Chapter Text
Irritation was one emotion that Peggy Carter knew well. And it had nothing to do with her being a bitter person. In fact, she could be quite cordial with anyone she met, so long as they were respectful. There in lay the problem. No one respected her. Driven women didn't have a place in a "man's" world. And if Peggy Carter was one thing, it was driven.
During the War it hadn't been so bad. Sure, there'd still been plenty of blatant sexism within the ranks then, what with the soldiers' constant lewd comments along with the command's obvious favoritism toward her male counterparts, but the large scale of the war had developed a need for any able bodies willing to work. Many support roles previously held by men had suddenly become hers to perform. She'd performed them almost perfectly if she did says so herself.
However, with the end of the war came a rather large influx of returning soldiers looking for work. Most women who'd had jobs during the war had been forced to give them up for the newly unemployed veterans. Over the last couple of years since the surrender of the Axis powers, society had settled into a distinct structure of what they thought the world should be. Men were expected to have good stable careers while the women were relegated to being glorified maids and nannies. If being a housewife was what truly made a person happy, then she could really care less. Peggy is all for doing what makes you happy.
Problem is, being a housewife is not what's going to make her happy. She wants a career. A long and good one too. But society seems to think she's either incapable, or its inappropriate, or often times both.
For two years she's been stuck playing secretary for an office full of fat, egotistical, gormless, pillocks. She has more field experience in her little pinky than everyone of them combined yet all she does is make them coffee and file their reports. If Peggy had wanted this type of job, she'd have gone and worked at an actual telephone company.
Yes, irritation is a familiar feeling to her indeed, but today she's feeling it stronger than usual. Last month, her and her partner Agent Gregory Spencer had brought in a fairly valuable Russian scientist. Despite the prejudice she's used to facing, she'd been pretty confident that rather impressive act would prompt Thompson to finally promote her. She knew she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up. After all, three of her other male partners have been promoted since coming to the New York branch. Why not add a forth.
Jack had called her into his office shortly before lunch. At first she'd thought he'd merely wanted to give his lunch order, which was annoying in and of itself. Instead he'd barely thrown her a glance before informing her that Spencer was being reassigned to the Strategic Operations Task Force, a unit she very much wanted to be a part of, and that her new partner would be here on Monday. She'd managed to stay calm enough to give him an only slightly vicious complaint. His response had basically implied that she was terrible at her job, an outright lie, and that if she would just learn her place she could find herself a husband to take care of her. Nobody takes care of Peggy Carter expect for Peggy Carter. The incident had ended with her taking an early lunch too cool off. And if she forgot to get his order before leaving, well the pouch he was starting to grow could hold him till dinner.
Although she was actually quite glad to be rid of Spencer it infuriates her that someone as incompetent as him would be going to such an elite and vital task force. She has no doubt that he'd taken credit for all her work as a way to propel himself up the ranks. Her only solace is that he is so spectacularly horrible at his job, he probably won't last more than six months at the SOTF office. She just wishes that she could be there to see his face when he gets his sexist prat fired.
In spite of her anger toward the situation, it wasn't until he'd made mention of a husband that she truly became enraged. Believe it or not, but marriage doesn't actually sound off putting for her. In fact, she'd rather like to find someone she could spend the rest of her life with. Her issues with marriage stem from the fact that she has extremely specific standards. Marrying a man solely for his ability to "take care of her" is not within those parameters. The implication that she even needs to be is insulting. She's not some bloody damsel in distress needing to be rescued by her Prince Charming.
"Who rained on your parade, English?"
Angie's chipper tone broke Peggy from her fuming, nearly making her jump. So consumed in her thoughts she hadn't even realized she'd arrived at her destination. Sighing she took a seat at her usual spot.
"My bigot of a boss that's who." She says.
"I assume they promoted that ingrate over you again."
It's more statement than question. She's seen her friend be passed over enough to know the signs.
"You assume right." Peggy replies.
Angie pours her friend a tea before going to put her usual order in. The automat gets few visitors around this time and her boss hardly ever leaves the back during quiet hours, so she's fairly free to sit down with her best friend for a nice chat.
"He even had the gall to tell me to my face that I should go find a husband."
"He did not!" Angie gasps, "And you let him live?"
"Unfortunately homicide is frowned upon within the company." Peggy quips. Angie laughs.
"If you really wanted, I doubt they'd even be able to charge with anything, lack of evidence and all. Probably wouldn't even think you a suspect what with your delicate female countenance." Angie says the last part with a mocking impression of Thompson's voice. Peggy drops her head to the table with a groan.
"Oh God!"
"Cheer up, English." She says with a nudge, "One day you'll be running that joint and all those men will be forced to listen to you."
"It's not just about my voice being heard, Angie, I want to be respected. I want to be treated as an equal."
"And you will. One day women will look up to you for your bravery and strength for taking on the world and their backwards thinking in regards to women's rights. But you're a pioneer Peggy. On the front lines of this war. It's going to take a lot of hard work and time."
"You're right. Sorry. I'm just not having the best of days." Peggy apologizes.
"That's what friends are for, to make you feel better about yourself while we put down whosever irritating us." She ribs.
"Yes well, if there was someone at the office other than Sousa that even believed in me a little bit, I wouldn't need so much cheering up." She takes a few sips of her tea.
"Well what about your new partner? Maybe he'll actually be a decent fellow."
"Doubtful. He supposedly coming in from D.C. so he'll either think himself better than everyone here, or he'll feel he has something to prove." Peggy retorts.
Washington D.C. S.S.R. Headquarters
"Are you sure you're ready for this Rogers? It's only been two months. We've spent far too much time and money on you to have you getting yourself killed over something that's unnecessary."
While the Brigadier General was never any good at expressing his feelings, Steve had known him long enough to read between the lines. Philips was worried about him. A lot of guys who were discharged never truly made it home. Shell-shock is what they call the worst cases. Steve's not been diagnosed with it, but he's also more than aware that he wasn't unaffected by what happened. Nightmares keep him up most nights and he tends to be jumpier than before. Almost as if every stray sound is the enemy creeping up on his six. Thankfully flashbacks haven't shown as one of his symptoms. Although he's zoned a few times. So he understands Philips' concerns and actually tends to feel pretty touched that the scary Army general cares so much. But the thing is, being copped up in an underground bunker doing nothing isn't going to help him get over his demons.
"I'm absolutely sure, sir." Steve says.
"Because I can send someone else. Dugan showed interest in taking a post up ther-"
"With all due respect, sir, I'm not going to be ready to embrace the world until I've faced it. And keeping me here is not doing anyone any good. My skills should be put to use somewhere and honestly, sir, it would help take my mind off everything."
Steve's never been one to interrupt a C.O., but this something he needs. The war end over two years ago, but he's been stuck in limbo ever since. Philips gives a mighty sigh before sitting down at his desk.
"Alright. Since you're so certain, the New York office is expecting you by Monday Morning. This is your ticket, keys to your new apartment, and your mission dossier. The train leaves at 1800 hours. Work starts at 0700 hours. Don't be late."
"Understood, sir."