah emerged from her bedroom, hair hanging in wet ringlets around her shoulders. "Feel better?" Peggy asked.
"A little." Sarah leaned against the doorframe and watched Peggy move about the apartment. "I think I'm going to call Luke and tell him about the baby. And if he freaks out, well, maybe I'll go to New York and move in with Tony and have the baby out there."
"I don't think that would work," Peggy said.
"Sure it would, I saw it in a sitcom once," Sarah retorted. She crossed her arms over her chest, going into battle mode. "You know, Mama, I was thinking about why you came all the way out here instead of just calling me."
"I was worried about you," Peggy said, concentrating on turning a sock the right way out before tossing it into the hamper.
"They're sending you off to work again, aren't they? Sarah asked. "How dangerous is it?"
Peggy put the hamper on the kitchen table, wondering if Sarah had any change for the laundry machines in the basement. "It's classified."
"Does that mean they won't tell me if you die?"
Peggy went for her purse, knowing she had some quarters. "It likely won't come to that."
She was startled when Sarah pulled the purse out of her hands. "So don't do it," Sarah said fiercely, her dark eyes flashing. "Send someone else."
"I can't," Peggy told her.
"You think I can lose you too?" Sarah demanded. "After what happened to Maria and Howard? You think that was some kind of awesome test-run of my parents dying?"
"Sarah, this isn't the kind of job someone else can do."
"Who are you going after?"
Peggy took Sarah's hands in hers, wishing she could just lie, pretend everything was going to be all right. "Someone I've been chasing for nearly fifty years," she said quietly. "I'm the only one who can do this, love."
"It's that important to you," Sarah said, not really a question.
"Yes."
Sarah pushed her hair back from her face. "Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?"
Peggy tapped the end of Sarah's nose, making her smile. If there had been any other option, anyone else Peggy could trust with this mission, she'd have done so; anything to stay with her daughter and soon-to-be-grandchild.
But someone had to go after the Winter Soldier, had to stop him no matter the cost.
"Do you want some dinner?" Peggy asked. "I can make something up after I do this laundry."
Sarah shook her head. "I should call Luke first. This baby isn't getting any younger."
Peggy picked up the hamper and left the apartment, giving Sarah some privacy to make her phone call. The laundry room was empty and Peggy was soon on her way back to the apartment. She found Sarah sitting at the kitchen table, chin in her hands.
"Went that well, did it?"
Sarah glowered at Peggy. "I wasn't expecting anything else," she muttered. "He said he needed some time to think. Doesn't matter."
In the dim light, Sarah's hair wild around her face, Peggy was struck anew by her daughter's resemblance to Howard. The brooding expression, the grim determination, all of it was Howard. And that was why Peggy knew Sarah would succeed at whatever she set her mind to, because in that Sarah was just like Howard.
Peggy also knew her daughter well enough to know the comparison would not be appreciated.
With a final glower, Sarah pushed herself to her feet. "I've got a frozen pizza, if you want it."
Peggy let Sarah putter around the kitchen. She needed to remember this moment, in which her daughter was alive and healthy. Peggy would do anything to protect Sarah, and right now that meant leaving everything behind and chasing after ghosts.
The doorbell rang. Seeing the defiant set of Sarah's shoulders, Peggy said, "I can get it."
"No, I'll get it," Sarah said, pushing off the counter. She went over to the door, opened it, and looked out into the hallway. There was moment of silence, then Sarah said, "What are you doing?"
"I think I'm proposing," came a male voice. "Down on one knee, ring in hand, right?"
"Did you get that from a vending machine?" Sarah demanded. Peggy edged around the kitchen table to better see the doorway. A handsome young man was on his knee in the hallway, holding up a bright pink plastic egg.
"Give me a break, the bodega was the only thing open at this time of night," the man said. He offered the plastic egg up to Sarah. "So, Sarah Carter, will you have my baby and marry me and move in with me? Maybe not in that order?"
Sarah made a strangled sound in her throat. "Oh, get up, you idiot!" She pulled the young man to his feet and hauled him into the apartment. "What is wrong with you?"
"There is nothing wrong with me!" the man protested, shaking his jacket straight. "That's the way it's supposed to go, right? Your girl gets knocked up, you get married."
Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not your fucking obligation, Luke!" she exclaimed. "If you want to marry me, if you want to be part of my life, then be it. But if you're here because it's what you think you're supposed to do, then just leave, now!"
Luke didn't move.
Sarah started to tremble. "Just, walk out that door," she said, waving her hand at the doorway. "Go."
Carefully, gently, Luke stepped forward. He took Sarah's outstretched hand in his, kissed her palm. "I'm never going to do that," he said, his voice low and fierce. "I'm never leaving you again, do you understand?"
Tears spilled down Sarah's cheeks as she nodded. "But that's going to make going to the bathroom kind of awkward," she said, and Luke laughed and swept her up in his arms and whirled her around the room.
Then Luke caught sight of Peggy leaning against the kitchen counter and nearly dropped Sarah in his surprise.
Peggy could take a hint. "I'm going to leave you two alone," she said. "It looks like you need some time to get things sorted."
"Okay?" Luke looked between Sarah and Peggy. "Who are you?"
"Luke," Sarah said, pulling herself out of his embrace, "This is Peggy."
Luke's eyes went wide. "Ma'am," he said, straightening up. "I'd thought you'd be older-" Sarah's elbow caught him in the rubs. "I mean, well, hello."
Peggy managed to keep from rolling her eyes. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Alvarez," she said. "Sarah, I'll call you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Sarah said, letting Peggy give her a goodbye hug. "Be careful, Mama," she whispered in Peggy's ear.
"You too," Peggy whispered back. She kissed Sarah on the cheek and reluctantly let her daughter go. "One last thing."
Peggy took Sarah's hand and pulled Maria's engagement ring from her finger, then pressed the ring into Luke's hand.
"If you're going to propose to someone, at least do it the right way," she suggested as she gave Sarah another kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye, darlings."
Sarah walked Peggy to the door. "No, seriously, be careful," Sarah told Peggy. "I really need you to come home, okay?"
"I'll do my best," was all Peggy could promise. "Sarah… just don't do anything if you don't think it's the right thing for you, all right?"
"I won't," Sarah said. "And I want this, all right?"
"If you say so."
As Peggy walked down the hallway, she could hear Luke's voice through the still-open doorway, "Okay, seriously, that was your mother?"
Chapter Eight summary: After decades, Peggy Carter has finally run the Winter Soldier to ground. The only problem is, two are playing the game of cat and mouse. (Warning for violence and gore in this part)
A month later, Peggy was in Berlin. Two years after Reunification, the city was still in a state of flux and Peggy blended right in with the turbulence. Her contacts across Europe had directed her to Germany in pursuit of the Winter Soldier. No one had actually seen the man, and rumours were nearly non-existent, but there was something in the air that made Peggy's heart race. This time, she was on the right track.
She had no idea who she was looking for; no one did. No one had ever seen the Winter Soldier and lived to tell the tale. They only had vague hints of a tall man without eyes, without a face.
Some agents in SHIELD had wondered doubtfully in Peggy's hearing that it could be the same man, given that the Winter Soldier had been killing since the end of the War. But Peggy knew; it was him. There were ways of keeping a person alive, extending their life. With Peggy, it had been an unfortunate encounter with the Tesseract. She had no idea what happened to Natasha Romanova to keep the woman so ageless, but if one Soviet agent, why not another?
And then there were the strange gaps between the Winter Soldier's kills. Sometimes months but usually years would pass. The pattern to the killings was the same; cold, efficient, surgical in their precision. The Winter Soldier did not often cause collateral damage, but when he did, there was no brutality, just the swift delivery of death.
The Winter Soldier saved the brutality for those who deserved it. Peggy couldn't voice that sentiment to anyone in SHIELD except Nick Fury, but Nick was on an unrelated assignment in Hong Kong and Peggy only had the junior agents to handle on this one. Phil Coulson was somewhat useful, but she still didn't know his loyalties, didn't know where on the spectrum his taste for blood and vengeance lay.
In the meantime, Peggy sat in a cramped café over a cup of coffee, smoking her fourth cigarette, wondering what she should do next. Every faint whisper she'd gathered had indicated the Winter Soldier's next target was in Berlin.
She had a meeting scheduled later that evening with an informant of questionable morals and motives. The man had been a SHIELD informant for decades; had slipped Eastern bloc secrets in and out of Berlin with ease. He was quick and creative and Peggy was certain he'd been selling SHIELD secrets to the highest bidder on the other side of the Iron Curtain. But he'd never been enough of a threat for Peggy to do anything about him. In the Cold War, double agents were often the only kind that survived.
Peggy finished her coffee and paid the waitress with worn mark notes. The temperature outside hovered just below freezing, dirty snow sprinkling over the city. Peggy pulled her scarf around her neck and stepped out into the night. The streets were busy with people heading home out of the cold, and Peggy melted into the flow of humanity.
She wandered the streets for hours, making certain that she was not being followed, before making her way to her informant's flat. The building's outer door opened with a wheeze, letting Peggy into a cramped entrance hall. The lone light bulb burned dimly as Peggy walked down the corridor, her footsteps muffled by the faded carpet.
The building was so quiet, Peggy could hear her heart beating. The stairs to the first floor creaked under her feet as she climbed. There was no one in the stairwell, no signs of life.
Peggy walked past the closed doors in the first floor hallway, ears straining to hear. The only thing she could make out was a soft drip, drip, coming from an open doorway halfway down the hall.
As she neared, the air grew thick with the stench of blood.
Peggy drew her pistol. The slow drip was the only sound in the entire building. She reached the open doorway, and looked inside.
It took her a moment for her brain to realise what she was seeing. The room was soaked in red, blood splattered on every surface. On the floor lay her informant.
He had been ripped apart.
Quickly, Peggy searched the rest of the apartment for anyone lying in wait. She tried to step between the pools of blood, but even so she left footsteps in the thick liquid on the floor.
Once she had determined there was no one hiding in the bedroom or the bathroom, Peggy looked around. Blood covered the furniture, the books, the desk, everything.
Everything except for a folded piece of paper pinned to the wall. On the front of the paper, written in black ink, was the letter M.
Peggy moved carefully across the room, and picked up the note.
Inside, in the same ink, was written a single number.
3
A scrabbling against the wood, and Peggy whirled around her gun up. A rat had crawled out from behind the baseboard and was chewing on bloody strands of the dead man's intestines.
Peggy gagged, bile rising in her throat. She kept control of herself as she stumbled out of the room. The hallway carpet was clean in both directions; no one with bloodied shoes had come this way.
Peggy stepped out of her boots, picking them up and running in her stocking feet down the stairs and out the back door. Ignoring the searing cold under her feet, she hurried down the alley. She ducked into an alcove to use snow and the ends of her scarf to wash blood off the soles of her shoes. She still had the note clenched tight in her hand.
With her boots back on and her gun in her pocket, Peggy walked out of the alley into the flow of Berlin nightlife. She breathed deep of the winter air, but was unable to get the stench of blood out of her head.
This could only be the work of the Winter Soldier. It took a long time to dismember a human body to such an extent, and the blood had been so fresh, he could only have left only minutes before she arrived. But the man must have been covered in blood; if he had gone out the front or back door, he'd have left blood on the carpet and Peggy hadn't seen a drop of red anywhere. He couldn't have gone out by the window for the same reason, so how had he left the room?
Unless.
Peggy's steps slowed as realization washed over her.
Unless he hadn't left the room at all.
A stab of fear ran down Peggy's spine. She hadn't looked in the closet. The closet door had been open a crack and Peggy had been so focused on the dismembered body, she hadn't even considered that anyone might be hiding there.
The Winter Soldier had been in the room with her the entire time. Watching. Waiting.
Her informant was dead, torn limb from limb, and the Winter Soldier could be watching her right now.
Waiting.
Peggy did the only sensible thing. She ran.
Milan, three weeks later. Peggy stepped out of a taxi in front of the Pinacoteca di Brera. Midnight was close, but that suited Peggy's purpose. It was far better to meet this particular individual after the day's crowds had deserted the gallery.
The after-hours security guard let Peggy into the building. She climbed the stone steps, the walls of the art gallery dark on either side of her. She had been here before to consult with the museum's foremost expert on art forgery. The man had crawled out from behind the Iron Curtain in the early eighties, and in exchange for his cooperation with SHEILD, Peggy had set him up in Italy with a cover story and some money.
She came to him from time to time, asking for help with certain commissions, not all of them strictly related to art forgery. The man was a natural-born criminal, and as long as he stayed on Peggy's side of the line, she looked the other way as to his other activities.
Normally, he'd meet her at the top of the stairs, but not this time.
The gallery was silent.
Peggy moved forward, the soles of her shoes falling softly on the marble floor. Shadows clung to the walls, thick and real. Peggy knew she should turn back, find someone to help her, to turn the lights on. Her mind screamed at her that she was alone in the dark, and that the dark was a living thing.
Peggy kept going.
She found her consultant dangling in front of a painting of the crucifixion, the rope around his neck suspended from the ceiling. His red hair didn't quite cover the empty bloody holes in his face where his eyes had once been. His body swayed in and out of the shadows.
A piece of paper lay on the floor at his feet. Peggy picked it up and when she saw the thick black M on the front, the darkness closed around her. She broke and ran back for the security desk. There was no escaping anonymously into the night on this one.
The polizia questioned her all night. In the end, they seemed to believe the story that she was an art history student who'd been having an affair with the murdered art expert, that he'd arranged a special after-hours tour of the museum for her. They were already focusing their attention on the man's criminal connections, and let Peggy leave the station just as the sun was rising over Milan.
On the steps of the police station, Peggy reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled note. She opened it.
2
She broke cover long enough to call SHIELD. She told the Director that she was going dark and hung up before he could demand she return to the States. She wasn't letting the mission go, not yet.
The closer the Winter Soldier got to her, the closer she got to him.
She chanced another phone call to Coulson, told him to double security on Sarah. Then she hung up the phone, left her Maggie Jenkins identity behind in the train station dustbin and boarded a train to Paris as Alice O'Brien, an Irish-born naturalized citizen of France.
The alias was the most comprehensive cover Peggy had ever created. Alice had a history as real as a living person, something Peggy had cultivated with painstaking care for nearly thirty years.
The train ride to Paris passed in a blur of adrenaline and paranoia. Peggy sat staring out the window and wondering what the hell she was going to do now.
She hadn't heard of any other killings in Europe, especially not with this distinctive signature. Why was the Winter Soldier only targeting Peggy's informants? Why did he wait until Peggy was so close?
And how, after all these years, was he still only a ghost in the night?
When the train pulled into Paris, Peggy disembarked with the rest of the throng. She joined the taxi queue and rode in silence to an unremarkable hotel. She paid for a room, carried her own bag upstairs, and closed the door behind her.
She spent the entire night sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door with her gun in hand.
The Winter Soldier did not come for her that night. Nor the next, or the one after.
She slept during the day and sat up all night for weeks on end. She worked in the meantime, pouring over her dossier of the Winter Soldier. In three weeks' time, Peggy was no closer to understanding the man than before she'd left the States.
She began venturing out to museums and galleries, mostly to see if anyone was following her. Day after day, and no face repeated itself, no one seemed familiar.
April slid by, moving into the thick of May. Sarah's baby was due any day and Peggy ached to call home, but she couldn't risk it. The Winder Soldier was still out there, she could feel it.
More than once, she woke with her heart in her throat, thinking the Winter Soldier was standing in the dark by her bed, watching her sleep.
One night, 'Alice' ventured out to a night club to listen to some jazz, the one music form that modernity hadn't messed up. She left the club early enough that the Metro was still running, and she rode the train with other late-night merry makers.
She disembarked at her stop and walked across the underground platform. As the train sped out of the station, Peggy's senses went on alert.
There was no one around.
Even at one on the morning, there should have been someone. But the station was deserted; not a soul to be seen on the open platform.
Peggy was completely, utterly, achingly alone.
And then.
Something moved behind her.
Peggy spun around. On the dirty platform, in a space that had been empty only moments before, sat a folded piece of paper.
On the front of the paper, written in black ink, was the letter M.
Peggy's vision swam for a moment. She walked over to the note, picked it up. All around her, the station was silent and deserted.
She opened the note.
1
A soft scuffing behind her, and Peggy stopped breathing when something brushed her neck.
Peggy whirled around, pulling her knife from her pocket, but the man was too close and he grabbed her wrists, hauled her into a tight bear hug. His left hand clenched her arm with iron force, and with a sudden wrench of his fist, he snapped her arm like a twig.
Peggy's scream of pain was cut off as he slammed her down hard onto the platform. He was on her the next second, his hands closing around her throat. Peggy struggled to breathe, reaching for the black mask that covered the man's face, but he just pushed her good arm to the ground and held it there with his knee as he strangled her.
Just before she lost consciousness, his hands left her throat and Peggy could breathe again. She coughed in mouthfuls of air, cradling her broken arm to her chest.
"Hello, Margaret," the man said.
Without bothering to get to his feet, the man reached over to pick up Peggy's knife from the platform. Peggy could see nothing behind the dark glasses hiding his eyes.
"I've been saving you for last, you know," he said, holding up the knife considering. His voice was rough and low. "I've been looking forward to this for quite some time."
"Who are you?" Peggy choked out. If she could keep him talking, someone might come down the tunnel, or another train might arrive. She had to keep him talking; it was the only way she could survive.
"You know who I am," the man said. He spoke in English, his accent flatly American. "We've been doing this dance for so many years now, haven't we?"
"No idea what you're talking about," Peggy said. Her broken right arm was useless, but her left arm was fine. If she could just get some leverage, maybe she could take him by surprise.
The man flipped the knife over in his hand, once, twice. "You have to understand, Margaret, I'm only obeying orders."
"What's this, a serial killer with a moral code?" Peggy asked, eyeing the man carefully. His mask hid his features; he could have been anyone. "That's a new one."
He looked down at her. "I'm not a serial killer." He went down on one knee, grabbing her left arm and forcing her hand flat against the concrete. She kicked at him, but his grip was too strong and there was nothing Peggy could do as he raised the knife, then slammed the blade down through her hand and into the platform floor.
This time, there was nothing to stop Peggy's screams.
The man stood up, brushing his gloved hands on his trousers. "I'm a soldier, Margaret, just like you. And this is what we do." He pulled a gun from his pocket and shot Peggy three times in the chest.
Then he walked away.
Peggy felt the burning wetness of blood spreading out under her as she lay on the platform, staring up at the ceiling, unable to move.
Dying.
The far-away hiss-whine of the train approaching the platform was the last thing she heard for a very, very long time.
to be continued
Rhapsody in Blue (7&8/13)
A Captain America/Avengers story
by mhalachaiswords
At AO3
Summary: For decades, Peggy Carter has had only two constants in her life: Howard Stark, and the Winter Soldier.
Rating: Mature
Characters: Peggy Carter, the Winter Soldier, Howard Stark, Maria Stark, Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Phil Coulson, Nick Fury, Original Characters
Pairings: Peggy/Howard, Peggy/Steve, Peggy/Natasha, Peggy/Howard/Maria...
Warnings: Gore and violence in chapter eight
Disclaimer: This is fanfic, I own nothing of the characters/worlds/franchises etc. All recognizable characters belong to their creators etc.
Chapter Seven summary: Even the most seasoned SHIELD agent sometimes runs up against the problems of Real Life. And if Sarah's not going to ask Peggy for help, someone else is...
January was growing stale when Phil Coulson hauled Peggy out of the mountain of Yugoslavian intelligence with the words, "You have a message, Agent Carter."
Peggy lifted her head from her hand and blinked at him. "Why wasn't it patched through?" she asked irritably. She hadn't slept in two days; hadn't slept much at all since she'd returned from Hawaii, working on uncovering anything she could about the Winter Soldier. All the dithering from the agents on her team was wearing on her nerves.
Coulson folded his hands together, standing at near-attention. "The individual didn't want to bother you," he said.
Peggy gave Coulson a glare as she picked up the phone and dialled into SHIELD's answering service.
"Miss Carter, my name is Luke Alvarez and I'm a friend of Sarah's," the recorded voice said. "She's fine, I guess, but we're all a little worried about her. She's been acting weird since she got back from New York and I wondered if something happened to upset her. She's skipping classes and she won't talk to anyone. If it was just me she was avoiding, I'd take the hint, but she's not talking to any of her friends, not Sally or Aramina or anyone." He took deep breath, and continued. "She's skipping labs, she never skips labs, and she knows how hard exams are going to be this year. Something's wrong and I thought maybe you could call her and see what's wrong with her and maybe help her, I don't know. She talks about you all the time and I know that you're important to her. Maybe you could make sure she's okay." A pause. "I guess that's all. Thanks."
Thoughtfully, Peggy replaced the receiver. She glanced up at Coulson. "Do we have a file on-"
"Lucas Alvarez?" Coulson said smoothly. He handed Peggy a thin folder.
Peggy had made SHIELD run security checks on all of Sarah's friends since the girl went away to college, just to make sure she was safe. With a father who made most of the weapons in the Western hemisphere, and mother who spent far too much time embedded in international espionage, Sarah was a logical target.
The personal profile of Luke Alvarez was unremarkable. A boy two years older than Sarah in medical school at Stanford where Sarah also attended, his family was from a small town in northern California. Comprised mainly of merchants and teachers, there were no known attachments to any overseas groups. Lucas' record was spotless, not even a speeding ticket.
And Sarah had not mentioned him once to Peggy.
According to the file, Lucas Alvarez had become part of Sarah's circle three years previous. There was nothing to make Peggy think that any of this was tied to the recent whispers of the Winter Soldier.
But Peggy hadn't lived so long by assuming that all was as it appeared.
"Coulson," she said. The agent waited expectantly. "Run a deep background check on this man. Check if he might have any connection to our current target."
"Do you expect he will?" Coulson asked as he took the dossier from Peggy.
"No." Peggy holstered her gun before reaching for her briefcase. "But I'm not going to risk it." She faced Coulson. "I have to go to California. I should be back tomorrow. In the meantime, continue with the analysis of the data we currently have. I expect that I'll have to get the real story on the ground, however."
"Would you like me to book you a flight to Europe for when you get back from California?" Coulson asked, taking the orders in stride.
"No," Peggy said. "I'll do it myself." She headed towards the door. "Can you get the Personnel department to reactivate Maggie Jenkins?"
"How deep a cover do you think you'll need?"
Peggy turned in the doorway. "I'm going after the Winter Soldier, Agent Coulson. How deep do you think I'll need to go?"
After working with Peggy for three weeks, Coulson had learned enough when to stop asking stupid questions. He kept his mouth shut.
Twilight was falling in Palo Alto when Peggy knocked on Sarah's apartment door.
Nothing.
Peggy tried to keep her anxiety in check. Perhaps Sarah was out running an errand. But if Luke Alvarez was to be believed, Sarah hadn't gone anywhere in the weeks since Howard and Maria's funeral.
Peggy scanned the area. The door did not appear to be forced; no scratches on the metal plating where someone might have tried to pick the lock.
Peggy pulled her gun and knocked again. "Sarah, honey, it's me," she called, stepping to the side of door in case anyone armed was in the apartment. And she waited.
After a minute, small scuffing sounds within the apartment came towards the door. "Mama Peggy?" Sarah asked.
"I'm here, love," Peggy said, taking her first real breath since Luke's phone call. "Can you let me in?"
The sound of a chain sliding off the latch, then one deadbolt flipped, then another. The door opened and Sarah peered out into the hallway. The girl looked like hell; dark circles under her eyes and cheeks pale. Her hair was limp around her face and she still wore faded pyjamas so late in the day.
Sarah's eyes went wide at the sight of the gun. "What's wrong?" she asked in a scared whisper.
"You tell me," Peggy said as she holstered the gun. "Are you all right?"
"I guess," Sarah said as Peggy pushed her way into the apartment. "Why are you here?"
Peggy looked around. Books lay in untidy piles, dirty dishes heaped in the sink. A nest of blankets on the sofa gave Peggy a good idea where Sarah had been sleeping.
Turning, Peggy held her arms out to Sarah. Sarah stepped into the hug, pressing her face against Peggy's neck, and then without warning the girl began to cry.
These were not the sobs from Howard and Maria's funeral; this time Sarah cried slow and quiet, as if her heart was broken.
Feeling helpless, Peggy patted Sarah's back and whispered soothing words. After a few minutes, Peggy guided her over to the sofa and settled her into nest of blankets.
Sarah pulled a handful of tissues out of the nearly empty box to wipe her eyes. Peggy sat beside her, one hand on her back. Something was wrong, and if someone had hurt her daughter Peggy was going to find that person (Luke Alvarez stood out as a strong candidate at the moment) and kill him.
It took Sarah a few minutes to calm down. While she was pulling herself back together, Peggy looked around the room. The coffee table was strewn with video tapes and boxes of saltine crackers. More books lay on the floor, beside a photo album Peggy recognized. Maria had put that album together chronicling all the times Peggy and Sarah had visited the Starks in New York. Sarah must have taken it with her when she left New York after the funeral.
With a final sniffle, Sarah sat back on the sofa, leaning against Peggy. "Sorry," she said in a small voice.
"Whatever for?" Peggy asked. She kissed Sarah's temple. "You don't ever need to say you're sorry to me."
"I said some horrible things to you in New York," Sarah said. "I was missing Maria and Howard too, and when you got into that fight with Tony I just got so angry with you."
"It wasn't that bad," Peggy said. "And I likely deserved it." She reached up to stroke Sarah's hair. "Now, love, why are you hiding in here like this?"
Sarah shrugged. "Why are you here?" she countered.
"I got a phone call from a young Mr. Alvarez," Peggy said. She watched closely for any negative reaction at the name. Sarah pulled back and frowned.
"Wait, Luke called you? What for?"
"He said that you're missing classes and he's worried about you."
Sarah stood up, crossing her arms over her chest in agitation. "I gave him that number last year in case something bad happened to me and he couldn't reach Mom and Dad. Why did he call you?"
Peggy got to her feet, took Sarah's hands in hers and held them tight. Sarah's fingers were ice-cold. "Sarah, did something happen to you?" Peggy asked. "Are you hurt?"
Sarah stared at her. "No, Mama, I'm fine. Really. Like, nothing happened to me or anything, there's just... you know, like stuff happening."
The icy ball of fear in Peggy's stomach began to dissolve. "Then why are you hiding in the dark?"
"I'm not hiding," Sarah objected. She pulled her hands away from Peggy and walked aimlessly across the apartment. "I'm just not up for company these days."
"Mr. Alvarez said you've missed lab classes as well."
Sarah let out an annoyed sound. "I missed two classes because I was at the doctor's, and one lab. I made up the work. Who the hell does Luke think he is, calling you about that?"
"I don't know," Peggy said. "Who does he think he is?"
Sarah stopped by the bookcase, running her fingers along the line of worn books. It took her a minute, but she finally said, "He thinks he's my boyfriend."
"And is he correct in this assumption?" Peggy asked.
Another long pause. "Yeah, he is."
That explained the phone call to Peggy. "Do you love him?"
"Does it matter anymore?" Sarah snapped, wiping her eyes with her shirt sleeve.
Peggy waited, then asked, "Did he do something that's making you avoid him?"
Sarah picked up a small box from the bookshelf and carried it back to the sofa. Curling up in the blankets, she said, "I stayed in New York long enough for the reading of Maria and Howard's wills."
Peggy hadn't considered anything to do with the estates; she'd been so determined to get out of New York that she hadn't thought about what Tony would have to go through after the funerals. "It's good that you were there to support your brother," Peggy said.
"I don't think he'd have gone if it was just him and Obadiah," Sarah said. "But the lawyer wanted to do it the day after the funeral, and there were some questions circulating about ownership of Stark Industries that were affecting the stock price so they wanted to hurry things along."
"What happened?"
"Howard's will was what everyone expected," Sarah said. "Some small amounts to the help. Tony got everything else. The company, the property, all of the money. He even got the patents, which I think made Obadiah a little angry."
"Did Howard leave you anything?" Peggy asked.
"Nope," Sarah said with false brightness. "I wouldn't want it if he did."
Peggy rubbed her hand over her eyes. "Sarah, he may not have acted like it, but he was your father-"
"I don't want a cent from him," Sarah interrupted. "He didn't owe me anything. I told Tony as much when he tried to cut me a check for half a million dollars."
"Why on earth did would your brother do that?" Peggy demanded.
"Tony was, like, really angry the whole time," Sarah said. "He tried to give me everything at first, saying I was the oldest and he didn't want anything to do with Howard's company or money, and the lawyer got all weird and was trying to explain to Tony that the will was valid and everything." She tapped her fingernails against the small wooden box. "Like, the lawyer was trying to get around saying that I wasn't entitled to anything because I was illegitimate, but Tony finally figured it out and lost it. Said the man was a heartless son of a bitch."
"The lawyer?" Peggy asked. That was a bit dramatic, even for Tony's over-the-top way of speaking.
"No, he was talking about Howard." Sarah took a deep breath. "I didn't take Tony's money." She looked at Peggy. "But there was something in Maria's will."
"What was that?" Peggy asked. She knew Maria had money in her own right, from her parents and from various investments of her own. But Peggy would have thought that Maria would leave everything to Tony.
Sarah opened the box and pulled out a ring. "She left me her engagement ring."
Peggy took the ring from Sarah. Maria hadn't been wearing it on the day of the crash, only ever wore the ring on special occasions. Sometimes, she wore the ring when she had dinner with Peggy and Howard, the three diamonds in the golden band glinting on her hand in the candlelight. "I was with Howard when he picked this out," Peggy said. She couldn't help a smile of remembrance. "That was when he still thought Maria would change her mind and call off the wedding."
"Would she have?" Sarah asked.
"Heavens, no." Peggy turned the ring over, the facets of the diamonds catching the light. "She was head over heels in love with him from the first day. But Howard was panicking and to calm him down I took him to a jewellery store after I was finished classes for the day."
The memory came back so clearly, Peggy could almost smell the smoke from Howard's cigarette as the store owner put trays of expensive engagement rings before them.
"And like all men with too much money, Howard completely lost his head and was going to pick something grotesque and worth more than a small Latin American country." Peggy gave the ring back to Sarah. "I told him to give his head a shake and think about what Maria would want. He said, what was the point of having money if he didn't buy an expensive ring, and I told him that if he really thought that Maria was marrying him for his money he should call off the wedding that minute. And then he got her this."
"It's really nice," Sarah said, her voice hitching as she slid the ring onto her baby finger. "When I was a kid and I stayed with them, Maria used to let me play with her jewellery. I'd put this on and pretend I was a princess."
Peggy put her arm around Sarah's shoulders and waited.
"And, um, Maria left me some money," Sarah continued. She wouldn't look at Peggy. "It wasn't a lot, but some, and I think it's because…" She took a deep breath." Because I told her something when we were in New York before Christmas," Sarah said, and the tears started flowing again. "And I think she just wanted to make sure I was okay, you know?"
"Sarah."
"I'm pregnant," the girl blurted out. She pulled the blanket tight to her chest. "And I'm going to graduate before the baby's due and I can find a job and everything but I don't know what I'm going to do."
The world rearranged itself while Peggy took in the fact that her little girl was having a baby. Sarah was barely twenty-two, still a child herself. Never mind that Peggy herself had been fighting a war at twenty-two, that had been a different time.
Peggy pushed her misgivings away. "Do you want this baby?" she asked. Sarah gave a small nod, tearing up again. "Does the father know?"
"No, I haven't told Luke yet," Sarah said. She rubbed angrily at her eyes. "And I can't stop crying and I hate it!"
"Hush," Peggy said. "That's normal." She pulled the blanket around Sarah's shoulders. "Let's be practical about this." She moved to sit on the coffee table so she could look at Sarah. "How far along are you?"
"Four months."
Peggy's eyes went wide in surprise. "When did you find out?"
"Just before we went to New York in November," Sarah said. "I only told Maria because she was helping me try on dresses for the winter formal and she didn't understand why I didn't want to get one that was too tight. She was so excited for me. That was why she left me the money in her will, it was for the baby in case… well, you know."
Peggy resisted the urge to ask why Sarah had told Maria and not her; there was no point in that jealousy of the dead. "How close are you to the father?"
Sarah pulled her hand free to stare at Maria's ring. "We've been dating for, like, two years? We started talking about maybe moving in together when I graduate in the spring."
"Do you want to marry him?"
Sarah gave Peggy a dark look. "Yeah, that'd go over great now. What would I say? Hey, you knocked me up, want to get married?"
"It's to the point," Peggy said. "And that wasn't what I asked."
"Get married because I'm having a baby? That's kind of rich coming from you, isn't it?"
Peggy held in a sigh. "Darling, you father was already married when I got pregnant with you. It wasn't possible."
"But if it was, would you have done?" Sarah persisted. "If Howard hadn't been married to Maria when you got pregnant, would you and him got married?"
Peggy let out a breath. "Honestly? I have no idea. I never thought about it."
Sarah twisted the ring around on her finger. "What if I tell Luke and he runs away?" she asked.
"Better he do it now than after the child's born," Peggy said. "Here's what we're going to do. You're going to take a shower and I'm going to make this place fit for human habitation, and then we'll figure things out from there, okay?"
Sarah nodded. Slowly, she stood up, and pressed one hand against her stomach. "Do, um… do you want to see?" she asked.
"How high you're carrying the baby?" Peggy asked. "When I was pregnant with you I could wear my normal clothes until the fifth month, then everything just fell apart."
Sarah smiled faintly as she lifted her shirt. The swell of her belly was visible now, and Peggy had no doubt that Sarah would start to show in regular clothes soon.
"I was thinking what I'd do if Luke bails on me… well, on us," Sarah said, pulling her shirt down and pressing her hands against her stomach. "If you managed as a single mother in 1969, I can do pull it off in 1992, right?"
"Oh yes, we did fine until I packed you up in a basket and dropped you on my brother's doorstep," Peggy said dryly.
Sarah wrinkled her nose. "I don't think it would be the best idea to let Tony raise this baby," she said as she turned toward the bathroom.
Peggy sighed as she straightened the blankets on the sofa. "It would be a great way to say 'fuck you' to Howard, though," she muttered to the empty room.
She put the books against the bookshelf, loaded the dishwasher and stacked up the video tapes. Most of the room was squared away by the time Sarah turned off the shower. Peggy was piling dirty laundry into the hamper when Sarah emerged from her bedroom, hair hanging in wet ringlets around her shoulders. "Feel better?" Peggy asked.
"A little." Sarah leaned against the doorframe and watched Peggy move about the apartment. "I think I'm going to call Luke and tell him about the baby. And if he freaks out, well, maybe I'll go to New York and move in with Tony and have the baby out there."
"I don't think that would work," Peggy said.
"Sure it would, I saw it in a sitcom once," Sarah retorted. She crossed her arms over her chest, going into battle mode. "You know, Mama, I was thinking about why you came all the way out here instead of just calling me."
"I was worried about you," Peggy said, concentrating on turning a sock the right way out before tossing it into the hamper.
"They're sending you off to work again, aren't they? Sarah asked. "How dangerous is it?"
Peggy put the hamper on the kitchen table, wondering if Sarah had any change for the laundry machines in the basement. "It's classified."
"Does that mean they won't tell me if you die?"
Peggy went for her purse, knowing she had some quarters. "It likely won't come to that."
She was startled when Sarah pulled the purse out of her hands. "So don't do it," Sarah said fiercely, her dark eyes flashing. "Send someone else."
"I can't," Peggy told her.
"You think I can lose you too?" Sarah demanded. "After what happened to Maria and Howard? You think that was some kind of awesome test-run of my parents dying?"
"Sarah, this isn't the kind of job someone else can do."
"Who are you going after?"
Peggy took Sarah's hands in hers, wishing she could just lie, pretend everything was going to be all right. "Someone I've been chasing for nearly fifty years," she said quietly. "I'm the only one who can do this, love."
"It's that important to you," Sarah said, not really a question.
"Yes."
Sarah pushed her hair back from her face. "Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?"
Peggy tapped the end of Sarah's nose, making her smile. If there had been any other option, anyone else Peggy could trust with this mission, she'd have done so; anything to stay with her daughter and soon-to-be-grandchild.
But someone had to go after the Winter Soldier, had to stop him no matter the cost.
"Do you want some dinner?" Peggy asked. "I can make something up after I do this laundry."
Sarah shook her head. "I should call Luke first. This baby isn't getting any younger."
Peggy picked up the hamper and left the apartment, giving Sarah some privacy to make her phone call. The laundry room was empty and Peggy was soon on her way back to the apartment. She found Sarah sitting at the kitchen table, chin in her hands.
"Went that well, did it?"
Sarah glowered at Peggy. "I wasn't expecting anything else," she muttered. "He said he needed some time to think. Doesn't matter."
In the dim light, Sarah's hair wild around her face, Peggy was struck anew by her daughter's resemblance to Howard. The brooding expression, the grim determination, all of it was Howard. And that was why Peggy knew Sarah would succeed at whatever she set her mind to, because in that Sarah was just like Howard.
Peggy also knew her daughter well enough to know the comparison would not be appreciated.
With a final glower, Sarah pushed herself to her feet. "I've got a frozen pizza, if you want it."
Peggy let Sarah putter around the kitchen. She needed to remember this moment, in which her daughter was alive and healthy. Peggy would do anything to protect Sarah, and right now that meant leaving everything behind and chasing after ghosts.
The doorbell rang. Seeing the defiant set of Sarah's shoulders, Peggy said, "I can get it."
"No, I'll get it," Sarah said, pushing off the counter. She went over to the door, opened it, and looked out into the hallway. There was moment of silence, then Sarah said, "What are you doing?"
"I think I'm proposing," came a male voice. "Down on one knee, ring in hand, right?"
"Did you get that from a vending machine?" Sarah demanded. Peggy edged around the kitchen table to better see the doorway. A handsome young man was on his knee in the hallway, holding up a bright pink plastic egg.
"Give me a break, the bodega was the only thing open at this time of night," the man said. He offered the plastic egg up to Sarah. "So, Sarah Carter, will you have my baby and marry me and move in with me? Maybe not in that order?"
Sarah made a strangled sound in her throat. "Oh, get up, you idiot!" She pulled the young man to his feet and hauled him into the apartment. "What is wrong with you?"
"There is nothing wrong with me!" the man protested, shaking his jacket straight. "That's the way it's supposed to go, right? Your girl gets knocked up, you get married."
Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not your fucking obligation, Luke!" she exclaimed. "If you want to marry me, if you want to be part of my life, then be it. But if you're here because it's what you think you're supposed to do, then just leave, now!"
Luke didn't move.
Sarah started to tremble. "Just, walk out that door," she said, waving her hand at the doorway. "Go."
Carefully, gently, Luke stepped forward. He took Sarah's outstretched hand in his, kissed her palm. "I'm never going to do that," he said, his voice low and fierce. "I'm never leaving you again, do you understand?"
Tears spilled down Sarah's cheeks as she nodded. "But that's going to make going to the bathroom kind of awkward," she said, and Luke laughed and swept her up in his arms and whirled her around the room.
Then Luke caught sight of Peggy leaning against the kitchen counter and nearly dropped Sarah in his surprise.
Peggy could take a hint. "I'm going to leave you two alone," she said. "It looks like you need some time to get things sorted."
"Okay?" Luke looked between Sarah and Peggy. "Who are you?"
"Luke," Sarah said, pulling herself out of his embrace, "This is Peggy."
Luke's eyes went wide. "Ma'am," he said, straightening up. "I'd thought you'd be older-" Sarah's elbow caught him in the rubs. "I mean, well, hello."
Peggy managed to keep from rolling her eyes. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Alvarez," she said. "Sarah, I'll call you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Sarah said, letting Peggy give her a goodbye hug. "Be careful, Mama," she whispered in Peggy's ear.
"You too," Peggy whispered back. She kissed Sarah on the cheek and reluctantly let her daughter go. "One last thing."
Peggy took Sarah's hand and pulled Maria's engagement ring from her finger, then pressed the ring into Luke's hand.
"If you're going to propose to someone, at least do it the right way," she suggested as she gave Sarah another kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye, darlings."
Sarah walked Peggy to the door. "No, seriously, be careful," Sarah told Peggy. "I really need you to come home, okay?"
"I'll do my best," was all Peggy could promise. "Sarah… just don't do anything if you don't think it's the right thing for you, all right?"
"I won't," Sarah said. "And I want this, all right?"
"If you say so."
As Peggy walked down the hallway, she could hear Luke's voice through the still-open doorway, "Okay, seriously, that was your mother?"
Chapter Eight summary: After decades, Peggy Carter has finally run the Winter Soldier to ground. The only problem is, two are playing the game of cat and mouse. (Warning for violence and gore in this part)
A month later, Peggy was in Berlin. Two years after Reunification, the city was still in a state of flux and Peggy blended right in with the turbulence. Her contacts across Europe had directed her to Germany in pursuit of the Winter Soldier. No one had actually seen the man, and rumours were nearly non-existent, but there was something in the air that made Peggy's heart race. This time, she was on the right track.
She had no idea who she was looking for; no one did. No one had ever seen the Winter Soldier and lived to tell the tale. They only had vague hints of a tall man without eyes, without a face.
Some agents in SHIELD had wondered doubtfully in Peggy's hearing that it could be the same man, given that the Winter Soldier had been killing since the end of the War. But Peggy knew; it was him. There were ways of keeping a person alive, extending their life. With Peggy, it had been an unfortunate encounter with the Tesseract. She had no idea what happened to Natasha Romanova to keep the woman so ageless, but if one Soviet agent, why not another?
And then there were the strange gaps between the Winter Soldier's kills. Sometimes months but usually years would pass. The pattern to the killings was the same; cold, efficient, surgical in their precision. The Winter Soldier did not often cause collateral damage, but when he did, there was no brutality, just the swift delivery of death.
The Winter Soldier saved the brutality for those who deserved it. Peggy couldn't voice that sentiment to anyone in SHIELD except Nick Fury, but Nick was on an unrelated assignment in Hong Kong and Peggy only had the junior agents to handle on this one. Phil Coulson was somewhat useful, but she still didn't know his loyalties, didn't know where on the spectrum his taste for blood and vengeance lay.
In the meantime, Peggy sat in a cramped café over a cup of coffee, smoking her fourth cigarette, wondering what she should do next. Every faint whisper she'd gathered had indicated the Winter Soldier's next target was in Berlin.
She had a meeting scheduled later that evening with an informant of questionable morals and motives. The man had been a SHIELD informant for decades; had slipped Eastern bloc secrets in and out of Berlin with ease. He was quick and creative and Peggy was certain he'd been selling SHIELD secrets to the highest bidder on the other side of the Iron Curtain. But he'd never been enough of a threat for Peggy to do anything about him. In the Cold War, double agents were often the only kind that survived.
Peggy finished her coffee and paid the waitress with worn mark notes. The temperature outside hovered just below freezing, dirty snow sprinkling over the city. Peggy pulled her scarf around her neck and stepped out into the night. The streets were busy with people heading home out of the cold, and Peggy melted into the flow of humanity.
She wandered the streets for hours, making certain that she was not being followed, before making her way to her informant's flat. The building's outer door opened with a wheeze, letting Peggy into a cramped entrance hall. The lone light bulb burned dimly as Peggy walked down the corridor, her footsteps muffled by the faded carpet.
The building was so quiet, Peggy could hear her heart beating. The stairs to the first floor creaked under her feet as she climbed. There was no one in the stairwell, no signs of life.
Peggy walked past the closed doors in the first floor hallway, ears straining to hear. The only thing she could make out was a soft drip, drip, coming from an open doorway halfway down the hall.
As she neared, the air grew thick with the stench of blood.
Peggy drew her pistol. The slow drip was the only sound in the entire building. She reached the open doorway, and looked inside.
It took her a moment for her brain to realise what she was seeing. The room was soaked in red, blood splattered on every surface. On the floor lay her informant.
He had been ripped apart.
Quickly, Peggy searched the rest of the apartment for anyone lying in wait. She tried to step between the pools of blood, but even so she left footsteps in the thick liquid on the floor.
Once she had determined there was no one hiding in the bedroom or the bathroom, Peggy looked around. Blood covered the furniture, the books, the desk, everything.
Everything except for a folded piece of paper pinned to the wall. On the front of the paper, written in black ink, was the letter M.
Peggy moved carefully across the room, and picked up the note.
Inside, in the same ink, was written a single number.
3
A scrabbling against the wood, and Peggy whirled around her gun up. A rat had crawled out from behind the baseboard and was chewing on bloody strands of the dead man's intestines.
Peggy gagged, bile rising in her throat. She kept control of herself as she stumbled out of the room. The hallway carpet was clean in both directions; no one with bloodied shoes had come this way.
Peggy stepped out of her boots, picking them up and running in her stocking feet down the stairs and out the back door. Ignoring the searing cold under her feet, she hurried down the alley. She ducked into an alcove to use snow and the ends of her scarf to wash blood off the soles of her shoes. She still had the note clenched tight in her hand.
With her boots back on and her gun in her pocket, Peggy walked out of the alley into the flow of Berlin nightlife. She breathed deep of the winter air, but was unable to get the stench of blood out of her head.
This could only be the work of the Winter Soldier. It took a long time to dismember a human body to such an extent, and the blood had been so fresh, he could only have left only minutes before she arrived. But the man must have been covered in blood; if he had gone out the front or back door, he'd have left blood on the carpet and Peggy hadn't seen a drop of red anywhere. He couldn't have gone out by the window for the same reason, so how had he left the room?
Unless.
Peggy's steps slowed as realization washed over her.
Unless he hadn't left the room at all.
A stab of fear ran down Peggy's spine. She hadn't looked in the closet. The closet door had been open a crack and Peggy had been so focused on the dismembered body, she hadn't even considered that anyone might be hiding there.
The Winter Soldier had been in the room with her the entire time. Watching. Waiting.
Her informant was dead, torn limb from limb, and the Winter Soldier could be watching her right now.
Waiting.
Peggy did the only sensible thing. She ran.
Milan, three weeks later. Peggy stepped out of a taxi in front of the Pinacoteca di Brera. Midnight was close, but that suited Peggy's purpose. It was far better to meet this particular individual after the day's crowds had deserted the gallery.
The after-hours security guard let Peggy into the building. She climbed the stone steps, the walls of the art gallery dark on either side of her. She had been here before to consult with the museum's foremost expert on art forgery. The man had crawled out from behind the Iron Curtain in the early eighties, and in exchange for his cooperation with SHEILD, Peggy had set him up in Italy with a cover story and some money.
She came to him from time to time, asking for help with certain commissions, not all of them strictly related to art forgery. The man was a natural-born criminal, and as long as he stayed on Peggy's side of the line, she looked the other way as to his other activities.
Normally, he'd meet her at the top of the stairs, but not this time.
The gallery was silent.
Peggy moved forward, the soles of her shoes falling softly on the marble floor. Shadows clung to the walls, thick and real. Peggy knew she should turn back, find someone to help her, to turn the lights on. Her mind screamed at her that she was alone in the dark, and that the dark was a living thing.
Peggy kept going.
She found her consultant dangling in front of a painting of the crucifixion, the rope around his neck suspended from the ceiling. His red hair didn't quite cover the empty bloody holes in his face where his eyes had once been. His body swayed in and out of the shadows.
A piece of paper lay on the floor at his feet. Peggy picked it up and when she saw the thick black M on the front, the darkness closed around her. She broke and ran back for the security desk. There was no escaping anonymously into the night on this one.
The polizia questioned her all night. In the end, they seemed to believe the story that she was an art history student who'd been having an affair with the murdered art expert, that he'd arranged a special after-hours tour of the museum for her. They were already focusing their attention on the man's criminal connections, and let Peggy leave the station just as the sun was rising over Milan.
On the steps of the police station, Peggy reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled note. She opened it.
2
She broke cover long enough to call SHIELD. She told the Director that she was going dark and hung up before he could demand she return to the States. She wasn't letting the mission go, not yet.
The closer the Winter Soldier got to her, the closer she got to him.
She chanced another phone call to Coulson, told him to double security on Sarah. Then she hung up the phone, left her Maggie Jenkins identity behind in the train station dustbin and boarded a train to Paris as Alice O'Brien, an Irish-born naturalized citizen of France.
The alias was the most comprehensive cover Peggy had ever created. Alice had a history as real as a living person, something Peggy had cultivated with painstaking care for nearly thirty years.
The train ride to Paris passed in a blur of adrenaline and paranoia. Peggy sat staring out the window and wondering what the hell she was going to do now.
She hadn't heard of any other killings in Europe, especially not with this distinctive signature. Why was the Winter Soldier only targeting Peggy's informants? Why did he wait until Peggy was so close?
And how, after all these years, was he still only a ghost in the night?
When the train pulled into Paris, Peggy disembarked with the rest of the throng. She joined the taxi queue and rode in silence to an unremarkable hotel. She paid for a room, carried her own bag upstairs, and closed the door behind her.
She spent the entire night sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door with her gun in hand.
The Winter Soldier did not come for her that night. Nor the next, or the one after.
She slept during the day and sat up all night for weeks on end. She worked in the meantime, pouring over her dossier of the Winter Soldier. In three weeks' time, Peggy was no closer to understanding the man than before she'd left the States.
She began venturing out to museums and galleries, mostly to see if anyone was following her. Day after day, and no face repeated itself, no one seemed familiar.
April slid by, moving into the thick of May. Sarah's baby was due any day and Peggy ached to call home, but she couldn't risk it. The Winder Soldier was still out there, she could feel it.
More than once, she woke with her heart in her throat, thinking the Winter Soldier was standing in the dark by her bed, watching her sleep.
One night, 'Alice' ventured out to a night club to listen to some jazz, the one music form that modernity hadn't messed up. She left the club early enough that the Metro was still running, and she rode the train with other late-night merry makers.
She disembarked at her stop and walked across the underground platform. As the train sped out of the station, Peggy's senses went on alert.
There was no one around.
Even at one on the morning, there should have been someone. But the station was deserted; not a soul to be seen on the open platform.
Peggy was completely, utterly, achingly alone.
And then.
Something moved behind her.
Peggy spun around. On the dirty platform, in a space that had been empty only moments before, sat a folded piece of paper.
On the front of the paper, written in black ink, was the letter M.
Peggy's vision swam for a moment. She walked over to the note, picked it up. All around her, the station was silent and deserted.
She opened the note.
1
A soft scuffing behind her, and Peggy stopped breathing when something brushed her neck.
Peggy whirled around, pulling her knife from her pocket, but the man was too close and he grabbed her wrists, hauled her into a tight bear hug. His left hand clenched her arm with iron force, and with a sudden wrench of his fist, he snapped her arm like a twig.
Peggy's scream of pain was cut off as he slammed her down hard onto the platform. He was on her the next second, his hands closing around her throat. Peggy struggled to breathe, reaching for the black mask that covered the man's face, but he just pushed her good arm to the ground and held it there with his knee as he strangled her.
Just before she lost consciousness, his hands left her throat and Peggy could breathe again. She coughed in mouthfuls of air, cradling her broken arm to her chest.
"Hello, Margaret," the man said.
Without bothering to get to his feet, the man reached over to pick up Peggy's knife from the platform. Peggy could see nothing behind the dark glasses hiding his eyes.
"I've been saving you for last, you know," he said, holding up the knife considering. His voice was rough and low. "I've been looking forward to this for quite some time."
"Who are you?" Peggy choked out. If she could keep him talking, someone might come down the tunnel, or another train might arrive. She had to keep him talking; it was the only way she could survive.
"You know who I am," the man said. He spoke in English, his accent flatly American. "We've been doing this dance for so many years now, haven't we?"
"No idea what you're talking about," Peggy said. Her broken right arm was useless, but her left arm was fine. If she could just get some leverage, maybe she could take him by surprise.
The man flipped the knife over in his hand, once, twice. "You have to understand, Margaret, I'm only obeying orders."
"What's this, a serial killer with a moral code?" Peggy asked, eyeing the man carefully. His mask hid his features; he could have been anyone. "That's a new one."
He looked down at her. "I'm not a serial killer." He went down on one knee, grabbing her left arm and forcing her hand flat against the concrete. She kicked at him, but his grip was too strong and there was nothing Peggy could do as he raised the knife, then slammed the blade down through her hand and into the platform floor.
This time, there was nothing to stop Peggy's screams.
The man stood up, brushing his gloved hands on his trousers. "I'm a soldier, Margaret, just like you. And this is what we do." He pulled a gun from his pocket and shot Peggy three times in the chest.
Then he walked away.
Peggy felt the burning wetness of blood spreading out under her as she lay on the platform, staring up at the ceiling, unable to move.
Dying.
The far-away hiss-whine of the train approaching the platform was the last thing she heard for a very, very long time.
to be continued