Chapter Text
The Beginnings of Faith
Chapter 1
Peggy awoke early, as she always did, on the morning in which Project Rebirth, as she had heard this experiment using Dr. Erskine’s so-called super-solder serum was going to be called, was scheduled to happen. She had always tended to be an early riser and since joining the SSR, had trained herself to wake up even earlier because she had realized that the precious hour or so before the bugle call for reveille awoke the rest of the men was the only time she really had to herself, the only time she could lower her guard.
She could not fully relax even at night, had taken to sleeping with a gun under her pillow and a chair wedged under her door to prevent it from being opened while she slept. Being almost the only woman in an Army camp was no easy thing and it was worse because she was young and reasonably attractive, although Peggy was quite certain that her appearance did not really have much to do with the way the other recruits treated her. It was enough that she was a woman and a relatively young one at that. They would still have leered and ogled and generally been insulting to any woman. Her appearance only gave the recruits another reason to be insulting and for the insults to include outright propositions and the occasional grope.
(Peggy did allow herself a rather self-satisfied smirk as she remembered Saunders, who had not-accidentally pretended to stumble and fall into her so his hand had closed quite deliberately over her breast, and she had reacted immediately to take advantage of the proximity he had forced on her to bring her knee up forcefully and effectively, leaving him to collapse on the ground, writhing. He was never going to be foolish enough to get that close to her again and enough of the other recruits had witnessed the incident–or heard about it later–to make at least some of them leery about trying anything similar.)
But even so, she was always on her guard, knew she needed to be. So the early morning hour when none of the men were awake was her only real time to herself. Fortunately, the mess hall also opened early so she could usually grab a very quick bite to eat before the men started streaming into the mess for breakfast.
She was just finishing up a mug of coffee when Colonel Phillips appeared and she hurriedly set down her mug and stood, throwing a salute. “Good morning, sir.”
He waved a hand. “Sit down, Carter. There’s no need for that now. I’m glad I caught you.”
“Sir?”
“You’ll be accompanying Rogers to the laboratory this morning.”
She blinked. She was? But what about the Colonel and Dr. Erskine? She had assumed that they would all be going over to the laboratory together. “Of course, sir,” was all she said. She’d learned early on not to question any orders. It went rather against the grain but the Army was what it was and she was aware that she could not afford to give Colonel Phillips or anyone else a reason to kick her out. Her position was tenuous enough as it was. As it was, she knew that her role in overseeing the training for these potential candidates for Project Rebirth was mostly because she was one of the few SSR agents who had enough understanding of the science involved in the project to be of assistance to Dr. Erskine and to Colonel Phillips who, in spite of his undoubted military knowledge, was no scientist. But Peggy had long ago accepted that she would always need to be at least twice as smart and twice as capable as any man to even have a chance of being tolerated as an Agent and even then, only a very few men would really tolerate her. Colonel Phillips was one of the better ones and he had made his own attitude clear when he’d told her bluntly that if she made herself useful, she could stick around because if it meant winning the war, he would deal with the devil himself if necessary but the moment she was no longer useful or proved to be a liability, she would be out on her ear. Dr. Erskine was not as blunt, had too much old-fashioned courtesy for that, and Dr. Erskine was so focused on the potential success of his serum–all the more so after the debacle involving Johann Schmidt–that Peggy sometimes thought that Dr. Erskine only seemed to be aware that she was a woman about half the time and the rest of the time, she was just another person who was useful to him for this project. She was rather fond of Dr. Erskine for that alone.
“Dr. Erskine and I will be leaving for the laboratory now.” Oh, well, that answered her question.
Colonel Phillips looked, and sounded, just a shade more impatient than even his usual, clipped tones as he went on, “Dr. Erskine wanted to leave for the laboratory an hour ago and was only persuaded to wait because there would be little use in going over to the laboratory if it was deserted but we just received word that Stark is on his way to the laboratory now.”
An hour ago would have been before dawn. Peggy wondered if Dr. Erskine had slept at all and then decided probably not. If she’d been in Dr. Erskine’s shoes, she wouldn’t have slept either. Today would see the culmination of years of work and effort on his part, for a project and a vision that had forced him to be exiled from his homeland and spend his life and career in a foreign country that was also rather hostile to anyone of his nationality now that Germany was officially “the enemy.” It was hard enough for her as a foreigner at times and she had the benefit of being from an Allied country, not an enemy. (She’d been rather surprised at how… insular many Americans actually were, as if their wartime patriotism also translated into xenophobia. She knew the English had their own xenophobic tendencies and certainly were not positively inclined towards anyone of German descent at the moment but she had somehow expected Americans to be different, better.)
“I see, sir.”
“Corporal Briggs will be your driver. He’ll meet you and Rogers outside the gate house at 0800 hours.” He turned to leave and then paused, turned back. “If Rogers changes his mind about undergoing the procedure, tell Sgt. Conroy who knows how to reach us at the laboratory.”
His tone made it clear that he half-expected Rogers to back out but Peggy was already sure that Colonel Phillips was entirely wrong about Private Rogers. But of course, all she said was, “Yes, sir.”
He nodded and then turned and strode off and she saw him join Dr. Erskine just outside the mess. Clearly Dr. Erskine was so tense that he was skipping any sort of breakfast too.
It was just a few minutes before the earlier risers among the men started to trickle into the mess, which was her cue to leave and Peggy took it, striding quickly out of the mess with determined steps to make it appear as if she had some important task to complete to minimize any chance she would be waylaid by any soldier. It did not always work but at this hour of the morning when the men were still mostly groggy, it often did and so it proved today. Just one of the many little stratagems that had become almost second-nature to her now but Peggy was aware of a growing kernel of apprehension inside her this particular morning at the thought, the reminder, of what so many men were like.
And she knew it was because of these plans for Project Rebirth, this plan for an army of super-soldiers. Peggy might have come to like and respect Dr. Erskine and she believed in his good intentions and wanted to believe that this serum that was his life’s work would succeed. But she was aware that she could not really do so, could not feel so sanguine about the prospect of this experiment succeeding.
She understood the appeal of the idea of it. She wanted to believe in the existence of unicorns and pegasi and magical faerie lands where a little bit of faerie dust allowed children to fly but those were fairy tales and Peggy had stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. And in this world, the real world, Peggy did not like the idea of some super soldier having super-human strength and abilities and endurance. In theory, she could understand the appeal of creating an army of super soldiers to tip the scales of this war where the Allied forces had proven to be outmatched by those of Germany and the Axis Powers but in practice…
What would happen if a super soldier decided that he should not be subject to the same rules and commands and laws that tried (imperfectly) to control the behavior of other normal men? Peggy was too familiar with men and the outsized importance they placed on physical strength not to be aware of how widespread the belief, even if it was usually not stated, that might made right, that physical strength was a sign of worth and should be respected, rather than seen as the fortuitous accident of birth it usually was. What would they do if a super soldier decided that he, with all his enhanced strength and abilities, should not have to listen to the orders of men who were, after all, physically weaker than he was, and if he decided to simply do what he wanted, take what he wanted? Such a super soldier would be redoubtable, all but unbeatable, invincible–and that was a terrifying prospect. If men like Gilmore Hodge or Saunders or Byrne or Taylor or just about any of the recruits were suddenly turned into super soldiers, Peggy could imagine wanting to flee to the outer Hebrides. Because she herself would not trust any of those men as far as she could throw them–literally, which meant she did not trust them at all–would never want to be alone with any of them, and that was as they were now, just normal men who could still be subdued by a well-placed punch or a knee to the groin. If they were turned into super soldiers–the prospect didn’t even bear thinking about.
Peggy believed in the existence of good men. Men like, oh, her father or Michael or Fred–she pushed past the sting of pain at the thought of how she’d lost them. Very well then, Dr. Erskine, who was also a good man. But she had also seen too much and was cynical enough to believe that good men, truly good men, were rare and as they said, power corrupts.
Peggy frowned at her disturbing thoughts. She tried to pull her mind to the logistics, the science, behind Project Rebirth–perhaps it wouldn’t work?–but she found she couldn’t set her worries aside. Because she understood enough of the science–and had enough confidence in Dr. Erskine–to believe that it was likely to succeed. Dr. Erskine had worked tirelessly for years and even with Johann Schmidt, he had been at least semi-successful as far as making Schmidt stronger and the example of Schmidt certainly proved how dangerous it could be if the wrong person were given the serum.
Power was a dangerous thing. And the sort of power that would accrue to anyone who was given the sort of strength and super-human abilities that Dr. Erskine’s super-soldier serum would bestow was not the kind that could or should be given to just anyone because in Peggy’s experience, many, if not most, men should not be trusted with much power at all, let alone trusted with super-human powers.
She was outside now, striding through the camp grounds. In the distance, she could just see the flag pole with the flag denoting Camp Lehigh flying from it and paused, smiling almost in spite of herself at the thought, the reminder, of Rogers. Well, perhaps, after all, there was one reason to be hopeful.
Because Dr. Erskine had proven his wisdom in selecting Private Rogers for this first experimental run of Project Rebirth. And Rogers was different from all the other recruits. Different from any man Peggy had ever met.
She could not say she really knew him–they had barely exchanged a handful of words and all those words had been along the lines of “Good morning,” or “excuse me”–but she had watched him in these last weeks of training and she knew he was different and not because he was the smallest and weakest man among the recruits either.
He was clever–his trick in pulling the pin out of the flagpole in order to retrieve the flag had proven that–but more importantly, he was also polite, respectful, and, well, kind. In a way that was rather shocking to discover in an Army camp because most soldiers were not notable for their kindness but Rogers was. It wasn’t only because he alone had never been anything less than completely respectful to her and around her, had never ogled her or said an impolite word in her hearing let alone to her face, but she was also aware that he had tried in his way to defend her from the insults of the other recruits. She knew he had. She had noticed the pattern in some of his clumsier moments during basic training and realized what he was doing. After Byrne had muttered an obscene comment behind her back but well within her range of hearing, Rogers had pretended to trip and fall into Byrne so they had both tumbled to the ground, much to Byrne’s annoyance. After Taylor had mimed a lewd gesture when she had been walking past, the next morning, Rogers had not-accidentally lost his footing on the climbing net and stepped on Taylor’s head. After Gillespie had cracked a joke that Peggy did not entirely understand–thankfully, she was very sure–but could tell just from the tone of his voice and the ensuing laughter that it had been salacious, the next morning, Rogers had pretended to trip and jostled Gillespie so the glass of water he’d been holding had spilled onto his pants so it had appeared as if he’d wet them and not with water, earning him the mockery of the other recruits until the wet patch had dried. That particular act had earned Rogers a punch from Gillespie but fortunately, Colonel Phillips had happened to witness it and barked at Gillespie to stand down.
And even though Peggy could–and had–taken care of herself in responding to some of those comments, she couldn’t help but appreciate Rogers’s motives, more, the way he had defended her subtly enough that she doubted anyone else had realized what he was doing. So as not to make it seem as if she needed the help and so that she couldn’t really do anything to thank him or let him know that she knew what he’d been doing and appreciated it.
Perhaps it was that aspect of it that had surprised her, even charmed her, the most, the fact that he’d clearly not even intended for her to know, let alone expected any gratitude. In her experience, most men if they did a kind act were all too eager to trumpet it from the rooftops to win some plaudits or give them an excuse to extort a kiss or more in thanks. She had stopped expecting really disinterested kindness from most, if not all, men. But then she had not yet met Private Rogers, who had rapidly proven that he was not at all like most men in all the best ways.
Not that being polite and kind was enough to make a good super soldier but Peggy had also quickly seen that Rogers also had more determination and courage than anyone she’d ever met. She’d seen the way he threw himself into the training exercises, gritting his teeth and persevering in spite of his physical difficulties–and the added difficulties his fellow recruits caused him. That determination had struck a chord of understanding, of empathy, inside her because she recognized the attitude, the experience of having to fight against the prejudices of the world, of wanting to prove oneself. And then she had seen the way he had thrown himself on top of a grenade without so much as a moment’s hesitation–a praiseworthy enough act in itself but made more so when she considered that it had been intended to save the lives of his fellow recruits who had subjected him to all sorts of petty snubs and bullying. Her breath had caught in her chest and she had thought for the first time in her life that this boy–no, this man, she could not think of him as a mere boy when his actions had already proven he was more than a mere boy–was a hero in the best and truest sense. And if any man deserved to become stronger, a super soldier, and could even be trusted with such enhanced strength, she was sure that it was Rogers.
She was still highly skeptical of the idea of creating an army of super soldiers but at least for today, this one experiment to start with, she thought it might not be a bad idea. Not if Rogers were the one to become this super soldier. It occurred to her with an odd sense of surprise–and somehow, no surprise at all–that she would trust Rogers with her life.
She saw some movement, someone emerging outside, from the corner of her eye and tensed automatically as she turned sharply to see who it was. Her tension eased as she saw that it was Rogers. Looking as determined as he always did–she could see it in the stance of his narrow shoulders, the tilt of his chin as if just daring someone to take a swing at it. And felt another sharp pang of empathy and thought how… absurd it was to already feel as if she… understood him somehow, could read his mood in his posture.
Because she really didn’t actually know him, had barely exchanged a handful of words with him.
Which reminded her she had a good reason to talk to him this morning. She doubted that anyone would have stopped to tell Rogers what the actual plan for this morning was. Dr. Erskine was the only person who might have and Dr. Erskine was too preoccupied over the possible success or failure of Project Rebirth. To everyone else, Rogers was not much more than a lab rat, the chosen lab rat, yes, but still easily dismissed, as he had always been dismissed by everyone because of his size and weakness. She thought that she and Dr. Erskine were the only people on this base that actually saw Rogers at all. The blindness of most men was not really a surprise but it was still disappointing.
She turned her steps towards Rogers, found her lips curving in automatic response as she heard him give a little huff of a laugh over whatever it was he was thinking about. Something seemed to squeeze at her heart. He was about to undergo a dangerous and painful experiment and he was laughing. And it wasn’t only masculine posturing or bravado because there were no other men around. She truly had never met a braver man.
“You seem to be in very good spirits for someone about to undergo an experimental procedure,” she noted.
He started and spun around so quickly she realized with a little pang of guilt that he hadn’t been aware of her approach at all even though she hadn’t been trying to keep her steps quiet. “Agent Carter! I-uh–didn’t know you were here,” he stuttered a little.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she apologized. And wondered why–or how–she had never realized that it was… adorable… when a man got so befuddled by her mere presence that he tripped over his words.
“Oh, no, it’s all right. I was… uh, just thinking.” Some color flared in his cheeks and she thought, again, that he was adorable. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen a man actually blush. (Soldiers as a breed seemed to be too arrogant and brash to be capable of embarrassment.)
“I’m sure you have quite a bit to think about with the procedure this morning, Private Rogers.”
He lifted his narrow shoulders into a small shrug. “I’m just Steve, really,” he responded rather awkwardly.
Steve. Steve Rogers. She had known his first name was Steven, had heard Dr. Erskine call him that at least once, but she was oddly pleased to be given permission to use the shorter, more informal version of his first name.
“Just Steve, then,” she agreed. “And I’m Peggy,” she added before she’d consciously realized she was going to do so and only after the words had emerged did she realize that this was almost certainly the first time in, oh, more than a year that she’d offered anyone the use of her first name, let alone the more casual diminutive of her first name. In all the time since she’d joined the SSR after her stint at the SOE, she had not introduced herself as Peggy to anyone, would not have wanted to give any of the soldiers such freedom to use her name, let alone the implied permission it would have conveyed to assume greater intimacy. She’d been careful to keep her distance, stay aloof, and that had been easier because every soldier she had met thus far had bordered on the obnoxious, at best, so she would sooner have thought of running off to join the circus than she would have allowed any of them to use her first name.
“I–uh–did you come to find me for a reason? Not that I mind. I was just wondering.”
Recalled to her mission, she straightened her shoulders fractionally. “Actually, yes. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be accompanying you to the experiment site this morning. Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine already left very early this morning to go over to the laboratory. Dr. Erskine wanted to consult with Howard Stark and inspect all the equipment one last time.”
“Oh. Thank you for telling me.” His tone was rather flat, his expression briefly clouding, and it occurred to her again that he really had not been told much of anything about the plans for this morning. Typical for the military, she supposed, just issuing orders and expecting people to be ready to follow them, no questions asked, but the uncertainty around the schedule for the day could only make things harder for him on top of the existing uncertainty about Project Rebirth as a whole.
She could at least try to remedy that. “Corporal Briggs will be driving us over to the site at 0800 hours so in a little more than half an hour.”
“Where is this laboratory?”
Had no one told him anything at all? “It’s in New York, outside of the City itself, in a neighborhood called Brooklyn.” Peggy had never heard of the neighborhood before but from the intonation of Colonel Phillips’s voice when he’d mentioned it, she guessed that it was not a wealthy neighborhood or known as the most salubrious location. But that was likely all to the good too. They would be less likely to attract any unwanted prying eyes from those who might have any connections to people in power, people who the SSR would not want to have any inkling as to what the SSR was planning.
Steve blinked, his expression abruptly easing, brightening a little. “Really? That’s where I’m from.”
She was strangely pleased to have learned this about him, why she didn’t know because as facts went, it was a trivial one, but she found herself smiling anyway. “Well, then, I guess you can look forward to returning home this morning, at least for a little while.”
He didn’t respond and she studied him. She felt a little spark of pleasure, not unmixed with surprise, kindle in her chest, as she somewhat belatedly realized that he’d been distracted because he’d been staring at her mouth. Oh. After years of dealing with ogling looks and leers and outright propositions from soldiers, she would have thought she was immune to feeling at all pleased or flattered at the thought that a man might find her attractive because such an attraction was invariably combined with insulting behavior. Apparently not.
Because for the first time in what felt like a short eternity, she felt a little flutter inside her chest at the realization that a man–no, not just a man but this man, Steve–liked the way she looked. It was… sweet and made it mean more, somehow, that he’d always been polite and respectful. Because a little corner of her had wondered if maybe that was just due to his general kindness and sense of chivalry, as if he viewed her as something in the light of a sister or a mother or some other womanly role entitled to his consideration but not a young, nubile woman–a surprisingly lowering thought considering she’d spent most of the last couple years half-wishing that she’d been born with two noses or something like that to make it so men would never think to proposition her. But now she knew. He might be honestly chivalrous–she thought he was–but he wasn’t indifferent to her either. Steve did find her attractive.
(Oh, she was being silly, absurd, to react like this. She wasn’t vain; she didn’t even care that much about the way she looked. And yet…)
“Where is home for you?” he asked after a moment.
She felt another little burst of pleasure, this one entirely unmixed with vanity, because it was such a normal question, the sort of question anyone might ask a person on meeting them for the first time. He might find her attractive but he still treated her like an actual person, not just a sexy body on legs, the way most men appeared to view attractive women. And that was new too. After years in which the only questions men tended to ask her bordered on the obscene. She had lost count of how many times she’d been propositioned or was questioned as to, for example, her preferences in sexual positions or something like that, as if that was the only sort of thing that mattered about her.
Later, she thought that it was her sheer surprise and her upwelling pleasure at the novelty of being treated like a person that made her answer so unthinkingly, falling into her automatic, instinctive humor, as she quipped, “Kansas.” And it was only when the last syllable had left her mouth that she realized and almost froze. Oh, she really had let down her guard, had shown more of her true self, her actual personality, than she had in years.
He gave a soft laugh, grinning. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” he joked.
Her heart gave a strange thump in her chest. She had made him laugh. More, he’d understood and reflected her humor right back at her without missing a beat or so much as batting an eyelash.
She returned his smile. “I’m actually from a small village a little outside of Winchester, England,” she offered. Again, more of a truth than she had told anyone in years but then no one had been interested. (Animated dolls or whores, as most of the soldiers seemed to view her as, weren’t meant to have pasts or hometowns or anything else that an actual person might have.)
“Oh, that’s nice.”
It was a very bland response and it occurred to her with a flicker of surprise that it wasn’t like him to be so bland. She wasn’t sure quite how she could be so sure of that but somehow, she was. And she could guess at the reason why. “You don’t have any idea where Winchester is, do you?” she asked and then almost bit her lip as it occurred to her, belatedly, that many–if not most–men would be offended at such a question, such an assumption that they might not know something. In her experience, men liked to pretend they knew everything, no matter how absurd such a pretense was.
But again, Steve proved that he wasn’t like most men. He flushed but answered, “Um, no.”
His honesty surprised a little huff of laughter from her. “Winchester is in southwest England, around 65 of your miles outside London.” Joining the predominantly American SSR had made her more familiar with the American units of measurement, as illogical as they were.
He gave a little, rather sheepish, grimace. “I, um, feel like I should have known that somehow.”
Oh, he really was adorable. “Why should you know? I don’t know exactly where Kansas is, for example, just that it’s somewhere in the middle,” she confessed. She really had let down her guard, trusted him. She would never have admitted to a weakness, to not knowing something, in front of anyone else because she wouldn’t have wanted to give anyone any ammunition to be more condescending than they already tended to be. There was no way she would want anyone to have any reason to dismiss her as a stupid, vapid female, the way most men were already inclined to do.
He gave another little laugh. “That’s about as much as I could tell you too.”
She echoed his soft laugh, charmed by his self-deprecation.
His eyes brightened and it occurred to her that when he was smiling, he had beautiful blue eyes. That is, his eyes were always blue, of course, but when they were bright with amusement or pleasure, the blue seemed deeper, a truer, brighter blue than the Hope Diamond. Really, she didn’t think she’d ever met anyone with eyes quite as blue as his and although it had never occurred to her before, she found herself thinking that blue was the best color for eyes because she didn’t think she’d ever seen eyes quite as beautiful as his.
She abruptly felt self-conscious. Since when did she wax poetic over a man, any man! She, the clever, capable Peggy Carter, who had already decided that romantic love was not for her because she just couldn’t imagine meeting a man she could truly love. And after she had broken off her engagement to Fred–only for him to enlist and then die in action within six months of going off to fight–as much as she told herself that Fred had not enlisted solely because she had jilted him–she had promised herself that she would never get so deeply entangled with a man unless she knew she meant it. The reminder of Fred sobered her, as it always tended to. Oh, she had told herself more than once that Fred’s enlistment and subsequent death was not actually her fault, knew rationally that it was true, but it was harder to feel certain of that considering Fred had enlisted within three months of her breaking off their engagement. She had known Fred well enough to know that he had been considering enlisting for a while, since the moment it had become apparent that this war too, like the Great War before, was not going to be over in a matter of months, but had refrained because he had not wanted to leave her, had felt as if his commitment to her through their engagement outweighed his duty to his country, plus he had not wanted to upset his parents or leave his family. Poor, dear Fred, who had honestly loved her in his way, even if the version of her which he had believed he loved was not really her at all, only the version of herself that she had tried for years to convince both him and her own self was her real, adult self once she had set aside the follies and youthful dreams of her childhood when she had dreamed of so much more, of going off on adventures, of making a difference to the country and the world.
In an attempt to feel more like her usual Agent Carter self, she reverted to business. It was easier, safer even. “Corporal Briggs will meet us with the car just before the gate hut in around half an hour so you have some time if you want to take care of anything before then.”
She started to turn away, scolding herself as she did so, only to be brought up short by his voice.
“No, I–wait.” She paused, glancing back at him. “Will you, um, walk with me? That is, if you don’t have anything else to do.” He made a vague gesture with his hands. “I don’t want to bother you but… uh, I guess I’d rather not be alone.”
She couldn’t do it, could not walk away from him now. Not after that last admission betraying a trace of nervousness she hadn’t realized he felt. And she somewhat reluctantly admitted that it wasn’t as if she’d truly wanted to walk away either. She liked him, liked him more than she really ought to, considering the circumstances and how little she actually knew him, but she did like him. “I don’t have anything else to do. With both Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine gone, there isn’t much to do except wait.”
He started to walk and she fell into step beside him, noting that an unlooked-for benefit of his height was that she didn’t need to rush to meet his stride or otherwise adjust her steps. She glanced at him and found herself asking, “Are you nervous about the procedure?” Although she had already guessed that he was.
“No, I’m not nervous.”
Of course he would say that. She wondered why she felt strangely deflated at this expected answer.
But then he went on, the words seeming impelled from him, “I’m terrified.”
She blinked and turned to stare at him. Steve had surprised her yet again and she was starting to think that maybe he would never stop surprising her. He was just so… different from other men. Delightfully different. With his honesty and his modesty, his utter lack of any of the usual braggadocio she associated with young men. She couldn’t think of another man who would ever have admitted to being terrified. Not even Michael and Michael had been less inclined to bravado than most, at least he had been when he’d been around her but then Michael would have known that boasting wouldn’t get him very far with her. Peggy had taken seriously her role as his younger sister to prick any pretensions he might have, to help keep him grounded. She imagined that when Michael had been out with his friends, in entirely male company, he had likely fallen in with the usual masculine posturing but she also knew that wasn’t actually Michael’s real self. He’d been too thoughtful for that, for all his sense of fun. Even just before he’d left to fight, while Michael had been serious, even subdued, he had never admitted to feeling any fear nor would she have expected him to.
And yet, here Steve was. Again proving that he really wasn’t like any other man she had ever met, was braver than that, to say nothing of more honest.
He cast a cautious glance at her through his lashes–he had very long lashes, she noted absently, a few shades darker than his hair. “Why do you look like that’s a good thing? You don’t think it’s, uh… cowardly?” he ventured, his voice lowering on the last word, his gaze falling until he focused on the ground.
Something seemed to squeeze at her heart, a little rush of warmth she hadn’t expected, wasn’t sure she’d ever really felt before. She stopped walking, facing him. If he had been so open with her, the least she could do was be as candid with him, do him the courtesy of taking him seriously. “Firstly, I appreciate your honesty. But most importantly, no, I don’t think it’s cowardly at all. I think it’s brave.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, almost choking. “What–how?”
She thought about what Colonel Phillips had said before leaving. “Do you plan to back out of doing the experiment?”
He recoiled, as if she’d suggested something as unthinkable as, oh, assassinating the King or the President. “No! Of course not!”
No, of course he hadn’t even considered backing out. Colonel Phillips really didn’t understand Steve at all. “‘The brave man is not he who feels no fear, for that were stupid and irrational; But he whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.’” They might be her favorite lines of poetry and she had tucked them away in her mind, committed them to memory because they had resonated with her so, all the more so in the last couple years. She knew this war, like all wars she supposed, had tested the mettle of both men and women, and in many cases, shown the courage of which they were capable and she had enough sense to recognize that even the bravado of most of the young men was likely just a false front but knowing that had only tended to irritate her more because it was so foolish and so dishonest and she didn’t like either of those things.
Steve stared, looked as if he’d momentarily lost his breath. “Is that poetry?”
“Yes, by a woman named Joanna Baillie.”
“I–thanks,” was all he said. He hesitated and then after a moment, started to walk again, almost absently as if it was more that he didn’t know what else to do than because he had anywhere to go, which was, she supposed, true enough.
She kept pace beside him, was oddly content to just keep him company, even without speaking. It was comfortable, somehow, this silence. She felt no need to talk and apparently, neither did Steve, although he had more reason than anyone to be preoccupied this morning. She felt his glances at her from under his lashes, caught his eyes more than once, but every time their eyes met, his immediately withdrew, a tinge of color flaring in his cheeks. It was… cute and oddly appealing, even endearing, his uncertainty combined with his apparent difficulty in looking away from her.
It occurred to her with a faint sense of surprise that she wasn’t sure she would have felt so comfortable being silent with Fred. She and Fred had been friends, of a sort, before they had started going steady–Fred’s long-standing friendship with Michael had guaranteed that–but once they had started going steady, she had usually felt the need to be, well, charming, to be the witty and intelligent young lady Fred had believed she was. Oh, Peggy knew that she could be witty just as she knew she was intelligent but she had still felt on her mettle to put her best foot forward, as it were. Had always heard her mother’s voice in her mind urging her not to do anything that might be off-putting to Fred since he was such a suitable, eminently desirable match. She felt another little pang of regret and grief at the thought of Fred and her mother too.
Her poor mother, who Peggy was aware she had worried and, yes, disappointed too, but who, Peggy understood now, had honestly wanted what she believed was best for Peggy, had been trying to protect Peggy in her own way from the harsh realities of the world they lived in. The disillusionment, the difficulties, of the last couple years in the SSR had made it abundantly clear to Peggy how right her mother had been when she’d told the young Peggy that most men had no use for a clever girl and Peggy should try not to be so openly clever. As much as Peggy knew that she could not have lived the sort of life her mother had envisioned for her, Peggy had realized that her mother had been trying to protect her, had wanted her to be safe. Peggy’s life now was many things but safe was not one of them.
It occurred to her to wonder how Steve’s parents must feel at the thought of what Steve was about to do, the risk he was about to take. Could any parents, no matter how much they might be rightfully proud of Steve’s courage, really be willing to watch him take such a risk? “What do your parents think about you joining the army?” she asked rather abruptly and only realized after the fact how personal the question was.
“They’re both dead.”
She inwardly winced, dismayed. Oh God, first she’d pried in asking such a personal question and then in doing so, she appeared to have inadvertently prodded at an open wound. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not alone, though,” he blurted out in something of a rush. “I have a best friend who’s as good as a brother to me and his family is almost like family to me too. My friend just got called up, left a couple days before I got here, actually. So if this experiment works and I really become a soldier, maybe I’ll get to see him, fight beside him.”
It was the most he’d ever said to her at once. “I hope you will,” she responded gently. It occurred to her too with another little tug of sympathy and understanding that he was about as alone in the world as she was, and that seemed somehow significant too. Rationally, she knew she was making too much of what was basically a coincidence but somehow, she couldn’t quite deny that this added commonality between them seemed like one more thread linking her to him in a strange way, making her feel as if she knew him, understood him, better than she actually did.
There was another brief silence and then he asked, “Can you tell me more about the procedure, what it will involve?”
“I’m no scientist like Dr. Erskine,” she cautioned before she went on, giving a summary of what she remembered from Dr. Erskine’s notes and from talking to Dr. Erskine. “But from my understanding, the serum will be injected into your muscles to cause cellular changes, not only increasing strength but also changing your metabolism, and then they’ll use Vita-rays to stimulate growth. If it works, it’s supposed to make a person essentially reach the peak of physical human abilities in strength and speed and abilities so the person will become not just a strong man but the strongest man, not just a fast man but the fastest man.”
“If it works,” he muttered.
She couldn’t quite help a faint wince. That was the question, wasn’t it.
“Has it ever really worked, I mean, on anyone or anything besides Johann Schmidt?”
She inwardly grimaced, hesitated, before answering, “Well, as Dr. Erskine no doubt told you, while it technically worked on Johann Schmidt as far as making him stronger, there were other… unintended consequences, shall we say. After that, Dr. Erskine spent years revising and perfecting the formula but after Schmidt, he was hesitant to try it on another person, but he has experimented some on mice and rats, in much smaller doses, obviously.” When it came to Schmidt, Dr. Erskine’s notes had only mentioned unexpected physiological changes but Peggy had pressed Dr. Erskine once to explain and he had somewhat reluctantly admitted that Schmidt had been physically disfigured, essentially turned into a monster.
“How did that go?”
For the first time, Peggy was almost tempted to lie, or at least evade, claim she didn’t know, but even if she could justify such a thing (she couldn’t), more personally, she simply couldn’t do that to Steve. Not after the candor he had already shown her, not considering the risk he was about to undergo. After the way he treated her, she owed him that much, honesty, so that he could make his own informed decision. She would, she suddenly thought, always be honest with him, could not imagine doing otherwise. He deserved no less but more than that, she trusted him. “Not well. The serum… well, it seemed to overload the rats’ systems so most didn’t survive the procedure. A few did, becoming larger, around the size of a small cat, but then, when Dr. Erskine tried to test their abilities, like their stamina or speed, well… they didn’t survive the tests because it seemed like the exertion overwhelmed their hearts so their hearts gave out.”
“Oh.”
His tone was flat, his expression strangely blank, and something about it squeezed at her heart and she rushed on to reassure him as best as she could. “But then rats are really very different from humans. And Dr. Erskine has refined and improved the serum since then. He really is as certain as he can be that the serum is ready now.”
She was rewarded for her effort as he gave her a small smile. (When had she started to think of his smiles as a reward?) “Well, nothing in life really comes with guarantees and someone always has to be the first to try anything new.”
Oh, he really was the bravest man she’d ever met. And so adorable too. “Steve, I–” She stopped, not entirely sure what she had meant to say, and finally just went on, “I really do think it will work. Dr. Erskine is a brilliant man and so is Howard Stark.” She didn’t know Howard Stark well but his reputation was that of a brilliant scientist (and a womanizer), while her brief times in his presence had told her that he was arrogant but her usual annoyance at arrogance was somewhat tempered in the case of Howard Stark because from all she had seen, he had some reason to be arrogant. Even from the brief time she had spent in his presence as he conferred with Dr. Erskine and other scientists, it had been clear that he was another man like Dr. Erskine, with an intellect that put him head and shoulders above most men.
“Well, Dr. Erskine told me the serum is ready and he ought to know.”
She hesitated, studied him, taking in his height (or lack of it), his skinny frame, his bony wrists and delicate hands, and inwardly marveled all over again at the depths of determination and persistence he had shown all during basic training. This man who looked as if a stiff wind might blow him away and not only had he volunteered to enlist in the Army but had also volunteered to undergo an unprecedented, dangerous experimental procedure. And even though she knew it was a personal question, again, she couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you doing this?”
“This, as in joining the army, agreeing to do the experiment?”
“Yes, all of it. You know the risks, know you don’t have to do this, and yet you are.” It felt somehow important. Because she wanted, even needed, to know why he was making this choice, taking this risk.
He squared his shoulders and met her eyes. “I don’t like bullies. And what Hitler is doing, it’s bullying, plain and simple, and bullies won’t stop unless someone forces them to stop,” he said simply.
She could have, perhaps should have, stopped right then but she still wanted to know more, wanted to know him. She had the sudden, absurd sense that she wanted to know everything about him, wanted to know his thoughts, his motivations, his likes and dislikes. “But why you?” She had heard what Dr. Erskine had told Colonel Phillips when he’d mentioned that he had found and recruited one more man to join the other potential candidates to receive the serum and then, when Colonel Phillips had set eyes on Rogers, he had later confronted Dr. Erskine and asked what the man was thinking. And Dr. Erskine had coolly responded that he’d been intrigued because Rogers had been trying to enlist for the sixth time (six times–Peggy had mentally boggled at the thought) and he admired perseverance and determination.
“Other men are going off to war and fighting and dying for this country, the Allied cause. What right do I have to do anything less?”
Oh. She felt another quick surge of something like recognition, familiarity, the words resonating inside her. She had not thought of it in quite those terms but it was why she had decided to apply for and push to join the SSR rather than remaining with the SOE. The SOE job, code-breaking at Bletchley, had been an intellectual challenge and she had appreciated it, valued too the knowledge that it was Michael who had recommended her for it, who had believed she could and should be actively participating in the war effort. But when she had heard about the SSR, she had jumped at the chance because by then, she had started to feel dissatisfied at how remote Bletchley had felt from the front lines, how distant any results they saw from their work. And she had known she could contribute so much more than merely code-breaking, had wanted to do more, felt she needed to do as much as she could for the war effort, not only to honor Michael’s memory but because the cause was important. After all that England had suffered in the Blitz and was still suffering to this day, all the people who had died–not only the soldiers but the civilians in all the bombings–she had known she needed to do more. “Good answer.”
He stared at her and there was something in the look in his eyes that had her gaze for once faltering before his so she glanced away and stiffened a little. “Corporal Briggs has brought the car around.”
He turned to look, confirming her observation. He lifted his chin, his jaw firming, in that way that she had already noted was characteristic of him. “I guess we’d better not keep him waiting.”
In unspoken accord, they both turned and directed their steps towards the gate hut where Corporal Briggs was waiting.
Steve again seemed at a loss for anything to say and Peggy found herself somewhat unsure too, aware of a niggle of worry as it occurred to her that while she might trust Steve more than any other recruit as the right person to receive the super-soldier serum, she abruptly hated the idea of his being put at risk in such a way. Because success was not guaranteed and what if something happened to him?
“I–uh–this was nice,” he abruptly blurted out. “Thanks for… for talking to me,” he finished, not at all fluently.
Again, that unfamiliar sensation seemed to squeeze at her heart. No, she didn’t want anything to happen to him. “It was my pleasure, soldier,” was all she said. She hesitated but then it was her turn to add, rather awkwardly, “In case I don’t have a chance later, I wanted to say… good luck, Steve.”
“I–thanks.” He gave her a slightly crooked, little smile.
She felt a flutter in her chest that startled her because she recognized it as attraction. She liked him, yes, but for the first time she realized that the liking was not just respect or admiration for a brave man but was, well, more than that, was more personal than that. Surprisingly. Peggy had felt attraction before but it had always been in response to someone, well, taller and more stereotypically handsome because she did have eyes and appreciated a handsome face and figure as much as any woman. Although admittedly, any attraction she’d felt before had always been fleeting, never lasted beyond really getting to know the object of said attraction. But this, with Steve, was different. Because she’d liked and respected him first so in a strange way, she knew this attraction was less about the way he looked–although he did have beautiful eyes and his smile was somehow, undeniably charming, perhaps because it was so sincere, so utterly unlike the smirks or leers she was used to receiving–than it was about the sort of man he was. Physical attraction that was at least as much about a man’s character as it was his appearance was something new in her experience. But the attraction was there and unmistakable and this time, she suddenly thought that it wouldn’t be fleeting either.
They had reached the car and Corporal Briggs gave Peggy a perfunctory salute, his expression stolid, but ignored Steve as if he were invisible. Peggy narrowed her eyes a little at Briggs and inwardly huffed but didn’t otherwise comment aloud–what could she really say, after all?–and she could only wonder at Steve’s apparent indifference to being so completely ignored.
Peggy wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected of the car ride towards the laboratory but somehow, the unbroken silence for more than an hour was not one of them. But soon she sensed rather than saw the increasing tension in him, noted that his leg was starting to almost jig, one hand clasping his knee so tightly that his knuckles showed white. Oh. She remembered his earlier admission that he was terrified and something terrifyingly close to fondness filled her. She felt a sudden, crazy urge to reach out and grasp his hand, just to provide some comfort and reassurance, but of course that was impossible and she could do no such thing. They were barely friends really, never mind that she somehow felt as if she knew him well, and certainly not on such terms that she could touch his hand, let alone hold it.
She noted a few signs denoting that they were nearing and then entering Brooklyn and saw that as she had rather guessed, the neighborhood certainly did not appear to be a wealthy one (although her judgment of that sort of thing in America was, she knew, not necessarily accurate) but Steve seemed to relax a little as they went. Now that he was back on home ground, she thought with a faint inward smile, and she was absurdly pleased to know this about him.
As if to demonstrate that he was, in fact, much more at ease, after a couple minutes, Steve began to talk. “I know this neighborhood.” He paused, lifting a hand to gesture out the window as he went on, “I got beat up in that alley… and that parking lot… and behind that diner.” He broke off, looking down at his hands.
Oh. She hadn’t quite expected to hear that. “Did you have something against running away?” But even as she asked it, she knew the answer. She couldn’t imagine Steve, not the brave, determined man she’d seen in these last weeks of basic training, running away from anything. He’d run towards a grenade, after all. Of course he had something against running away. So what she really meant was why. Where did he get that spark of persistence so he never gave up, never gave in? What fueled his determination?
He jerked his head in a negative. “You start running, they never let you stop. But if you stand up, push back, they can’t say no forever, right?”
Again, Peggy had the strange sense of, well, kinship, that she understood him and that he, somehow, understood her. It should have been absurd because outwardly, she was aware that no one would guess they had much in common at all. He was from Brooklyn, an American city boy, and Peggy had seen enough to guess that meant he’d grown up, if not precisely poor, then certainly underprivileged. She was from the English countryside and had grown up privileged, her family reasonably affluent, if not precisely wealthy by English standards. He was small and physically weak with a number of health issues while Peggy was somewhat taller than average for women and had always been healthy. And yet… somehow, she knew they were alike because they both knew what it was to be ignored and have to fight to be taken seriously. And they had both felt the call to join the army, even in the face of the world’s disapproval. “I know a little of what that’s like, to have every door shut in your face.”
“I guess I just don’t know why you’d want to join the army if you’re a beautiful dame. Or a beautiful–uh, a woman–an agent–not a dame,” he almost stammered. “You are beautiful, but uh–”
Um, what? Peggy sternly bit back a bubble of laughter as something occurred to her. “You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?” And if so, it was no wonder he’d been so awkward and treated her like a person rather than a woman.
He gave a small, self-deprecating little huff. “I’m pretty sure this is the longest conversation I’ve had with one.” He glanced down at his hands, his voice lowering. “Women aren’t exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on,” he almost muttered.
Oh. Again, something squeezed at her heart. She had the sudden thought that all those girls, women, who’d overlooked Steve were supremely foolish. Because Peggy was a woman herself and what woman wouldn’t want a man who was clever and kind and honest, to say nothing of brave? Were all women so blind as to be unable to see past his height? “You must have danced.”
He lifted his shoulders into a small shrug. “Asking a woman to dance always seemed so… terrifying. And the past few years, it just didn’t seem to matter that much. Figured I’d wait.”
“For what?”
Again, he gave a small shrug. “The right partner.”
Oh. She felt that flutter in her chest again along with a little glow of warmth. Imagine that, a man who was more interested in finding “the right partner” rather than viewing all women merely as interchangeable sex objects to be used and discarded. Oh, she did like him so. How could she not like him?
And even though Peggy had set aside all thoughts of romance for at least the duration of the war, now, for the first time in years, she found herself thinking that she would like to dance with Steve herself.
More, for the first time in years, she thought she rather wished that she might find her own “right partner,” a man she could truly love as she had not loved Fred, a man who would view her as “the right partner,” not just to dance with but in life, a man who would see her as she really was and treat her as an equal. But such wishes served no purpose and she had no time for romance anyway, even if her position in the SSR allowed for such a thing, which it didn’t.
As if to punctuate her thought, Briggs had pulled into the curb and parked outside of the antique store that Peggy knew served as the front for the secret laboratory. They had arrived.
Peggy released her breath and made a small gesture to Steve to get out, while she exited the car on her own side, joining him on the sidewalk.
“What are we doing here?”
“Follow me,” was all she said as she led the way into the antique store, conscious of her own ratcheting tension. The woman manning the store was also an agent of the SSR, one of the covert ones, and Peggy returned the correct catch phrase to be allowed past.
And as the bookshelf in the back room swung open, Peggy found herself praying to God and whatever other higher powers might be, praying with a fervor she had not felt in years, that whatever happened with Project Rebirth, Steve would survive it and be fine. As much as she had come to like and respect Dr. Erskine, no matter what Project Rebirth might mean for the war effort, at that moment, Peggy suddenly knew that whether Project Rebirth succeeded and the serum actually worked didn’t matter to her when weighed against Steve’s safety. No matter what, she simply did not want anything to happen to Steve.
~To be continued...~