El!
El has been with the site for nearly two years now and has continued to prove her value. Currently, she is heading up our site event, Battle for Liberterram, on top of keeping up with her own personal plots.
CHARACTER
SPOTLIGHT
Peggy Carter!
Lux's posts are all wonderful to read. She has done a wonderful job of grasping the new universe and incorporating Peggy into it.
CHARACTER
SPOTLIGHT
Peter Parker!
It's good to see Spidey back on the site. Watching him deal with the universe shift in his own snarky way has been nothing short of entertaining.
THREAD
SPOTLIGHT
Eight O'Clock on the Dot!
El and Lux are making magic in this thread. Straight up fireworks, and the way they've played with drawing out the reveal is top class.
The level of coffee in her mug had fallen dangerously low when Peggy finally looked up from her reports. Glancing at the clock in the top right corner of her computer monitor, she realised that it had been over two hours since her assistant had bid her good night. Aside from the night shift security detail, only she was still in the building. The security guards had checked in on her earlier, noticing the light under her door, and it had taken a few self-deprecating jokes about her lack of a social life (which were all, sadly, very true) until she had assured them enough to leave her alone. She'd always disliked having people hover over her, and it irked her that they seemed especially inclined to do since her little, erm, skirmish a few weeks ago.
It was quarter to eight when Peggy finally decided to call it a day. She made sure the guards were on a different floor before she sneaked out of her office and into the elevator, intending make her exit as inconspicuous as possible. The security guards would probably insist on calling her a car, and Peggy didn't want an escort. Besides, there were only four subway stops between the Tower and her flat, and it was a lovely night for a walk.
The cool night air lightly nipped her cheeks as Peggy stepped out of the building, slipping on her coat, and made a left turn; her route home took her down one of the smaller, quieter streets of Manhattan, which was by far more pleasant than traipsing among the honking and blinding headlights of motor vehicles that crowded the six-lane boulevards.
She'd walked only a few minutes when she was startled by the sound of a ringing phone. She glanced around, wondering who on earth would call a public phone, before realising the ringing phone was hers. Feeling quite foolish, she hastily retrieved it from her pocket and held the strange little box to her ear.
(It took her another moment to realise she had to swipe the green button to the right before the person on the other line could hear her, but she finally sorted it out.)
"This is Peggy Carter," she said in her best 'I am proficient with technology' tone. She recognised the voice on the other end to be her assistant's, and learned that the latter had received a rather distressed call from one of the security guards. Her assistant had called to make sure Peggy was not, as she delicately put it, 'misplaced'.
"Vera, I'm perfectly fine," said Peggy briskly, adjusting her grip on her phone (it was terribly slippery)."I simply fancied a bit of a walk home this evening--"
"Ma'am? Ma'am? I can't hear you--did you accidentally mute yourself again?"
Peggy glanced down at her phone, puzzled. "Erm, which button does that?" she asked, and prodded the screen aimlessly. Big mistake--the call screen disappeared and a display of icons took its place, and when she pressed the phone to her ear again, she could no longer hear her assistant. Blast. It was taking all of her willpower not to crush the bloody contraption under the heel of her shoe. Cursing to herself, she gazed up traffic signal and waited impatiently at the intersection. She was still fumbling with her phone when it started to ring again; she nearly dropped it in surprise. She almost wished she had.
"Yes, Vera, hello, are you there?" The light turned green; with a fleeting glance from side to side, Peggy stepped onto the crosswalk--failing, in the darkness, to notice a car with broken headlamps barrelling towards her. "Yes, I'm here--no, I didn't do a thing, it cut off completely on its own. I'm quite certain it's broken--"
Steve remembered the exact moment he found out she was alive. He'd flipped on the news, walked into the kitchen and started putting together a sandwich when he'd heard the name Peggy Carter from the anchorman. At first he'd just tuned it out, figuring he'd misheard. Sometimes he did hear the names of those he'd lost, or saw them out of the corner of his eye. But then he heard the name again a moment later and he was pulled away from the tomato he'd been cutting.
Her face took up most of his screen. The anchorman confirmed that there'd been an assassination attempt on Ambassador Peggy Carter. A moment later her face was gone and there was a cutaway to an anchor on the scene of where the attempt was said to have gone down some two hours earlier. Peggy Carter, she said, was alive and relatively unharmed.
He'd just stood there. At first there hadn't been any thoughts of any kind; all he could do was stare and try to process. And then he tried to rationalize. Maybe she was Peggy's granddaughter, was named after her and bore one hell of a resemblance to her. Okay. Odds on that one were pretty astronomical but considering his situation it seemed like it was in the realm of possibilities. With a quick google search he confirmed that that wasn't the case at all. Which just left him with the obvious. Something that was hard to digest, considering he'd long ago put her to rest.
But there had been a time where it was impossible to imagine a future without her.
He'd spent a lot of time since then thinking. His first instinct had been to go find her and make sure she was okay, but he kyboshed that one pretty fast. He didn't even know if she knew him. And if she did, he knew all about the man he was supposed to be in this reality. If they had any kind of rapport built, he sure as hell wasn't going to be what she expected him to be. Beyond that, he knew she was going to be swarmed by the press for days if not weeks after, and she seemed in pretty good condition. So that just left him to try and puzzle out some kind of approach.
They didn't exactly make 'hey, I know you don't know me, but in another reality I owe you a dance' hallmark cards. And the further he got from the situation, the more he realized that it was unfair to say anything. Even if she believed him, it wasn't right to try and hold her to the same familiarity when she wasn't the woman he knew. That lead him to his current situation. They might not ever be friends in this universe, but he still cared about her and he wanted her to know that if she ever needed anything, he'd be there.
With that thought in mind he'd set out toward the embassy, figuring it had been long enough that any chaos over the attempted assassination had settled.
Closing in on the embassy, Steve stood across the street in a ball cap, hoodie and fake glasses. If Peg did know him she was going to spot him, but for the purpose of a functional disguise against civilians that didn't know him firsthand, it worked perfectly. And it was a lot more approachable than showing up in his new uniform. Nomad seemed to prefer darker colors than he did.
Before he could quite make it to the embassy he noticed Peggy a few blocks shy of it and stilled like a deer in headlights. Damn it. He hadn't meant to approach her outside the office--it sent different signals. Worse signals, considering she'd just been the subject of an assassination attempt. For a moment he thought about just bailing and trying again tomorrow, but he didn't have time to even start walking the other way. Instead he watched as she crossed the street and a car came gunning toward her while she was too distracted to notice.
Steve didn't even hesitate. Coming from her left, Steve snatched her up and pulled her back onto the nearest side of the street just a few moments before the car could connect. As soon as her feet were on the ground he turned toward the car, noting it and getting down every aspect of its description he could.
"Are you all right?" He asked, eyes still on the car which seemed to be slowing down.
Peggy Carter I left it open for you! if you want to make this an action-y reunion I figure they're slowing down to get out of the car and attempt to finish their failed assassination attempt. if not, maybe just to turn a corner or something. XD
Two seconds. Two seconds separated Peggy from her unpleasant end, two seconds in which she could do nothing except gape at the vehicle charging at her, phone still clutched in her hand. She'd been in an accident not that long ago, hadn't she? She didn't really remember it, but she was told that it'd left her comatose for months. Doctors thought she wouldn't make it, but she had; maybe this, right now, was retribution. Time slowed, each millisecond seemed to stretch into minutes, and still, her feet wouldn't budge.
Two. One. Ze--
Suddenly, she was in the air, weightless, moving far faster than she could ever move on her own. The car flew past without hitting her or--as she had just realised--the mysterious stranger who'd carried her to safety. She felt her feet touch the ground, her heart still pounding with adrenaline. Right at that moment, the alarm on her phone (which was miraculously still in her hand) began to sound.
Eight o'clock, on the dot.
Still dazed, Peggy stared after the car, frowning when she noticed it slow. She barely registered the stranger's question, though his voice sounded vaguely familiar--someone from the security division, perhaps? She was just about to address him when the car doors abruptly opened and two men stepped out, holding ominous looking objects in their hands. Their hulking, shadowed figures hardly looked concerned that they'd nearly hit someone with their car; in fact, they looked more like they were there to finish the job.
Cursing under her breath, Peggy grabbed the man who'd saved her by the arm and pulled him behind a parked car. The darkness and his baseball cap prevented her from getting a better look at him, but at this particular moment, she had better things to worry about. He could have the face of a troll, for all she cared.
"Do you know how to use this?" Peggy asked, dead serious, and handed the man her phone while she peered over the hood. Wryly, she added, "I'm told it's useful, though I've yet to discover how." The fact that she still had her sense of humour surprised her a bit, but it wasn't unwelcome.
Still watching the men, Peggy dug into her bag to retrieve a compact handgun--a Walther PPK/S, purchased a day after the first assassination attempt. Out of all the guns she'd tried at the shop, this one felt right, and fit into her hand like an old friend. Now, she gripped it tightly, disengaging the safety, ready to fire if necessary.
Steve Rogers Feel free to NPC the men and cause all the chaos.
Steve's baby blues flashed the moment the car slowed to a stop. He didn't need to be psychic to know that wasn't good. Immediately reaching for his hip holster, he grimaced when he didn't brush up against the hardened leather case. That's right. Damn it. He'd left the guns at home since he'd figured on meeting Peg inside the building and knew better than to bring a piece. He was just going to have to think a little more creatively now, that was all.
And pull out the shield. Or the new version of it.
Before he could do it he was dragged behind a parked car. For a moment his eyes widened fractionally and a small, almost delighted grin broke out over his face. She isn't that different. In an instant, though, Rogers looked the part of the seasoned veteran waiting for his orders. Calm, alert and ready to do what needed done.
At least until she asked and the question. The question was so damn uncanny that if they weren't in the middle of a soon to be firefight would have floored Steve. But he didn't have time to think about what it could mean and why it seemed so familiar and hilarious. So he focused on the immediate.
"Yes, ma'am." Flicking his hand over the phone to open the display, Steve pulled up the number pad and dialed in 911 and was ready to pass it back her way when she pulled out a handgun from her purse. Right. That was another thing to file away for later, right now it just meant he had a skilled combatant instead of a civilian to smuggle to safety. "I'd recommend stashing the phone and keeping your hands free. The dispatcher's obligated to send someone out." And he was willing to wager they'd send someone out real fast when the gunfire started.
In that moment he slid his hand into his hoodie's left pocket, producing what seemed to be a fairly high-tech watch, which he slid over his wrist. With a few instinctive manipulations courtesy of muscle memory, a band of pure white, almost silvery light flared up, forming a shield projection of rough proportion to his old one. Though the shield's light appeared to bleed sparks on the ground, it and the sparks produced no heat and provided relatively little in way of illumination.
"I'm going to round the passenger's side and close in on them. That might pull their attention long enough for you to get a few shots in."
Peggy Carter I just now noticed that I did not in fact NPC the men or cause the chaos... I fail <<
Thankfully, the man was cleverer than Peggy with the device (and less clumsy with his thumbs). There was something about the man's 'Yes, ma'am' that made her heart skip a beat and her focus waver. But she quickly pushed it out of her mind, forcing herself to concentrate on the situation at hand. Survival first, speculation later.
"Keep it," she said, when she sensed that the man wanted to return her phone--to be honest, he could throw it into the Thames for all she cared. "It's more useful with you." Peggy's phone might as well be a brick in her technologically inept hands, though it was so damn light and flimsy it would barely make an adequate projectile. It was too bad that out of all its applications, there wasn't one that could turn itself into a grenade.
Something flashed out of the corner of her eye; momentarily distracted, Peggy turned away and caught sight of a large, glowing circle that had seemingly grown out of the man's wrist. It was probably some sort of weapon--or perhaps a shield--but it looked barely solid, a translucent, concave disk outlined with sparks of faint light. Peggy wasn't quite sure what to make of it. But any port in a storm, she supposed.
"Does it work?" Peggy asked, half-ironically. (If she could spare the bullets, she might've been tempted to shoot at it, just to see if it did.) Assuming the thing on his arm wasn't just a Christmas decoration, his plan wasn't bad, since it gave them the chance to jump from defence to offence.
Her gaze flitted back to the approaching shadows, but in her peripheral, she watched the glow of the strange little shield; as soon as it and its owner moved towards the right of the vehicle, she darted in the opposite direction. Her body reacted on its own; somehow, it knew exactly where to be and how to get there, and by the time her mind had caught up, both hands were on her firearm, her head bowed and she was kneeling in wait on the concrete. If she thought about it, her partner's sparsely laid plan wasn't much to go on, but she felt strangely confident (maybe it was the adrenaline) she'd know what to do when the time came. It wasn't just that she trusted him to lead, but she also trusted herself to harmonise with his movements.
"Think that's the first time anyone's said that to me," Steve laughed when she insisted he keep the phone. It was only a moment later when he realized how inappropriate a tone he was taking with her. Even if he was able to keep a cool head during a fight, she didn't know him and she needed the assurance that he knew what he was doing and would be an asset rather than a liability. He'd have to avoid falling into familiar tones with her.
"Yes, ma'am. Used it to help neutralize a unit of anti-superhuman terrorists a while back," it had been the only resource he had against a group with riot grade if not outright military grade weaponry. Fortunately the operation hadn't been equally well trained and the environment made it difficult for them to utilize natural tactics against him, so no one was hurt and he'd even gotten out of there without a scratch. He was hoping for a repeat today, at least where Peg went.
Steve pulled a deep, quick breath and then popped to his feet with surprising grace for a man of his stature. Keeping his shield raised and his head lowered, Steve started into a full-blown run and closed the distance with Olympic speed. The motion caught the attention of the pair of assassins who leveled their arms at him. One had a sub-machine gun and the other had a forty-four magnum. Both opened up on him, the first with a spritz of gunfire and then second with a deafening bam.
Even propelled by the power of a forty-four magnum, not a single bullet managed to penetrate the shield, which flared to life and flashed brighter white as bullets slammed into its plasma surface. Rather than fall to the ground, the projectiles simply disappeared.
"Shit! It's Rogers! Get the ambassador, I'll take care of him!" The man with the SMG directed the other and began to stash his weapon while he simultaneously backed up. The additional time he got was enough for him to produce a canister from a hip-strap under his coat. With a hard downward throw, he lobbed the canister Steve's way.
Not knowing the contents of the canister and not wanting to risk the shield's interaction with a canister of any kind, Steve swung the shield long enough to catch the canister in his hand and redirect it with a follow through so it didn't lose much momentum. In a moment the canister was knocked into a trashcan which contained the flow of the smoke. In that same moment Steve had also cleared the distance, smashing the assassin in the face with a shield that didn't spring back or make any reverberation sounds after the impact.
Snapping a hand out, Steve pulled the smg from its holster, kicked the man back and smashed him in the face again, knocking him cold and giving Steve the opportunity to twist around to the other assassin.
Peggy Carter Some chaos made! Feel free to have Peggy kick the other guy's butt.
Another passing glance in the man's direction gave Peggy a second, slightly clearer look at his profile: fair-skinned, chiseled jaw, a hint of laughter that lingered on his lips. If there was any indication of over-familiarity in his tone, Peggy didn't even notice it. "Then it'll be the first time you'll prove me right," she replied, with a quirk of a smile.
By now, Peggy had deduced that the curious, glowing disk made of some form of energy, and she'd also deduced that the man was fairly confident in its performance. Whether or not his faith in it was misplaced, she was glad he was the one holding it; she preferred something more mechanical, solid, like the sturdy pistol she held in her hands. Disengaging the safety, she told him, "I'll be relying on your experience." She still had the good sense to realise that she was, in fact, an ambassador, and not a soldier--though, in this particular moment, she thought she might've made a half-decent one.
The man soon made his move. He raised his glowing shield but ducked his head as he moved with cat-like agility, the brim of his baseball cap, hiding most of his face, but Peggy imagined his gaze, clear and blue, determined and focused on the task. The sound of bullets firing sent a surge of electricity through her spine, and before she could spare a thought to wonder why she knew the colour of his eyes, she was on her feet and aiming her pistol at the man blustering towards her. She took a breath, and pulled the trigger--she didn't quite miss, but her shot just barely grazed his shoulder, tearing off a bit of his jacket without hitting flesh.
She cursed herself for her terrible aim, ignored the fact that the gap between them was quickly decreasing, and took a second, third, and fourth shot. Bullets #3 and #4 lodged themselves into her attacker's torso, but he barely slowed down. Wryly, Peggy wondered if she ought to be flattered or annoyed to know that he was wearing a bulletproof vest.
"Fucking bitch," he growled, and it was his turn to fire. Peggy ducked back behind the car, but her reflexes were a smidgen too slow; his third shot nicked her in the side, and since she was not wearing protective armour, it burned like fire. She bit hard her lip, determined not to cry out. Instead, she crawled around the vehicle, feeling for her handbag. When she found it, she gripped it with her free hand, peering under the vehicle until she caught sight of a pair of grungy black boots shuffling towards her. With a grunt, Peggy threw her handbag into the air.
As she hoped, the grungy black boots stopped pacing and planted themselves on the concrete. She heard gun shots. Rolling onto her stomach, she aimed her gun and spent her last four rounds firing just above where she could see his boots finish. At least two of her shots hit, one for each leg. He howled; a dull clunk indicated he'd dropped his gun, and a thud indicated he'd dropped with it.
Peggy dragged herself to her feet, walked over to the attacker and picked up his gun just as her partner was rushing back towards them. "Sorted out the other one, did you?"she asked him airily, as if making a general inquiry about the weather. She used the gun to point to the man presently writhing on the concrete. "His footwork needs improvement."
"I don't think it'll be the last," he replied easily. Effortlessly, even. It was around the two-second marker that he realized that comment had certainly been more familiar than the first. Damn it. Had that been a flirtatious quip? It was a sort of dry and reserved counter but that had been ninety percent of their exchanges when he wasn't awkwardly fumbling with the meaning of 'fondue'. Hopefully his inflection and the situation had prevented that one from being noticed. He was certainly going to ignore it between her status as a stranger and the severity of their circumstances.
"I'll try not to let you down." Steve said with genuine modesty mixed with the cool confidence of a seasoned veteran. While he acknowledged the possibility of failure, he obviously considered it a small one, though it didn't seem to take any of the edge off of his alertness. Even if he was near-certain they'd mop up the floor with these two assassins, he couldn't risk foolhardiness when anyone else was on the line. Especially her.
Once his target was down on the ground, Steve proceeded to restrain his arms behind his back with an eerily routine procedure of motions. Ziptieing and restraint of any variety was not something he'd done enough to have much motor memory for. And he didn't have enough speed to do it so off-handedly that it hadn't cost him anything for time. It would've given him pause and made him scrutinize the differences between his body's original occupant and himself if he wasn't charging toward the only assassin left.
Before he could get there, a pair of shots rang out and some blood splattered around the assassin's feet just before he toppled. A breath or two later, Steve was there turning the man over and doing the same tight restraint, using the man's own belt as his bonds. That just about sealed it, then. Apparently the Native Rogers had been doing a lot of live-captures for SHIELD. Or the Defenders. Or both. Considering what usually happened to persons of interest that were significant enough to be targeted for live capture, he had to truly appreciate the astonishing differences between his two selves.
Grabbing the gun that had been dropped, Steve took to putting that away in his backpack. It was after that when he got back around to actually looking Peg's way that he noticed the small, spreading crimson stain on her shirt. He didn't know how bad the wound was and he couldn't count on this location being secure.
"Ma'am, we need to get to their car. I'm going to get you to the hospital and call the police." Hoisting up the nearest and most injured assassin, Steve stayed near Peggy as they moved toward the car, just in case her injury had cost her some of her mobility.
Peggy Carter sorry if this post is awkward, am having a hard time with all my muses atm
Peggy's partner was a cheeky little bugger, that much was clear from their brief exchange, right before he'd charged at the two assassins. When he'd returned, with blinding success, one might add, he did not respond to her quip, but instead stared at her shirt. She glanced down at herself. Bloody hell. Literally. "That won't be necessary," she replied briskly, waving off the hospital suggestion. She straightened herself, trying for a cool and collected air. "I'm fine; it's just a flesh wound." Ignoring any other concerns that might have been directed her way, she pocketed her gun in her trousers and pulled her blazer over the wound to cover the blood stain--as though that did any good. She marched ahead of her partner, towards to the remaining assassin, where she bent down to grab him by his ankles and, with a determined set in her jaw, began to drag him towards the vehicle.
"I'm going to interrogate these men, find out who or what employs them," she continued, gritting her teeth. The physical exertion was doing no favours to her injury, and she was quite certain the bullet was still lodged in her side. She'd need medical attention eventually, but what she was doing now took precedence. Anyway, the injury was her own fault; she'd been careless. But she'd survived worse scrapes than this... hadn't she? The statement felt true, and certainly looked it as well. She'd found quite a number of bizarre scars on herself, these past last few months, particularly one on her shoulder and another on her stomach. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten them, but they looked far more severe than playground accidents. What the hell sort of trouble had she'd gotten herself into?
Peggy glanced over her shoulder. Her partner was a few paces behind her, the other assassin hanging limply off his broad shoulder like a rag doll. His hands were bound by his own belt, and Peggy silently applauded her partner for his inventiveness. He certainly was proving her right, more than once.
A glint of light by the assassin's wrists caught her eye. At first, she thought it was simply the buckle of the belt, catching the light, but then she noticed his hands moving, up and down, steadily, rhythmically, almost like he was trying to--
"He's got a knife!" Peggy exclaimed. Snap! went the leather, his bounds were loose; hands freed, the assassin switched to a reverse grip, the now unmistakable gleam of steel as he raised his blade to strike. Dropping the other assassin, Peggy sprinted towards them. She shouted, without any notion of what she'd said, the single syllable leaving her lips before she'd realised--
Steve openly balked for a moment as he wrestled with conflicting urges. A large portion of him wanted to haul her to the hospital whether she liked it or not. Another part of him knew he didn't have any grounds to stand on. He didn't know her here. And he couldn't say he wouldn't be doing the same thing in her shoes if the wound was anything short of crippling. Pressing his lips into a tight line, he scanned the ground for a brief second as he thought over his answer.
Before he could quite reply she was off. Scoffing to himself, he cracked a small smile as she strode past him and pulled the other assassin along.
He remembered why he loved her. And for a brief moment he felt something similar again. He didn't humor it long, though. It was something that he compartmentalized and filed away. Ignored for now. Sooner or later he was going to have to bury those feelings way down low, but for now some part of him was glad to have them again. Even if he could never do anything with it. Even if he knew she wasn't ultimately the same person.
"Don't let me slow you down." Steve tipped his head her way. Who better to interrogate them than their target? He'd wanna keep an eye on her and them alike during the interrogation, but if she was going to take lead on this, he was happy to follow and just play guard dog 'til she got somewhere safe. And got medical treatment. He was gonna make sure she at least promised him to get it looked at before he went on his way.
Following in her wake, he rolled his shoulder and shifted his grip on the assassin to make it a little more secure and comfortable. And then things proceeded almost in slow motion. Peggy turned to him, her eyes caught on something, then she looked nervous. In that same moment there was a shift of movement on his shoulder and a loud snap as the leather broke. Acting on the instinct to not give the man a clear shot at his chest, Steve heaved his chest backward and twisted his arm to hurdle him over his shoulder. While his reflexes were fast, the blade still sank into a gouging wound in his shoulder under the clavicle and then carved up until it hit the bone near the surface and the man came loose, the briefly snagged knife falling from his grip.
And there had been a sound.
Steve grit his teeth and growled with pain as blood welled to the surface of the thankfully shallow stab wound. Twisting around on his heels, the blonde closed the small distance between himself and the assassin and struck him hard across the forehead, bringing him to a sudden stop. Pressing his lips in a tight line, he grabbed the man again and pulled him into a binding hold as his shoulder wept a small trickle of blood in protest. A trickle that slowly widened.
And then the sound processed. What had been a word of warning was now deciphered outside of the swift haze of the moment. What was a familiar utterance in the heat of battle was given new context.
"Peggy?" His eyes narrowed at her, mouth twisting down and parting slightly in a look of disbelief. Was it...? He felt his breath catch and the back of his throat burn for a moment before he shoved that aside. He couldn't assume anything. She could've just recognized his identity from this reality. And they needed to get the men to the car so they could get out of what was an insecure location. Walking ahead, he pulled open the driver's side door and popped the trunk. Hoisting off this assassin, Steve secured him with the hoodie he shed, revealing a white undershirt that made the blood plainly visible. But they needed him restrained.
Why, of all names, that particular one came to mind, and why she'd screamed it as though it was the only thing tying her to this world were questions Peggy could not answer. Whatever had possessed her, it hadn't prevented the assassin from attacking him anyway, the blade of his knife biting into his shoulder and drawing blood. But barely a second passed before the man threw the assassin to the ground and knocked him unconscious. Then, his attention went to Peggy, his eyes narrowed not in anger, but confusion, and--apprehension?
He'd not called her 'Ambassador' or even 'Miss Carter'--the familiarity with which he addressed her in her position was inappropriate, to say nothing of disrespectful, but taking offense was the furthest thing from her mind. "Peggy." The sound of her name with his voice felt like an old song, igniting a bevy of emotions she couldn't disentangle. She halted in her steps, biting down on her lip, trying to concentrate, to remember--
"Peggy? I'm going to need a rain check on that dance."
She could see a control room, a panel with flashing lights, countless buttons, and displays. In front of her was a radio, which she clutched in her hands, clinging to it like a lifeline. Then the moment passed, and she was standing in the street again, eyes locked with a stranger whose name she somehow knew. Steve.
He broke the gaze and walked on ahead, dragging the unconscious assassin with him and throwing him into the boot of the car. He removed his jumper, using it as an alternate means to restrain the assassin. The sight of the dark red stain on his shoulder, much more prominent against the white of his t-shirt, made Peggy pale. Guilt trickled uneasily up her spine; while it wasn't directly her fault, he was injured because of a situation that she had brought onto him.
Wordlessly, she followed him, taking the other assassin with her, and dropped him at the foot of the car. he watched Steve as he worked, seemingly unaffected by the knife wound, and searched to find something to say.
"Quite the sight, aren't we?" she muttered at last. It didn't quite catch the scope of what she wanted to convey, but Peggy had never been one to wear her heart on her sleeve. She bent over, digging through the assassin's pockets until she found the keys to the car. Repressing the urge to wince as she straightened (painfully reminding her that she should avoid being shot at again), she waited until Steve was finished loading the cargo and then made her way to the driver's seat, only to pause.
"Is there anywhere discrete we could go?" she asked him, dangling the keys from her finger. He seemed like he'd know better than she. In all honesty, there was no reason for him to hang about at all; if any part of him was sane, he'd try to get away as far from this trouble-attracting ambassador as possible. But if he did choose to stay, she didn't mind driving, if he didn't mind giving directions.
During his walk over, Steve realized what he'd missed.
There had been a look of recognition behind her eyes just before he turned away... and suddenly he felt like a scrawny kid again. His heart leapt into his throat, his stomach back flipped and he was pretty sure his lungs exploded. She was alive. She was young. She remembered him! Back during the war he'd always taken her memory for granted, but now that she did he couldn't help but be grateful. So damn grateful.
For the next moment he was compelled to do something reckless. But he stamped that down. You can't just walk up to a girl and kiss her, Steve.
Any number of things could have happened since they last saw each other. He had no way of knowing how she even felt about him. He could have been dead for years in her mind. And which Steve did she know? Did she know the Steve that was supposed to be here? That guy was a lot different from him. Shifting his jaw in mild shame for being a toe shy of having actually done it, he was grateful for the conversation which provided a much needed derailing to his train of thought.
"Well. As long as we've got you." He smiled warmly.
Had he just said that?
Right. He was going to ignore that.
"I can take us to the old Stark Manor. There should be first aid kits there as well." Approaching her, he offered out his palm, downturned. "With respect, ma'am, I'm not sure you're in any state to drive." If she didn't surrender the keys and told him to back off, he'd walk around and buckle up on the passenger's side. But he hoped that she realized that her gut wound was worse for driving than his shoulder wound. And his didn't run so high a change of internal bleeding.
The vision, fleeting as it had been, felt vivid like a memory, yet at the same time, foreign, as though it was from someone else's life. The technology in the room had looked dated, like they belonged in a time long before hers, but inexplicably familiar.
Steve seemed inexplicably familiar. It wasn't just in his face anymore, it was in his movements--his lithe steps, the slight swaying of his broad shoulders--things that seemed as though she'd seen thousands of times before. Where? Why? She'd always had this sense of wrong-footedness ever since she'd woken up from the accident, but never had she felt more keenly than now. It almost hurt.
"Well. As long as we've got you."
It was a charming smile (had to be, really, with a face like that) but it didn't explain why her knees nearly buckled and a strangled sound--halfway between a laugh and a sob--almost escaped her. Instead, she found herself shaking her head, wanting to tell him that his gladness to have her was misplaced because there was something, somethingelse far more miraculous at work here, but she just couldn't put into words as to what it was. It felt substantial, impossible, fantastic, and every cell in her body knew it, was vibrating because of it, but goddammit, her mind wouldn't form a single coherent thought.
If she opened her mouth, nothing but half-choked sounds and gibberish would spew out, and she was thankful when the man continued to speak. She used his words to distract her, just for the moment.
Peggy considered his proposition and was about to respond when the sound of screeching tires pulled her away from the conversation. Judging from the headlights, there were two cars approaching, at suspiciously high speeds, with no evidence of slowing down. That was enough to give Peggy reason to slam the keys into Steve's open palm and march herself obediently into the passenger's side. She was stubborn, but she wasn't stupid; he was right about her condition, and they'd stand a higher chance at survival with him at the wheel.
(Even though an automatic was hardly considered driving, in her opinion).
"I hope you're a fast driver," Peggy remarked, buckling herself in (the surge of adrenaline had restored her ability to speak), "or else this will be a short ride."
Hearing the squeal and screech of tires on pavement, Steve was damn grateful for the keys that were slapped into his hand. All but bolting into the driver's side, Steve shoved the keys into the ignition and powered on the car. Inside of a single second his seatbelt was buckled and he'd thrown the car into reverse. Pushing down hard on accelerator, Steve backed them up fast toward the oncoming cars and then quickly turned the wheel, ignoring the protest from his shoulder as their car weaved out of the way. Steering into their one-hundred and eighty degree turn, Steve floored the gas and peeled out onto the street, now facing the proper direction.
His hand instinctively went for the clutch before he jerked it away, ignoring the muscle memory he had to shift gears.
Feeling the blood trickle down his bicep and the stain seep a little further into his shirt from where the shoulder wound was aggravated, Steve took to steering primarily with one hand, with only the occasional assist from his wounded one on particularly tight turns. Something that the typical chase would involve, but Steve had an idea.
"We're going out onto the highway," he warned. His speeds were already well past the limit in the area of town they were in but he figured a little illegal activity could be forgiven in these circumstances. Thanking the Lord for his enhanced reflexes, Steve wove in and out of traffic as they sped toward the nearest entryway onto the highway. Driving toward the light to let them in, Steve watched as it flicked from amber to red.
"Hold on." With a sharp turn he got up onto the shoulder of the turn lane and exploited the momentary window before the other cars started merging. One of the cars behind them attempted to follow suit and was t-boned by an oversized pick-up truck. The other car, however, kept pace and narrowly avoided a collision as it followed after them, leaving Steve to keep along the lines of his original plan. Taking the middle lane of the freeway, he weaved between it and the fast lane and right side lane to gain as much distance as he could.
The other driver was keeping the paces, leaving Steve to watch as the speed of their vehicle continued to climb. Continuing on the middle lane, Steve's eyes caught what he wanted.
"Brace yourself." With a sharp turn of the wheel, Steve took them over to the right lane and had them merge onto an exit ramp at the very last possible second. The screech of textured road warned them that they would be headed into a concrete divider if they weren't careful. Fortunately, Steve managed to avoid that as they went up onto the ramp. The car that was in pursuit was forced to slam onto its breaks and throw itself into reverse in an attempt to follow after them.
Continuing to drive along the shoulder, Steve turned down the nearest streets he could find and slowed his speed. After a minute of more leisurely driving, the tension in his body language dissipated and he sighed in relief.
"Are you all right?" He asked as he took them toward the old Stark Manor.
Peggy Carter feel free to get them inside of the Manor and start the interrogation, if you want x3
Fortunately for Peggy, Steve seemed more than up to the task of navigating them out of this latest conundrum. There was an impossible number of buttons and blinking lights on the dashboard, all of which he plainly ignored (proving Peggy's suspicions that modern technology was needlessly complicated) as he fired up the engine and reversed the car, seemingly straight into the oncoming vehicles. It was counterintuitive and should've been terrifying, except Peggy guessed what he was planning. Preparing for his next move, she dug herself deeper into her seat, gripping the grab handle tightly to steady herself. As she suspected, the car did a slick little 180-degree turn and shot forward, right between the other cars.
"Well done," she said airily, as though she were supervising a teenager who'd just completed a three-point turn. Cheekily, she couldn't help but add, "Though your exit would have been neater with the hand brake."
Then, they were racing down one of the main roads, at full speed like they were in the bloody Grand Prix. With her driver channeling his inner Nuvolari, so Peggy took the opportunity to pop open the glove box to see what she could find. Crushed coffee cups, crumpled bills, a stained car manual, and a rental agreement protected by a transparent folder. The car had been loaned to a 'John Smith' (how creative) and when she checked the recorded phone number (peeling her phone from wherever Steve had kept it), she found it no longer in service. Well, if that wasn't helpful. Peggy was just about to shut off her phone when a horrid, shrill ringing nearly gave her a heart attack.
"Jesus bloody..."Slide it to the right, Carter, there we go. "Yes? Oh, hello, Vera," said Peggy smoothly, her hand sliding back up to the handle as Steve swerved into the highway entrance. "Mm, we got cut off earlier, didn't we? Sorry about that--I dropped my phone. Slippery little bugger."
Through some expert maneuvering, Steve managed to crash one of their pursuers into an oncoming truck.
"I'm fine, I'm, ehm, on the highway now. A car? Mm, yes, it seems I managed to find one, and a driver..." she added, with a glance to her left. A second glance, this time towards the side mirror, told her the other car was not far behind, but Steve's warning told her he'd take care of that soon enough. Peggy nearly dropped her phone in the midst of his latest stunt, but managed to keep hold of it--and her conversation.
"No, no, that was nothing--the screeching? Erm, the radio, you know the rubbish they put on these days." Having lost their final pursuer, the car slowed to a more humane speed. "Listen, Vera, I have to go. Tunnels, you know how it is. I'll see you tomorrow, good night."
Peggy hung up, just in time to hear Steve's question. "Why wouldn't I be?" she replied, dropping the phone into one of the cup holders. "I've been through worse." For some reason, she seemed to remember having once dangled off the roof of a speeding car.
They pulled into the driveway of an old, yet relatively well-kept mansion. The lights were off and it seemed unoccupied, yet there was something about it that struck Peggy upon first sight. "I've been here before," she said without thinking, before she shook her head and made her way inside.
As Steve had mentioned, the manor did have several first aid kits in its possession, one of which Peggy rifled through and from it, retrieved a bottle of penicillin and a syringe. Drawing up a healthy amount of medication into the barrel, Peggy made her way towards the two men, now bound in chairs thanks to the handiwork of her blond, blue-eyed partner.
"This isxezoran zakiafyde," she said coolly as a greeting, tapping the syringe. She leaned against one of the chairs and dangled the syringe in front of the men. "Causes one's lungs to shrivel into the size of a peanut. A painful and slow death. Quite unpleasant, I imagine."
"You're lying," growled one of the men. "You couldn't get your hands on something like that--"
Peggy dazzled him with a smile. "I'm an ambassador, not a saint. If you're so certain, shall we test it on your friend?"
The other man balked. "W--wait, no, no, I hate needles, Christ, no--"
"She's bluffing, idiot!"
"No, no, no, no, no, no--I'll talk! I'll talk!"
"For fuck's sake, the bitch is faking you out! She's just a--umph!"
The punch Peggy delivered to his jaw smarted like hell, but being able to knock him unconscious was well worth the pain. She turned to the only other conscious prisoner in the room and gave him a pleasant smile. He turned even paler, and gulped. "Now then, shall we?"
To his credit, the goon was forthcoming with the information he had, but his intel turned out to be less than helpful. Their employer had been a disguised voice from a burner phone who told them nothing except the target--the Old England ambassador, Margaret Carter--and the promise of two hundred grand, all in cash. They'd rented the car themselves with a stolen credit card and driver's license.
"And what of the cars that were following us?"
But he didn't know anything about them, and pleaded ignorance even with the needle jammed into his neck. A dark stain had started to appear on his trousers, and frustrating as it was, she was inclined to believe he was telling the truth. But she didn't have to rely on her judgement alone. Glancing behind her to find Steve, Peggy arched an eyebrow in his direction and shrugged, the universal gesture for 'Well, what now?'.
