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It was nights like these that Peggy Carter hated being a spy.
To her mother’s utmost consternation, Margaret Carter was born to move, to act, and to expend her energy in a useful way. That was the whole point of joining the SSR—she was able to use her talents in situations which allowed her to kick and punch and shoot and generally wreak havoc on her enemies. Quite stress relieving, when you thought about it. She often pitied her schoolmates who were likely condemned to utterly boring jobs at factories or restaurants or actual phone companies.
Because of all that, Peggy Carter was truly an excellent operative. She was quick on her feet and had an uncanny sense of do-what-when. Her status as one of the rare female operatives in existence (much less in the SSR’s pool) made her exceptionally unique. No one expected her presence and her adversaries never failed to underestimate her potent right hook. She fit perfectly into the mold of “Never saw it coming”; the element of surprise was her favorite and most used weapon.
Nevertheless, being a spy wasn’t all action sequences and high-risk heists. The core of the SSR was gathering intelligence to ultimately prevent the necessity of such violence. Though she didn’t like it, Peggy had to admit that it was better to fly under the radar when possible to avoid blowing yet another of her dwindling number of covers.
And so Peggy found herself schmoozing with London’s fairest and finest in the smoky corners of the Blue Cocoon, a new club recently opened by the SSR’s latest target: a man suspected of laundering immense amounts of cash via a gambling front. The SSR guessed that the club’s owner was inviting foreign mob bosses to his club, laundering money through their bets, and club guests were then using the laundered money to sell arms to very nasty little operations throughout the globe.
Once learning of Blue Cocoon’s opening, the SSR had asked Howard Stark to pull a few strings and swing an invite to the exclusive club. Peggy and another SSR operative were posing as a filthy rich couple searching for a new nightly hangout with only the best accommodations. Currently, her partner was up to his elbows in a game of craps in the far corner of the bar while Peggy chatted with the dates of all of the club’s high-rolling guests, hoping the multitudes of empty cocktail glasses would smooth their tongues. Frustratingly, all Peggy’s night had seen thus far was a testing of her willpower to play the vapid rich trophy girl and giggle along at the inane gossip of the women around her—exactly the kind of behavior she’d been trying to permanently avoid by joining the SSR.
“Oh, Sue Ellen, that is gorgeous,” the blonde to Peggy’s left squealed with only the barest attempt at concealing her jealousy, gesturing to the shiny new engagement ring on her friend’s finger. “I simply cannot believe your Danny picked that out all on his own! He must’ve been asking all his best lady friends for help buying that rock!”
To her credit, or maybe the strength of her most recent martini, Sue Ellen simply smiled and fluttered her left fingers yet again. “Isn’t it lovely? He knew I simply would not accept anything less than a carat. And none of that silver nonsense that’s coming out of the States—gold is the haute nouveau. Don’t you think, Kitty?” she directed to Peggy, who obviously had not been doing enough of the obligatory oohing and ahhing over the ring.
Peggy, who had nearly forgotten that Kitty was her cover for the night, had been distracted by a niggling feeling in her gut, the one she always got when an op was about to turn sour. Sometimes sour meant simply hiding her face for a moment to prevent recognition by someone she’d previously tangled with, but sometimes sour meant life gave her lemons and Peggy had to respond with hand grenades. Currently, her gut was telling her there was an extra pair of unwelcome eyes burning a hole into her shoulders. It could’ve been nothing, but Peggy had learned long ago to trust her instincts—they had saved her life one too many times not to do so. Unfortunately, at the moment, there was little to be done in a crowded club surrounded by high society women.
More to preserve her cover than anything, Peggy tilted her head to admire the admittedly large, beautifully cut diamond ring. In the light, the large flat face of the stone became a tiny mirror which allowed Peggy a blessed look at the blind side to her right rear flank.
“Oh, it glitters so wonderfully in the light! That sparkle is simply divine!” Peggy cooed, hoping to keep Sue Ellen’s ring finger caught in the poor light source. As the ring pivoted on Sue Ellen’s finger, Peggy focused her eyes in and out, trying to get a grasp of what was behind her. Obligingly, Sue Ellen ate up the attention, twisting and tilting her hand. Peggy couldn’t quite yet make out any details in the shadowy corner—come on, nearly there—ah, there it was——oh.
That son of a —
Peggy barely stopped herself from letting loose a string of words which would severely scandalize her high-society company and instead risked a coquettish glance over her shoulder to hide her surprise. It was as she’d suspected and feared: there was indeed someone with his gaze fixed on her, but it wasn’t someone she’d call an adversary. Turning back to her cohort of gossipers, she made her excuses.
“Excuse me, ladies, but I see an old acquaintance over there at the bar and I’m going to go have a drink. Please, carry on without me,” Peggy said, delicately scooting her chair away from the table. The blonde from before studied the man over Peggy’s shoulder with a predatory grin.
“I thought you came in here with someone, Kitty! You minx! Though I don’t believe it, if he is only an acquaintance, do send him my way after!” she crowed with delight.
Rolling her eyes, Peggy strode to the bar without a glance at her mark, trusting he had the sense to follow. She signaled for a drink and felt his presence settle a shade too close for propriety’s sake at her right elbow.
“You aren’t to be here,” she said, still refusing to look him in the eye.
“I got back early. Wasn’t sure when they’d ship you—or me—out again. I wanted to see you.”
Peggy sighed. “Steve—,“
A cry swelled from the far corner of the bar and Peggy turned toward the noise, her hand reflexively dropping to the slit at the side of her dress which barely covered her thigh holstered-firearm. With relief, she was able to identify the noise as the combined shouts of victory and defeat at the craps table. She idly wondered how much money her inept partner was losing the SSR during his attempt at reconnaissance. When she turned her attention back to the bar, her bourbon was waiting along with Steve’s expectant gaze. She sighed again.
“You made it out alright, then? Everyone in the base was freed? The hostile operatives captured or dead?” she said cooly. Steve nodded jerkily, frustrated at her aloof demeanor.
Another jeer from the recesses of the bar assured Peggy that her partner would be leaving soon out of no other necessity than dry pockets.
“I expect a full report of the mission before I reach my desk tomorrow, Captain,” she ordered. Steve huffed in response.
“Peggy, I—,“
Finally, finally she turned to face him. The restraint she’d shown in refusing to look at him had been remarkable, really, but unsustainable. His blue eyes were dark with confusion and hurt as he’d yet to grasp her intentions, though he still leaned his upper body towards hers ever so slightly as if he couldn’t help but to get as close to her as possible.
“Captain Rogers,” Peggy interrupted. “I said I expect a full debrief before I report to my office at oh-seven-hundred. Do you understand?” she said smoothly as she met his gaze, arching a brow. Steve scrunched up his forehead in frustration.
“Peggy, I can’t possibly get you full brief before morning, it’s late, I—,” and then his color darkened adorably, if Peggy did say so, as her hand brushed his for the slightest of seconds, just long enough to press the metallic edge of her barracks key into his palm.
“Do you understand your orders, Captain?” Peggy repeated with the barest grin teasing the edges of her mouth. The corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up in response.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I’ll get right to work.”
“Indeed,” she murmured. “I shall go—extricate—” she fluttered her hand in the vague direction of the craps table, “and can be expected within the half hour.” Finishing off her drink as she went, Peggy eased her way back into the crowd to seek out her partner among the other men vying for a lucky hand.
Steve might not have been the expert spy she was, but when she glanced over her shoulder at the bar, he had vanished into the shadows.
—
And so it was, half an hour later, after several vehement goodbyes and “Oh, yes, we will be back, this club is divine,” Peggy found herself walked back to the front door of the smallest barracks building on base, chosen for its seclusion at the far corner of camp to give her the privacy she necessitated as the only female agent. While comparing notes on the walk back, Peggy and her partner had come to the conclusion that a few more bouts of research were to be completed before the SSR had grounds for a formal investigation. They wished each other good night at the end of the short pathway which led to the shadowed entrance to the sleeping quarters. Mercifully, Steve had possessed the foresight to leave the door unlocked as he held her only key on his person. With a wave to her partner, Peggy slipped inside the barracks and shut the door firmly behind her.
Her room was the third door down on the left side of the hallway—the first two rooms had leaky ceilings and drafty windows, respectively, and the right hand side of the building faced the early morning sun. As she’d expected, the curtains of her windows were tightly drawn and no light peeked out from under the threshold, but the unlocked barracks door told her someone else was in the building.
Peggy might have been well-respected for her ability quickly grasp a wide variety of situations, but it would take the most obtuse of women to not realize what she was walking into. Peggy subconsciously added a bit of a roll to her hips as the took the final steps to her door; her breathing deepened in anticipation, causing her chest to rise and fall with each inhale.
She paused for the smallest of moments at the doorway to straighten her spine, drop her shoulders, pinch her cheeks, and fluff her hair. In rationed times like these, women weren’t afforded as many tools in their portfolios of seduction, but there were aways the time-tried tricks that never failed to boost her confidence. Upon deeming herself ready, Peggy delicately turned the knob and eased the heavy wooden door into the room ahead of her light footsteps.
Steve had, as requested, made it to her room without notice. He’d kept the lights darkened to preserve the room’s apparent status as empty and had respectively shucked his shoes to avoid tracking dirt throughout the small quarters. He’d loosened his tie and forgone his jacket, hanging it neatly over the desk chair just inside the door. Lacking any other seating option, he’d arranged himself on the edge of her narrow bed—for propriety’s sake or to prevent unnecessary muddling of her sheets, Peggy wasn’t sure, but she appreciated the gesture. However, it seemed to have been a tactical error, as her bed, while certainly not the pinnacle of luxury, was nearly irresistible to her after a long night doing the SSR’s dirty work. To Steve, who’d spent the past week plunging into enemy territory and liberating a Hydra base, whose best bed had probably been some hay in a kind Frenchman’s stables, the bed must’ve been heavenly.
Which explained why Peggy now had two hundred pounds of America’s finest military defense dead to the world on top of her scratchy regulation sheets.
She sighed at the sight and let her shoulders drop. It had been unrealistic, really, to expect a night with Steve to come to fruition. They’d been out of luck in every endeavor of the sort they’d attempted to pursue since Steve had been granted permission to operate out of Europe. It was either a question of being in different places, not having space to themselves, Steve’s guilty conscience, or Peggy’s debriefs that ran until after curfew that led them to this: no alone time in nearly three months. She hadn’t done more than touch his hand in what seemed like ages.
Still, despite her disappointment, Peggy knew just how taxing it was to push your body to its limits in the name of completing an operation. She also had firsthand knowledge of Captain Rogers’ sleeping habits; though Steve slept less frequently than the average person, when he truly needed rest, he quickly fell into a deep slumber from which he was nearly impossible to wake. So she did the only obvious thing—she efficiently stripped herself of the evening gown she’d worn to the Blue Cocoon, taking care to muffle her movements even in the dark. Her sleepwear came next: a practical pair of faded cornflower pants and button up top meant to keep her prepared for midnight raids, not nights with company. She didn’t bother with rolling her hair; she could braid it the next morning if she awoke with bedhead. She paid just enough attention to removing her makeup to avoid any unfortunate smudging in the morning. She was, after all, going to bed with a man for the first time in an embarrassing number of years.
Her routine finished, Peggy eyed the bed critically. Meant for one normally-sized person, the feat of cramming both herself and Captain America’s quite larger-than-normal frame onto the one mattress seemed implausible. Thankfully, Steve had possessed the foresight—thoughtfulness?—to align himself neatly alongside the far edge of the narrow bed frame, his back supported against the wall of the room. That left a cozy, Peggy-sized hollow on the near side of the bed ripe for the taking. She crept across the room and slid onto the bed as gently as she could. As she settled her full weight on the mattress, despite her best intentions, Steve stirred.
“Whuzzit?” he mumbled, trying to prop himself up on one shoulder.
“Shhh, you,” Peggy whispered, smoothing a hand gently down his stubbly cheek. “It’s quite all right. Go back to sleep.”
Placated, Steve nuzzled into her hand for a moment, then collapsed back onto the blankets. With a little effort, Peggy managed to maneuver him under the top blanket before he was out cold once more.
She cuddled into the space left by the curve of his body and closed her eyes. While their original plans for the evening had not come to pass, and she doubted that any subsequent attempts would turn out any better, there was something to be said for passing the night in Steve’s arms
“Goodnight, my darling.”