Chapter Text
— And record breaking heat waves are sending the country into a tizzy. An average temperature of 83 degrees fahrenheit is no joke out there, folks. Drink water, wear sunscreen, or better yet, stay insi—
The little silly ringtone of her cell phone makes her blink back out of her heat induced daze.
She glances down at the screen and sees —- unknown number—
She does not answer, closing her eyes again and resting the dripping, condensating water bottle back on her forehead.
It rings again.
And she narrows her eyes.
Then a text from an unknown number pops through.
Carter. Please answer your fucking phone :)
Then it begins to ring again.
She sighs. There’s only one woman who can threaten her with a smiley face on the planet and get away with it. She switches to her American accent for kicks.
“Yes, Natasha?” She asks, letting her irritation slip through her tone. “I haven’t talked to you for the better part of a decade and you think threatening me is the way to go?”
A laugh echoes through the other side. “See, this is why I called you. I’m thousands of miles away from you and I’m still terrified.”
Peggy smirks, “speak quickly or I am hanging up.”
“How do you feel about the current presidential candidates for the United States of America?”
The question, obviously intended to throw her off, does exactly that. “I beg your pardon?”
“I mean…” Natasha’s voice clearly carries a grin, “let’s say you were asked to help one of them stay alive… would you be opposed?”
She sits up, her shirt clinging to the sheen of sweat on her skin, “either tell me what is happening or don’t waste my time.”
Natasha’s voice shifts, the hint of the well-trained spy poking through, “there’s a potential threat against one of the candidates.”
“Define potential threat?”
“He’s already been shot at. I took him down in time, but there was a second shooter that hit his best friend on the other side of the city. Might lose the arm.”
Her brow furrows, she hadn’t heard about that. Wouldn’t that have been national news? “Radicals?”
“Far right wing-nuts.”
Peggy rolls her eyes, “of course.” Then it hits her. “If you’re already on his protection detail…?”
Then there’s a strange pause. And then she can picture Natasha’s almost sheepish tone before it shifts into a wry smile, “I’m tasked with keeping the best friend safe now. The candidate—“ Peggy starts picking under her nails “— is insistent that he is taken care of as first priority. I’ll be honest, if he wasn’t such a good guy and a good friend, I would smack him upside the head for his idiocy and lack of self preservation.”
“You’re friends with one of the candidates for President of the United States?”
Natasha laughs, “it’s a long story.”
“Still unsure why you’re not staying his protection detail. Especially since I can smell the direction this conversation is heading. Why allow yourself to be tasked with the ‘second tier’?”
“I…” Natasha practically sounds embarrassed. An emotion Peggy wasn’t sure she was familiar with, “I’m allowing it because…” the next words come out rushed, “we’re dating.”
Peggy gasps, “you’re dating the presidential candidate?”
“No!” Comes the rushed answer, “no, I’m dating the best friend—“ a snort, “—no, geez, he and I would kill each other first.”
“It takes a shooting for you to admit you’re willing to date another person?”
Another snort. “I’m not even admitting it. I said nothing. Now… about my offer?”
Peggy grins, “what offer?”
“You willing?”
“You want a British Agent protecting a US candidate?”
She can hear the amusement in Natasha’s voice, “I never said you were a British Agent.”
Peggy rolls her eyes, dropping the American accent, “don’t pretend. I know you dredged up every little detail on me after I kicked your ass in that sewer in Kasan.”
“Yes well, good thing I’m not American either. I just know you’ll do as good of a job or better than me. That’s why I’m calling.”
“Resorting to flattery? Desperate.”
“He doesn't want a detail at all—“
“Why? Because he believes that assasination is part of the American people’s right to protest or free speech or something like that?”
A loud sigh, “Don’t even joke about that. He might take it to heart.”
“So he’s an idiot?”
“ Unfortunately no. If he was, I wouldn’t be calling someone I know is a very expensive hire.”
Peggy’s eyebrow raises, “so I’m simply to protect him?”
“Yes.”
“He knows you’re calling me?”
“I’ve told him that I’m ignoring his wishes and assigning someone new to him. Someone I trust.”
“Again. Pushing it.”
“I figured you’d say yes. As much as you deny it, you’re too much of a curious cat.”
“Which candidate is it? I can only picture about three of them.”
“It’s the cute one.”
Blonde hair, that gets mused during debates when he runs his hands through it, flashes in front of her eyes.
“I don’t follow American politics.”
“Don’t be a liar. I know you know who I am talking about.”
Peggy relents. “I’m surprised people think he’s such a threat if he’s not party affiliated.”
A smugness is “glad to know you think he’s cute.”
Peggy rolls her eyes, “the other two are double my age. It was an educated guess.”
“Whatever. I just need him to be kept alive on his next campaign trail. It’s just a. Month trip. Then he’ll be back in Brooklyn under my care and I should be able to resume watch…” she pauses, “What do you say?”
“For a candidate with a threat already hanging over their head… It’s double my rate.”
“Done. Airline tickets are already in your inbox.”
——————————
Steve leans back in his chair, rubbing at his tired eyes and trying to think of how to word a particularly difficult sentiment. He’s been working on this speech for hours and he can’t seem to make headway.
He pictures Bucky’s gaunt and pinched face as they raced him into the ER.
The terror that had gripped him had almost been crushing. His own life meant nothing compared to knowing he could have been the reason his friend was killed.
Lights slowly shift in and out of the room as cars drive past.
His fingers yank at his tie, loosening it from around his neck. The last thing he wanted to do was go on this campaign trail. He hated the show biz side of the whole ordeal. What a production everything was. What a waste of American tax dollars on these debates when the media would just splice together the parts they wanted their audiences to hear and spoon feed it through their lense.
When slinging mud and disgracing the other candidate was more appropriate than simply explaining why you felt like the country needed to be improved in a different way than your opponent.
Almost a second too late, he hears the footsteps. Before his tired brain can process, he is up, his gun in his hand, pointed at the hallway that leads out to his main living space.
He blinks.
A woman stands there. A beautiful one. And she’s got a raised eyebrow that says ‘ jumpy, aren’t we’ .
She holds up her hands, showing them to be empty of a weapon, and then tosses something shiny at him.
He snags it out of the air with his left hand.
He frowns at it. It’s the key he’d given to Natasha.
His eyes flick up, “either Natasha’s dead, in which case I’m thoroughly impressed, or this is her way of telling me I should trust you.”
The woman’s smirk is slight, but definitely amused, “well? Which is it?”
The light for his phone makes him look down. A text pops through.
Be nice to my friend. Or she’ll kill you. Be safe. :)
Steve relaxes. “Okay. Well…” he looks around, suddenly feeling awkward, “welcome to my home I guess.”
Her eyes do flit around, “there’s a lot of entrances and exits.”
“Natasha said the same thing. I’m not moving.”
“Good thing we’re not staying here then. Do you already have your list of hotels?” Her voice is slightly lilted. LIke she wants him to think she’s southern and hiding it. He wonders about that only momentarily before deciding he doesn't care. If she’s friends with Natasha then she’ll have her reasons for everything.
“Yes.”
“I want them forwarded to me. I need to call management at each one and speak to them. Is transportation arranged?”
“I don’t need—”
She raises her hand, halting his speech, “let me stop you right there, Mr. Rogers. I’m not paid the exorbitant amount I am, to have someone else tell me how to do my job. My one and only job is to keep you alive. Do you wish to remain so?”
Steve is stunned but he slowly nods, “…yes—“
“Wonderful. Then we’re in agreement. I’ll take care of all the details of keeping you alive, and safe and you will do your job of running for president. I won’t tell you how to give speeches and you won’t tell me how to keep you alive. Can we agree on that?”
It’s a timely moment when another text pops through.
She doesn’t take any shit. So trust her or fire her. But I’ll just hire someone else and they’ll get progressively more annoying and less skilled, . :)
Steve sighs. “You got a deal.”
She smiles, “excellent.” There’s a second of pause and then she straightens her shoulders, “might I take a full and detailed tour of your apartment? I know we leave tomorrow afternoon, but I’d still like to feel comfortable with the layout.”
He gestures to the hallway, “feel free. Can I stay here and finish working on this? Or do you want a more detailed tour?”
Her lips are pursed as if she has an amusing comment that she keeps to herself, “I think I can manage.”
Steve sighs, “great.” Then he sinks back into his chair and stares at the screen again.
—————-
Peggy takes note of every window, door, and the hatch door to the attic. At each window she measures sight lines, at the doors she discovers hinge direction and durability of the locks and bolts, and ensures there is no entrance to the small townhouse through the attic door.
There isn’t, which she’s glad of, but it means she got dusty and covered in cobwebs for no reason.
“I could have told you there wasn’t an exit up there.”
She turns, the man she’s assigned to protect is standing in a doorway and looking rather rumpled and sleepy.
“Even if you had, I wouldn’t have been able to be at peace without seeing so for myself.”
“Type A.” He says quietly, and she’s not even sure he is aware that he whispered it outloud. “Detail oriented. Makes sense.”
“Are you heading to bed?”
He nods, “is that okay? I can’t seem to get the words I want out of my head, so I better get rest instead.”
She’s amused he has rhymed, although again, she’s not sure he notices, “that’s fine. I’ve locked your bedroom windows. Please don’t unlock them.”
He huffs, “in this heat? No way. The AC is blasting. Did you see the guest bedroom?”
“I did, but I’ll sleep in the main living room.”
He frowns, “but why? There’s a perfectly good bed in there.”
Her lips purse again. How someone so normal can be running for president is beyond her. His actual protection detail is outside, surrounding the block. Natasha had just needed her to be his right hand protection. The last line of defense. And of course Natasha had informed her that Mr. Rogers is notorious for not alerting his protection detail of his movements, which is why hew as assigned Natasha to begin with.
“I understand. And I appreciate the fact that you think my comfort is priority, but it indeed is not. I want a location more central to the house. So I will sleep there.”
He looks too tired to argue. “Whatever you want. There’s food in the fridge and pantry. Help yourself to anything but the avocado.”
He walks across and down the hallway to his bedroom.
And somehow she finds herself incredibly curious about why that specific request is made.
She hears him shower and sees the light turn off, and she sets about a perimeter check before settling into the chair with the best sight lines. She scrolls on her phone for a bit before her curiosity gets the better of her.
She walks to the kitchen and looks around. A lone avocado rests in a wooden fruit bowl on the counter. It looks completely normal. Perhaps he just really enjoyed Avocado in the mornings?
Peggy goes back to her chair and is about to settle in when she tilts her head. It takes her a minute, but she hears something. Music, she’s pretty sure. Silently she stalks to his door and listens. Soft thunderstorm sounds, rain, and the undercurrent of some melody float into her ears.
After becoming sure it is Steve’s phone or some device making the noise, she travels back to the chair and sits back into it and sets herself into a well trained gentle doze. Restful enough, but alert if needed.
——————
Steve walks out quietly. Usually Natasha would be asleep in a chair by the front door, but the woman— who he is now realizing he never got her name— is in a chair in the living room, reading or doing something on her phone.
“Morning.” He says softly, “sleep okay?”
“I’m rested. We are scheduled to leave at 1:30 p.m. Are you needing to exit the house before then?”
He frowns, “if I say yes are you going to get annoyed?”
“No. But I would like to know ahead of time.”
“I just want to make a quick trip somewhere—“
“Where?”
He hesitates and she sighs, “it’s comical to me that you don’t think I would be coming along and finding out anyways. I understand that I am a new variable to your daily routine. But I am permanent for the next month and two days. So please, where would you like to visit?”
“The hospital where my friend is at. To say goodbye.”
Peggy nods, “wonderful. I will make arrangements.”
“I’ll make breakfast.”
She blinks at him, “excuse me?”
“I’ll make breakfast.” He repeats then he frowns, “you do eat, right?”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll make breakfast.”
“You don’t have to do th—“ and this time he cuts her off.
“Listen, you are going to need to eat. Would you rather have to leave my side and go get something? Or have one of the guys downstairs play fetch?” She blinks at him and he gestures to the kitchen, “I fed Natasha all the time. It’s half the reason she stuck around so long. Cooking soothes me, I enjoy it. Helps me think. So please, can I?”
Her small shrug and “I suppose.” Makes him want to roll his eyes, but he nods, still taking it as a yes.
“Any allergies?”
“No.”
He starts to walk again but then he stops, turning back to her, “any intense dislikes?”
Her lips purse in that amused but ‘keeping it to herself’ way. “I can’t say I’m fond of beets. Or raisins.”
He chuckles, “well, no worries there. I hate raisins too. Beets are fine if they’re made right.”
—————
Peggy watches as he half laughs at her raisins comment and she feels the grin on her lips to match. Then he’s in the kitchen and there’s music playing again and she finds herself exploring the apartment in a more curious way than a professional.
Lots of pictures. Her professional brain labels this as a liability. Anyone could snap a photo of these and reverse google image search to find out where he’s vulnerable.
The furniture is all different styles. Something that is curious to her. The fabrics give are neutrals or deep reds, giving off refined and well upholstered. The lamps are almost all art deco and more beautiful than a lamp has rights to be. The carpet is thick under her soft soled shoes and the artwork on the walls is all vintage travel prints or posters. There’s quite a few pieces with an Asian influence or look actually imported.
“My great grandpa was a collector and carpenter.”
She turns, surprised he’d been able to sneak up on her. “Oh?” He holds out a bowl. She slowly looks into it and blinks, “what is this?”
He laughs, “that was Natasha’s reaction as well. It’s a hash bowl.”
Her eyes widen, “a what?”
He points at his own, “hashbrowns at the bottom, with a bit of seasoning and then eggs, veggie meat, cheese, avocado, a tiny bit of hot sauce, and a creamy proprietary sauce, along with green onions and cotija cheese to top it off.”
Her eyes glance at the bowl that looks a little bit like a heap, but does smell tantalizing. But she has several questions. “Veggie meat?”
He grimaces, “my dad died of a heart attack when I was too young to lose a dad. So my mom switched to a simpler diet. I didn’t want to stay vegan, but meat never seemed the same to me.”
She nods, “fair. Proprietary sauce?”
He laughs, “if Natasha thinks I’m going to cave and tell you the recipe then she’s a fool.”
Her eyebrows raise, “oh I see, it’s a secret family recipe?”
“I mean if by family recipe you mean I created one of the best sauces on planet earth while on deployment and out of survival since rations were trash. Sure.” He’s grinning at the ground while stabbing at his food.
“Deployment?”
His eyebrow raises at her this time, “pretending you don’t know?”
She smirks, “safer to let you tell your own story than have me assume I know it all.”
His face is thoughtful. “Try it. If you hate it…” he shakes his head, “honestly I’ll be devastated. Haven’t met someone who disliked it yet. But I suppose there is always a first.”
Awkwardness fills her at the pressure, but she stabs a bite—
“Wait no—“ he reaches out, gingerly grabbing the fork, his hand touching hers, “you have to get a mix of everything to be able to judge right.” He doesn't seem to notice the fact that they’re inches apart. This man is so oblivious it’s insane. He nods at the bit he’s now obtained on her fork and gestures to her, “okay, now it’s good to try.”
Slowly she lifts the fork to her lips. He tries not to stare as she chews but she can tell he is genuinely nervous she won’t like it.
But…
It’s fucking delicious.
She places her fist to cover her mouth as it had been a large bite, and she talks through the food. “Holy criminy that’s good.”
His grin is wide, eyes truly alight with joy. “Good. Good.” He says, like her opinion could have changed the course of her day. “Good. I’m glad. Enjoy.” And then he walks away, eating his own food and she clutches the bowl to her chest as she takes another bite. She hasn’t had homemade food like this in a very long time. And she’s going to savor it.
—————
He’s ready early, which is a nice thing. Important people usually tend to take their time and make others wait. They view their schedule as more important. But at 12:10, Mr. Rogers is ready to go. “I won’t be long at the hospital.”
She eyes him with a raised brow, “no. We won’t.”
Then they’re walking out the door and down the steps.
————-
Steve watches as— shit. He forgot to get her name again.
As she meets the rest of his team.
“Agent Barton.”
“I’m Agent Carter.” The woman says. Carter. Okay. He can remember that. “Can you introduce me to your whole team?”
——————-
Clint nods and leads her around. “This is Agent Rumlow. This is Cpt. Dugan. This is Private Jones.” Then he points to the street. “Stationed around the blocks are Morita, Denier, Rollins.” He turns back to them, “that’s the main team. I’m lead, but we all work close together.”
“Is the whole team traveling with us?”
“No. A smaller unit.”
“Names?”
“Barton, Rumlow, Morita.”
“Skills?”
Agent Barton eyes her with something like a huff of amused annoyance. “Smaller unit focuses on sharpshooting, hand to hand combat, tech and comms, and stealth.”
She nods, “good.” “Who is accompanying us to the hospital?”
“Whole crew.”
“Clint—“ Mr. Rogers says with a sigh.
“Good.” She repeats, cutting him off with a sharp look. And she takes note of the fact that Mr. Rogers is on first name basis with the lead of his team. That speaks to familiarity. That can be an asset. Or another huge vulnerability. “Let’s get going.”
—————-
Thankfully the trip to the hospital is quiet and the trip to the room is unimpeeded. She catches her first glimpse of Natasha in 8 years. The woman spots her and grins, “so made it the first night, hmm?”
She rolls her eyes, “your doubt wounds me.”
Natasha watches as Mr. Rogers enters the room she had been sitting outside of. They nod at each other and then the door is closed.
“He’s pretty perceptive. And so are you. I either pictured you would get along or you would try to suffocate him in the middle of the night out of annoyance.”
“Quite the chance to take.”
Natasha laughs, “well, looks like my bet paid off.”
They can hear muffled talking in the room. “How is the friend?”
Natasha grimaces,”he’s doing fine. He’s just a pain in the ass. Already to eager to get out of his bed.”
“His arm?”
“He kept it… but not all function.”
“I’m sorry.”
Natasha shrugs, “it’s his left. So thankfully for him his dominant hand is still intact. He’ll be fine. He’s very resilient. But—“ she turns to Peggy full on and stares her down, so serious that Peggy feels her old habit of straightening under inspection arise, “he is incredibly agitated about someone getting to Steve. So that’s why I called you. I don’t trust anyone more to do the job.”
Peggy looks at her seriously, “you’re genuinely concerned. This isn’t just a job for you.”
“I told you I was dating—“
“No.” She shakes her head, “not the boyfriend. You genuinely care for Mr. Rogers. Not just as a human. As a friend.” She studies Natasha’s face, “a close friend.”
“Family.” Natashe whispers out.
Her eyebrows raise, “how so?”
“Do you remember when we worked that mission in Fergana?”
Peggy nods, “yes.”
“When we got separated… And then I came back, with the gunshot wounds and the branding?”
Peggy is slow to nod, “yes.”
“His team is the one who got me out.”
Her head swivels to the closed door. “Mr. Rogers saved your life?”
“He did. And his friend was his second in command. They’d been in stealth, so I never knew names or ranks or how to find them. But one day I ran into Steve on a base and I recognized him by his voice. So I pulled him aside and asked and he was shocked. Didn’t even recognize me.” She grins, “I mean, I was a beaten up and swollen faced blonde at the time.” Peggy doesn’t laugh. She remembers the horrifying scene Natasha had been when she’d returned. “So then I got to know him more and more and then we lost contact for a while. Then lo and behold…” she huffs a laugh, “I see he’s running for president. And I ask Fury to assign me to his detail.”
“That’s incredible.” And then she’s honest, “I’m honored. But I;ll be honest. I can only do what I can do.”
Natasha nods, “I understand. And I’m still grateful.” She points to her throat, “you’re pretending American?”
“Just for now.”
“He’s smart.”
“If he’s smart, why is he running for president?”
Natasha snorts, “that’s a great question.”
“Hard to resist a Stark.” Both women look over and Natasha tilts her head, “what?”
Clint is standing at the end of the hallway, leaning against a wall although Peggy can tell he’s alert. “He’s got a deal with Howard Stark.”
Natash walks over, “um, excuse me? He does? I’ve never heard this.”
Clint nods, “I only know because I was there. Don’t think Steve’s ever mentioned it.”
Alright. Clint’s on first name basis with him too. Interesting. Sort of unprofessional but it’s fine.
“What’s the deal?” Natasha asks as Peggy asks,
“Howard Stark? The billionaire?”
Clint nods and then gestures to the hallway, “Steve knows Howard from his army days. Weapons and all that. And they were friendly, but one day, Steve went on a rant about billionaires and didn't know Howard was listening.” Natasha grimaces and Clint laughs. “Well as you can imagine, they got in a pretty heated argument.” Peggy is listening intently, “Howard was pretty steamed up. Especially since he’s one of the few billionaires who is genuinely still invested and working to keep his company as ahead of the tech curve. But then Steve questioned him about his factories and working conditions and wages and it was a very very ugly argument.”
Natasha is wide eyed, “okay, and?”
“So then Howard comes back like the next week, shoving documents in Steve’s face, proving that his workers were earning reasonable wages and his factories had less accidents and basically just trying to prove that he wasn’t a bad guy. And Steve agreed and was glad, but then he started asking if Howard was keeping the other billionaires accountable. And Howard stated that it wasn’t his job and Steve got all sort of uppity and was like, ‘you have a place of power. It’s not just your job it’s your responsibility’. Which of course pissed Howard off more and then there was more yelling before Howard told Steve that if he’s got so much to say, then he needs to get a platform instead of just his high horse. So he asked Steve if he was willing to put his money where his mouth was. Steve said yes, and the next thing Steve knew, he was on the candidates list.”
“What!” Natasha breathes out. “How in the hell did I not know this?”
“That was almost four years ago.” Clint continues, not answering Natasha’s question, “Howard was lucky as the election had just happened and Steve had time to prepare. Steve basically had a conniption fit about it for the first year, trying to get Howard to change his mind, or go about it some other way, but Howard was relentless . Turns out Howard just thinks Steve would make a good president. Which, I agree.” His eyes turn serious, “but now you know why there’s a death threat against him.”
Natasha sighs. But Peggy is confused, “why?”
“His big platform is wealth management. Imposing fair taxes on the rich and using that money to actually better the entire country, especially in infrastructure, education, and healthcare system.”
Suddenly it’s clear to her. “So these are right wing nuts hired by the big money holders.”
Clint nods, “seems so.”
“I’m going to kill him.” Natasha grits out, “how could he not have told me this context!”
Clint shakes his head, “you know how he is.”
“Yeah, he’s an idiot. He’s basically running for president on a dare!”
“So Howard Stark is the founder of his campaign?”
“Yep.”
“I wondered how he was affording it.” Peggy says quietly, “he very clearly did not grow up rich.”
Natasha grins, “oh yeah? What gave it away?”
“No one who grew up rich eats foods mashed together in a bowl.”
Natasha guffaws, “he made those this morning? Shit, I’m jealous.”
“But also his home. It’s very carefully curated and cared for. Family heirlooms and nothing new. Plus he needs better tailored clothes.”
Natasha waves wildly, “okay, yes to the clothes thing, I’ve been saying this for the last two and a half years.”
The door opens and they all go quiet. Mr. Rogers exits the door with a somber expression and their faces shift to match.
He nods at them as he passes by and she gives one last look to Natasha before following, Clint’s footsteps practically silent behind them.
—————-
Her modified transportation arrangements are flawless as they travel to the airport and then from the airport to the hotel in Seattle.
It’s not raining, surprisingly, but it is hot and she watches as Mr. Rogers ensures his team has water before finally retiring to his room.
It’s not incredibly late on the west coast, as they’ve gained three hours, but she is tired. However she takes a nice long walk around the building, checking and testing the security measures the hotel manager had promised.
After feeling secure in her checks, she cases the lobby, bar, and public areas just to get a feel for the clientele of the hotel.
Then she really is tired and she knocks on his door.
He opens, and without even asking why, steps aside and gestures to his room.
“Familiar with our routine?”
“Natasha was thorough.”
“As am I.”
She scans surfaces, under drawers, behind the lips of furniture and on corners. She checks the bed and the bathroom and the closets. Once she feels satisfied with the safety of the room, she instructs him on windows and how far to stay away from them. She can tell he wants to roll his eyes. He, thankfully and luckily for his own well being, is smart enough not to.
The room is not a fancy room, and thankfully there’s no balcony to climb and they’re pretty high up. Anyone attempting to scale into the window would be facing a massive feat.
“Anything you need from me?”
“Dinner plans?”
She blinks, excuse me?”
He yawns, “I haven’t eaten since this morning. So I want to eat. Where am I allowed to go?”
He says this with such calm resignation that Peggy is proud of Natasha’s training.
“The hotel restaurant is secure. And Morita’s been vigilant on the comms. Or you’re welcome to order something from room service.”
He yawns again. “Maybe room service is a good idea. Should I order for you to? Nat always ate with me because she said I get in trouble when I’m alone—“ he wrinkles his nose, “—but I’m also pretty sure she just liked to share food so she could try everything. She was a food thief.”
Peggy lets her amusement show as she nods, “I would prefer to keep you in my sights as much as possible.”
He nods, unphased, “check the menu, I’ll order in a few minutes.”
She does.
——————
He eats a lot. And he doesn’t talk too much. She doesn’t press, and they cohabitate in relative silence. After inspecting his food, which he says is a new policy that Natasha never did, they sit quietly, the only sound is her fork against her plate and his ice against his cup.
Two quick knocks followed by two slower has her lifting her head, “come in.”
Agent Barton enters, he seems unphased by the sheer level of empty food plates. “We’re switching shifts. Rumlow got food poisoning. He’ll take the early morning shift instead of the midnight one.”
She frowns.
“Is he alright?” Mr. Rogers asks, genuine concern on his face.
“Yeah. Says he puked a few times and is feeling better already. Just wants some sleep. Just wanted to notify so you know who to contact and when.”
“Thanks.” She and Mr. Rogers say at the same time.
“I’m going to go over my speech.” He says with another yawn.
“I’ll do a perimeter check.”
He just nods and walks to his bedroom.
———————
Her anxiety levels start to ebb as they make their way to the vehicle. The ride to the venue, the entire show, and especially during his speech, her levels had been through the roof. Her ‘high alert’ mode activated. Security was tight, thankfully. And Barton, Morita, and Rumlow were not to be underestimated.
Mr. Rogers nods and smiles at the people outside the venue and then ducks his head into the large SUV.
Once they’re off, she takes her first deep breath in over three hours.
“On a scale of 1 to 10 how much did I annoy you?”
She looks back from her window and tilts her head, “excuse me?”
“Natasha’s ‘Steve, you’re such a reckless idiot, don’t do that again’ scale. She didn’t teach it to you?”
Her huff of laughter is louder than she intends and he lifts his head from where he had it resting against the headrest and opens his eyes to look at her, “did she really not?”
“I was told of no such thing. What is her rubric?”
He shakes his head, “no way. If I can get out of this campaign without feeling like a chastised school kid I’d prefer it.”
She purses her lips in amusement as he leans his head back and yawns.
Again.
———————
Steve takes a deep breath and releases it, looking at the deep circles under his eyes.
His insomnia is getting worse. He swears he sleeps. But every morning he’s more tired than when he laid down. It’s infuriating. And it’s a vicious cycle too because his mind is so worried about getting enough sleep that he actually worries himself enough to not be able to fall asleep. He’s always been a light sleeper but it’s getting insane.
They’ve been on the trail for two weeks now. Seattle, San Fran, Portland, Boise, Salt Lake, Bozeman, and Las Vegas all behind them. But the two and a half weeks ahead feel like Mt. Everest with how tired he feels.
The intercom in the airport makes him tilt his head.
—- All passengers for American flight 326 bound for Phoenix Arizona, boarding has now begun—
He sighs. That’s his cue.
—————-
Peggy watches the men’s bathroom door in her peripheral. Steve (as she now thought. Of him in her head) was taking longer than usual.
While they’re relationship was strictly client and detail. She had grown accustomed to his habits and quirks. And taking long in the bathroom was not one of them.
Although—
He exits. And she’s relieved even though the dark circles are still there.
She’d noticed them about a week ago, and they’d been steadily getting worse. Which made no sense as he would go to bed at a reasonable hour and stay quiet until morning. Yet he would yawn.
All. The. DAMN. Time.
The makeup teams were pros at covering them. But they would look at him with curiosity, wondering what was causing them, just as she did.
“Ready?” He asked. The ball cap pulled low over his face.
She handed him his ticket and nodded at the three men sparsed about the gate. Who took her cue and followed them into line. Barton in front of Steve. Morita right behind her, and Rumlow a few back.
She’d learned that Stark had offered his personal jet, which Steve had vehemently refused.
Annoying for security. But honorable elseways.
Her hair is up in a ponytail. Sunglasses perched on her head, looking like some suburban mom trailing a well dressed gym rat.
He settles into his first class seat (a compromise he’d admitted to her with a sigh) and she sits beside him.
The three men trade off with one another who gets the other placement in first, business, and coach. Peggy prefers to have eyes in each section.
Morita is the lucky one today.
After take off, she turns to him.
“I’d really like you to consider—“
“Listen—“ he cuts her off, knowing what she’s going to say, “It’s nothing—“
“The address to the hotel you’re staying at got posted—“
“And that’s a problem, yes. But we’ve been fine so far and—“
“And so? You think because nothing has happened that nothing will happen?”
“No, I’m just saying that changing the order of cities now makes the rest of the itinerary a mess and—“
“And so? Your life isn’t worth a bit of a mess?”
“I’m just saying that that blog is just trying to use scare tactics to get me to stop—“
“Scare tactics?” She tries to keep her tone even at the dismissal of a serious threat. So she goes for the low blow. “And your friend’s arm? Was that a scare tactic?”
He glares at her. She’s used to this look by now. The annoyed blue eyes. “That’s not fair. And Bucky isn’t here. So it’s fine.”
“So just your arms then—“
“Carter—“
“Rogers—“
“I’m not switching to Albuquerque—“
“Fine, San Antonio then—“
“We’ll be in and out of Phoenix in two days—“
“No—“
“Yes—“
“Mr. Rogers, I am insistent—“
“Can’t we just switch hotels?”
“Like I’ve told you half a dozen times, there’s no availability at any hotel worth its salt in security.”
He sighs and leans his head back against the headrest, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t we just switch then?”
“I just said—“
“No, like, my room is a decent one right? Can’t we find some random couple or person at a different hotel to switch? Then I can still do Phoenix, but my hotel address won’t be public.”
“And how am I supposed to get some random people to switch?”
He opens a tired eye and there’s a sly smirk on his lips that does not bode well for her. “I thought you were in charge of the details.”
She pauses and then sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine.”
He closes his eye again and sighs, “thank you.”
And if he didn’t sound so actually grateful, she’d be truly annoyed.
——————-
The plane lands, and she turns, intending to wake him, but she he opens his eyes and she freezes, watching as a sigh of exhaustion crosses his features.
She could have sworn he was sleeping. But now she’s not sure.
The circles are somehow darker.
They spend an extra hour circling the city as she works out the details of the hotel. It's surprisingly easy to get ahold of room records and bamboozle some poor couple with, “congrats you’ve won an upgrade to this much fancier hotel”. They seem ecstatic and she feels secure at her new choice of residence.
Steve is quiet and pliant as she works through the details.
Rumlow, her least favorite of the three by far, is much more aggravated by the change than she expects.
But Clint and Morita are on board with the extra caution. So once the switch is set, she gives the address to the driver and they are on their way.
——————
The cheers and applause make him smile mostly out of embarrassment and unsurety what to do with his face. But he waves as he’s expected to do, and then he walks off stage. He’s mostly used to it by now. The being recognized on the street or asked for pictures. At first he’d had such an adverse reaction that it took Bucky a week to coax him back out of his house. But now it was… ‘just part of the whole show’. That’s what Howard had said with an amused grin.
Peggy, as he knows her first name is now, is at his side as he steps behind the curtains and she’s leading him too where the meet and greets and questions are. He notices how tense she is anytime they’re in a crowd of people where her eye lines are blurry. She hates venues with second levels. And she despises grabby citizens.
He meets. And he greets.
He shakes a thousand hands, and smiles for three zillion pictures. He’s practically dead on his feet by the time they get into the black SUV.
He can feel her watching him. She’s seen him without makeup.
She tried to broach it once. Asking a genial, ‘so how did you sleep?’ But he’d answered, ‘as best as I could’ and left it at that.
She had clearly gotten the message and hadn’t asked again.
But he knows she notices. She notices everything. Very detail oriented.
Which is why she spends twenty minutes re-checking the room when the room key card doesn't work immediately.
“I didn’t hold it up long enough.” Steve sighs. “We’re not going to be ambushed.”
As per usual, she makes no remark in return as she continues her search. Rumlow rolls his eyes and stands guard with him.
“What’s going on?” Morita asks, appearing out of the elevator. He has four water bottles in his hands and he hands one to Rumlow, to him, and then looks at the open door, “something amiss?”
“No.” Rumlow responds, cracking open his water bottle, “Carter’s just on her usual paranoid shit again because the door beeped at her wrong.”
As if summoned, Carter glares at Rumlow from the doorway, “excuse me for being thorough at my job. A feeling I’m sure we do not share.” She holds out her hand and Morita hands her a water bottle with a grin. “All clear.”
Steve ignores the daggers that Rumlow and Peggy are trading as he enters the room, blessedly cool with AC.
—————
Morita is thankfully a calming presence. Something about Rumlow irks her to no end.
“What are dinner plans?” He asks, “I know Steve tends to forget to eat after a speech, but I’m starving.”
Peggy nods, “yes, I’ll place an order from room service.”
“Nah,” Rumlow huffs, “just order it. I’ll pick it up.”
She frowns, “ you're going to do something helpful outside of your paid responsibilities? Is the apocalypse upon us?”
Oh yeah. She’s using her real accent now. Steve had blithely called her out on it once and she’d immediately smirked and dropped the act. Clint had seemed unphased. Morita and Rumlow had both been shocked.
“Listen here, sweetheart—“
Her fist flies too fast for him to block it. But she stops just millimeters from actually punching him. He’s flinching back when she stabs a finger at him, “call me sweetheart again and I’ll land that punch.” She points to Morita, “I’ll order room service and have it delivered.”
Then she turns and follows after Steve.
——————
Steve is staring out the back balcony window.
He turns to her, looking exhausted but smiling, “you let me have a balcony.”
Peggy rolls her eyes and huffs at him, “I had a very short list of options. And we’re on the 16th floor. If someone climbs up this high they should be more focused on an athletic career.”
He chuckles. A sound she’s come to affiliate with pride as he doesn’t laugh very often.
“What was the hallway scuffle about?”
“You heard that?”
“Pretty sure the whole floor heard that.”
“Rumlow is just—“
“Not everyone’s flavor.”
“That’s a nice way of putting that he’s a jackass in combat boots.”
Steve turns to look at her and his eyebrow raises. “Listen, I didn’t pick the team. It was assembled for me and thankfully with a few I’ve known in the service. I didn’t know Rumlow before this. So I’m not going to sit here and defend him. I trust you. If he’s causing you grief…” he trails off, his meaning clear.
She’s relatively stunned. According to his campaign, Rumlow’s been on his detail for the past 5 months. And he’d trade him out for her.
She shakes her head, “no. No. Just disagreements on how one behaves like a civil human being. ThTs all.”
Steve slowly nods, “whatever you’d at.”
“Food?”
“I’m not super hungry.”
She frowns. This has been a trend she’d noticed as well. He used to eat massive loads of food, now his appetite is sporadic at best. Quite the quick change in just a matter of weeks.
“Still you should eat.” She gently presses. “I’ll order something simple if you’re not too terribly hungry.”
He just shrugs again in a half agreement.
———————
After they eat, he seems restless. Antsy and anxious.
“Are you alright?” She finally asks.
He turns, “I’m fine.” It’s quick. Too quick. A bit snappish. He’s never snappish. She’s the one who gets snappish.
So now she’s on alert.
“You’re obviously not. If you’re having a gut feeling about being in danger, please do let me know. Those can be —“
“No.” He cuts her off, shaking his head. “It’s not that. I just know you’ll say no.”
And nothing has ever made her feel more like a strict mother than that statement.
Her thoughts drift back to the just over two weeks they’ve spent together. Other than the occasional sigh or minor eye roll, he’s followed her instructions to a ‘T’. He’s respected her wishes and commands and barely made a peep about the fact.
“What if…” she starts slowly, “I at least hear your request before you assume I will say no?”
“You’re going to say no.”
“Maybe so. But the worst I can say is no, right? Might as well ask.”
He wrinkles his nose, “I want to go outside.”
Her immediate reaction is actually to say “no.” With a capital N.
But she keeps her lips pursed tightly.
The details float through her mind. It’s dark outside, that helps. There is a park across the street with a walking trail. They could meander a bit under cover of trees. They could send Barton first to clear the park, and Morita could trail while Rumlow kept an eye on the hotel.
And he was antsy.
“I think…” his sigh is silent as looks down at his shoes, already anticipating her negative response like a resigned teen told they can’t attend a party. “That can be managed.”
The way his eyes flit up to her in surprise and then immediately light up with excitement. “What, really?”
She nods, “yes, just… give me half an hour?”
—————
After they make it across the street and into the park, she tries to relax. Not enough to be unaware, but to make it feel like he’s actually having a bit of a freedom and not a child on one of those back pack leashes.
He seems more energetic than she’s seen him in awhile. The glow of the park lights through the trees and in the still very warm evening make the world seem muted and quiet.
“And what about you?”
She blinks, looking over, he’s waiting for an answer.
“I’m sorry, I missed that, what did you ask me?”
He chuckles, “nothing. I could just tell you weren’t paying attention.” He gets an earnest expression on his face, “thank you for letting me get outside.”
The way the statement stuns her is almost comical. She huffs, “you make me sound like a prison warden.”
His smile is mischievous as he shrugs. “Well….”
“You do realize—“
He laughs, cutting her off, “I know, I know. You’re doing your job. And amazingly I would say.” He gestures to himself as if to say ‘ look I’m still alive’.
Then his expression gets earnest again, “but seriously. Thank you. I know Natasha is the one who hired you, but I’ve really appreciated having you on my team. I genuinely do feel safe. I know you’re always on the alert which means I can focus on just being present and there for the people. So thank you.”
He continues walking, the baseball cap shading his eyes and the extra large shirt hiding his muscled frame. She follows quietly, lost in thought at his last words.
“I hope you win.”
He pauses, turning to her, “what?”
She’s grinning, “genuinely. I hope you win. This country doesn’t deserve you. But it needs you.”
Even under the shadow she can see the whites of his eyes, wide in disbelief.
“You don’t have to say that—“ he says, voice tight.
“I mean every word.” She states, stepping up beside him, keeping her head on a swivel, “I’ve now heard more of your speeches than I care to count and yet at the end of each one I find myself invested and excited about your plans.” She smirks, “and I’m not even a US Citizen.”
He covers his eyes with one hand, blocking his vision. She can see his jaw is tight.
“Mr. Rogers?” She May think of him as Steve, but she still sticks to his professional title.
“What am I doing?” He asks, voice a rasp, “what the hell am I thinking? Even if what you’re saying is true.. who the hell do I even think I am? Running for President??” His voice is so raw, so vulnerable. Her insticnt is to reach out, rest a hand on his arm, but she doesn’t cross that line. “I’m nobody. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn. I can’t do this.”
Her blood thrums at those words.
This is what her father would call a Critical Point.
Everything will hinge on this moment. And somehow she’s lucky enough to be the force, pressing one way or another.
“Yes.” She says firmly, knowing what she’s about to say is actually true, “yes, you can. I know you can. I believe that you’re not only more than capable, you’re qualified. And compassionate.” He’s still covering his eyes but he’s listening, “this is cold feet because it’s getting real. Because you’re getting positive response and it’s really sinking in that you might win this whole damn thing. And then you’re president.”
His shoulders are rigid. But she doesn’t stop.
“But I’m not worried. I don’t see you buckling under the pressure of the corrupt rats who want you under their thumb. I don’t see you dragged by greed into the murkier waters of politics. You don’t see in shades of gray. And I think that’s going to be a relief for this country. It’s a lot. An incredibly pressure filled position. But one I don’t think there’s anyone more capable of doing as well as you will.”
There’s a long pause where it’s just Steve and her and the summer heat still radiating off the ground even as the moon rises higher in the sky. The clicks and chirps of the desert creatures fill the silence and the babble of the little creek that she has no idea how it still has water running beside them.
He takes a deep breath and his hand slowly lowers, eyes looking past her back towards the hotel. “Thank you.” He says practically in a whisper. “Really.”
“I didn’t say it to make you feel better. I said it because it’s the truth. But you’re welcome all the same.”
She starts to slowly walk forward and he falls into step beside her.
After a minute he seems back to himself, “so, did you always want to be an agent?”
Her laugh is a small wry huff, “indeed not. I thought I was destined to be a nurse or perhaps a historian. But one day my friend was being manhandled at a pub and my brother and I had always loved to wrestle. So I decided to step in, dropped him to the ground, and it changed my belief on what I was capable of.”
He’s grinning, she can see it out of the corner of her eye, “so you took him down and just decided to go into spy school?”
It’s a slight tease, and she allows it.
“No. Before the incident, I was still deciding on a career course. My brother had signed up for the Royal Air Force. And one of the men he served with became both of our friends and he was at the pub when he saw me take the man down. So then he told one of his superiors who was looking for more subtle spies. And the rest is history.”
“How’d you end up here?”
“Here?”
“The US.”
The catch in her throat is instant. But she swallows hard and takes an extra second to take a deep breath and relax. “My brother died. And walking those same halls didn’t feel the same.” He reaches out, a hand resting gently on her arm.
“I’m so sorry. I haven’t lost a sibling but I’ve..” he seems to work through the Wired’s, “seem to have lost everyone else. So I’m very sorry.”
She nods. “Thank you. After that, I needed a change of pace. My division was working with Shield in a join mission in the east. So I took the leap. And when Fury offered me a position, I took the chance.”
“That’s when you met Natasha?”
She nods, “that’s when I met her officially. But we had met on a prior mission before that as enemies, did you know?”
Steve looks at her, “what?”
“Well, not enemies. We were just after the same assets and it came to a fight.”
He almost sounds terrified of the answer, “who won?”
Her smirk is wide, “you think Natasha would call me to protect someone she deems valuable if she had beaten me?”
Steve laughs, “I guess not.”
Peggy gives a curt nod and ignores the way she feels as his face is alight with joy, “she knew I could be trusted, and probably one of the few people on earth who could fight dirtier than she can.”
He laughs again, the sound echoing through the desert park. “Well one day you’ll have to show me. I haven’t done hand to hand combat in a while but I’m willing to get my ass kicked to see you in action.”
Her heart skips a beat at his words. The way they’re said with such nonchalance. Him easily believing she’d be perfectly capable of beating him in a fight is something that steals her breath away. A man, especially a man of his size and stature, could easily (and with good reason) assume they would win most fights against most men let alone against a woman.
The shift in her sense of somehow another Critical Point happening in the same 10 minute span. But this time… it’s hers.
“I’d be happy to oblige that desire if the opportunity arises.” She hears herself say. Lips pursed in amusement. “However sparring with the future—“
“Potentially—“
“President of the United States would not go over well.”
He huffs. “I’m going to hate that the most. The loss of self.”
“Then don’t.”
They follow the curved concrete path past a large patch of green that even at night is being watered to try to retain some of its moisture.
“Just don’t, huh? That easy?” He’s looking at her with an amused expression and a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t believe the myth that how other presidents behaved while in office is how you have to be. What is it specifically you’re worried about most?”
“The large caravans.”
She winces and he chuckles. “Okay. I’ll admit.” She huffs, “that will be hard to change. But the multiple vehicles pretending to be the car you’re in helps keep you safe. And truth be told, the public like knowing where the president is.”
“A paradox.”
She laughs and he chuckles. “Yes,” she relents, “it sort of is.” They pass a friendly looking dog being walked by an unfriendly looking person. Once the man is out of earshot she broaches it again. “What else?”
“I’m afraid anytime I want to make a positive change it will be shut down by either old money or the people who profit off the people suffering.”
To that she has no answer. That’s a real and valid concern.
“Can’t hurt to try.”
“Says the woman protecting me because of the sheer volume of death threats I’ve received.”
Her nose wrinkles at the way the words slice through the air with such a bare resignation.
“Touché.”
The park pathway starts to get near a busier street on the far side and her hackles go to attention. He must notice because he picks up the pace and they curve around the edge and back to the quiet in just a minute or two.
“What are you going to do when you’re finished babysitting me on this campaign trail?”
She glares at him and then rolls her eyes. “Probably go back to doing what I was doing.”
“Which was?”
“Enjoying my little seaside cottage before my next assignment.”
He turns to her, “you were on vacation?”
She waves her hand, “just a bit.”
“I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
“Well it wasn’t your idea to call me now was it. And I’m allowed to make my own decisions especially when they pay me very very well.”
“Right.” He responds softly, “right. Of course.”
Something’s off about that response but she can’t put her finger on what. Her eye catches Barton and he nods, and she nods back, relieved he’s not found anything out of the ordinary on his constant perimeter search.
“Are you excited to have Natasha back in a few weeks?”
His brow furrows and he gives her a strange look, but then the expression disappears and he shakes his head, “oh, uh, no, she’s— she’s going to be sticking to Bucky’s side from now on.”
Peggy looks at the glow of the park lights off the small creek, “oh? Does she know that?”
“We’ve talked.”
“Talked?”
“I talked. She shouted.”
“Ah.”
“But the truth is she is scared for Bucky. The fact that she wasn’t there—“ he huffs, “neither of us were there when he was shot. And if he wasn’t such a good eye and noticed something was off, he’d be dead instead of just losing function of his arm.”
The words are sharp. He’s still clearly guilt ridden about it.
“So she can run up an alley and holler ‘fish’ for all I care.”
Peggy snorts, “do what?”
He grins, “something my grandpa used to quote.”
She’s about to make some comment when the hair on the back of her neck stands up. “Get down.” She snaps, pointing to a bench. He listens, eyes in confusion as he crouches up against the bench.
She draws her pistol and stands in front of him, eyes scanning.
The sound of a shot makes her blood leap in her veins, and she’s returning fire in the direction although only one shot as she’s afraid to hit a civilian in the dark. She can’t see much and she drags Steve up and away and towards the hotel.
What an idiot she’d been thinking getting outside would be an okay idea. Steve says nothing, just follows her cautious trail as they hide out of the park lights. She can hear Barton and Morita beside them.
“Was that a shot?” Barton’s radio splutters, Rumlow’s voice too loud.
“Shh!” She hisses, “turn that down!”
Another shot and they’re sprinting, flying across the street and into the hotel. People are in the hallways, looking at them. She shoves Steve towards the stairwell and he goes, clanging through the crash bar and up the levels.
They arrive at the door to their room and she tells Steve to wait as she clears the room.
Once it’s cleared, she instructs him to grab his things, and they’re out the door and into the cars, speeding away. Rumlow keeps trying to ask what the hell happened but she doesn’t know.
Two shots. Two strange shots. She’ll have to request a team to scour the park to see where they landed.
It couldn’t have been a coincidence. But… they missed by a decent enough margin. If they hired a sharpshooter, they did a terrible job finding a decent one. And only two shots? It doesn’t make any sense.
But something about it sits like a rock in her stomach.
She turns to Steve who looks downright dejected, glaring out the window.
She’s about to speak, inform him that they won’t be taking any late night outside walks but he just raises a hand, not even looking at her, “I know.” His sigh is deep and resigned. “I know.”
————————-