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3pirouette · 9 months

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Fic: The Captain and The Missus (3/?)

Title: The Captain and The Missus

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: AU of CA:TFA

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Instead of wanting to recreate the serum, Schmidt wants every trace of it wiped from existence so he can be the sole one to benefit from it. This means that Steve’s life is in danger, and Peggy’s new job is to keep him alive as he travels in hiding with the USO tour.

Story A/N: AU of CA: TFA, based on @roboticonography’s idea of having Peggy go on tour with Steve as “Mrs. America”

(Robot’s post HERE: https://3pirouette.tumblr.com/post/654017864817360896/steggy-24-49)

SO... Yes. yes, it's true. I've somehow managed to only update this once a year during the past three years for Steggy Week. At least I'm consistent.

For 2023, this satisfies Steggy Week Day 2: WIPs and Updates.

Chapter 3: Getting on the Right Track

Summary: Peggy and Steve are off on their adventure, but she’ll need to start relying on him just as much as she wants him to rely on her if this is going to work.

A/N: Yes. I’ve now posted one chapter a year for three years in a row for Steggy Week. It’s become tradition. I think a lot of it has to do with this story really just coming slow. I love it, but it’s not flowing as nicely as I’d like it to, so when I get to Steggy Week, I see the WIP category, and go “oh! I should update that!”

So, yeah. Please be kind about it.

~*~

Peggy huffed as she sat on the bench, sliding over to make room for him, irritated. “I’m already not liking this.”

Steve settled softly, trying to tuck his body into a space that used to seem roomy to his 90-pound self, and now seemed cramped for his new body. “The seat?” He turned and looked up the aisle. “I can ask the conductor if there’s—"

“No, no,” she interrupted him, setting her bag on her lap and playing with the edge. “Playing the nagging wife. ‘Oh, do be gentle! My grandmother’s china is in there! Please keep that on the bottom, men, I don’t want it tipping. Oh, could you do me a favor and make sure all our trunks are labeled? Couldn’t lose one, you know!’” She huffed again, looking over at him, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Those men nearly dropped that entire trunk full of ammunition and finely tuned decoders!”

Steve looked alarmed and dropped his voice, leaning in to her. “Could they have exploded?”

She pressed her lips and turned away for a moment, trying not to be angry for his ignorance. “No,” she mumbled, looking back, “But we won’t get another chance at getting more decoders or half of the other kit in there if something breaks or de-calibrates. It won’t explode, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t delicate.”

Steve nodded, letting the information settle for a moment. “I was a little curious why you were being so specific about them.”

Peggy glanced around the sparsely populated car, still caught up in her anxiety. The car ride to the train station had been quiet, which she had hoped came across as contentment, but it was really more her nerves than anything. “I understand why we couldn’t take a transport, but I’d take a well-trained private over a single one of those brutes tossing around our luggage any day. I felt like I was running basic training all over again out there. Everyone on this train must think you’re horribly hen-pecked.”

For a moment she saw that 90-pound man reemerge as he twiddled his thumbs and his jaw opened and closed as he tried to come up with an answer that would appease her. It was enough to crack the wall of growing anxiety and soften her just a little bit. She took pity on him and set her hand on his to stop the fidgeting. “I’m being ridiculous.” She started another sentence, but had to turn away as she yawned, big and wide, into her elbow.

“Tired?” Steve asked, his fingers almost, but not quite, holding her hand.

She sighed, turning back to him as the train rumbled to life under them. “A bit. Had trouble sleeping last night.”

“Why don’t you take a nap?” He shrugged, half smiling. “We’ve got, what… six hours?”

Peggy clicked her tongue behind her teeth and pulled her hand back, sitting tall. “That’s exactly why I can’t take a nap.” She took a deep breath, looking around the train. “Beginnings and endings of operations are the most dangerous part. Anyone could have followed us here. I can’t let my guard down for a second.”

“Peggy,” he started, almost stern, “there’s barely anyone on this train car. I don’t think that the eighty-year-old woman or the two little kids over there are planning anything nefarious. How could they have figured out our plan and followed us here already?”

She looked at him hard, knowing he was trying to placate her. “How, indeed?” She mused sarcastically, “And how do you think a Hydra Agent managed his way into a top secret SSR bunker to try to kill you and Erskine, hum?” She didn’t mean to be sharp, didn’t mean to open the wound that was still too close to the surface, but the thought still kept her up at night.

That man shouldn’t have been able to get in there. Someone in the SSR was ratting them out to Hydra.

That meant that nothing, nothing they were going to do that anyone else knew about, was safe.

Especially putting Steve in this damn show.

Steve nodded in understanding, shrugging half-heartedly, a shadow passing over his face at the thoughts of what had happened. “I get it, I do.”

“I have to keep you safe.” She replied softly, urgency filling her voice. “I can’t let my guard down, even for a moment.”

“So what?” he didn’t miss a beat, his own eyes accusing now, “You’re not going to ever fall asleep?”

“Well, I—”

He shook his head. “No, Peg. This isn’t one sided.”

She leaned forward, dropping her voice down low, “It’s my job to keep you alive, and I’m damn well not going to—”

He reached over, grabbing her hand. The movement was enough to derail her frustration and turn it to curiosity as he held her left hand up to his. “This, Peg, says we’re partners.” He moved his hands, letting their matching rings shine in the light, smiling a little and letting his own frustration morph to earnestness. “For better or for worse. Like it or not. You and me against the world.”

Peggy didn’t want to admit that the moment, born out of frustration and desperation, was extremely tender, or that she felt a little thrill of excitement at the confident, strong way he took her hand, or that she felt cared for in the soft way that he cradled her hand as he lined up their rings. No, she tried to ignore the fact that his eyes were damn near sparkling as he said those words, filled with all the emotions she was feeling, and maybe even more. She really, really didn’t want to admit that of all the moments in her life, that was the most damn romantic of them all.

“Steve, I…” Her voice drifted away. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but she knew she needed to protest, needed to change this moment before it got way out of hand.

“We’re a team,” he whispered. “The moment we left that base this morning, it was just us. I don’t like to think about the fact that someone has already tried to kill me, and that it’ll probably happen again, and I don’t like thinking about the fact that you’re in that line of fire with me. But you’re here to protect me, and even though no one’s said it before now, I’m saying it and I mean it: I’m protecting you, too.”

Peggy struggled for composure; she tried to keep a straight face when everything inside her was falling apart. She’d never been one for big declarations or sappy sentiments and coming from anyone else, it might have felt trite or overly sugary, but Peggy knew with every fiber of her being that Steve meant it. He well and truly meant it.

She couldn’t remember if anyone had ever said something so simple in such a profound way to her before. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever believed someone so fervently before.

It was a struggle to pull her focus back out, to keep the world from closing in until there was just the two of them, hands cradled together, train bouncing below them as Steve just happened to outdo her ex-fiance’s proposal of marriage in a few earnest words, but she managed it. “Thank you,” she whispered, knowing the words were not enough for the depth of the sentiment he just expressed. She forced the tension to break with a smile, squeezing his hand. “You don’t need to work so hard, Steve, I’ve already married you.”

He chuckled, the heaviness around them lightening almost instantly. He looked away, ears turning red as he whispered into the aisle, “Maybe I’m trying to get you to fall in love with me.”

“Hum?” The questioning sound was out of her throat before she could stop herself. She knew very well what he’d said, but didn’t quite want to believe it. She managed to keep a straight face as he panicked, letting go of her hand and shaking his head.

“Nothing,” he tried to cover, poorly, and forced a nervous smile at her. “You should take a nap, really.”

Her smile only lifted her lips a little as she ducked her head. “To be honest, I don’t know if I could if I wanted to, I’m still so keyed up.”

This time his smile was genuine as he rooted in his pocket to pull out a small paperback. “Offer stands. I don’t need much sleep these days, anyway.”

She watched him, unabashedly, as he turned to the book and flipped through until he found his page. Without thought she reached out, hand wrapping around his wrist to get his attention. He looked at her, but didn’t say anything.

“That meant a lot,” she managed to choke out, uncomfortable with the way the words made her feel exposed, but knowing she needed to make him understand how she felt, “what you said about us. You and me.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Together against the world.”

“Yes,” she could feel the stress start to drain from her. “A team.” She took a slow, deep breath. It was like the worry, the anxiety of the last two days was getting left behind them with each passing second and each mile they put between the base and themselves, but she’d never been more serious. “I’m going to hold up my end, Steve, I promise.”

“I know you will,” he put down the book, flipping his hand and lacing their fingers together. “And I’ll keep up mine.”

~*~

She remembered holding his hand, contentedly, looking out the window and pretending she was watching the landscape pass them by while he read with one hand, but instead took the time to clock each and every passenger, to look them over in the reflection and try to gauge their threat level.

Somewhere after the pre-teen boy three rows up, she realized she had her head on his shoulder. It didn’t much seem to matter, though, as she could still hear him turning pages and they were supposed to be married, after all.

Just after the man two rows back, she thought that she’d just close her eyes for a minute.

Just one.

And five hours later, she woke up tucked into Steve’s side as the train slowed, chugging into the station.

~*~

They were hustled from the station to the theater by a small man with a pinched face, who seemed both annoyed by and indifferent to their presence. He assured them that their trunks would make it to their hotel room safely before he ushered them off the platform and into a small car.

She was both impressed and somewhat relieved that Steve managed to make his own fuss about the trunks as they were ushered off the train, she didn’t even need to speak a word on the subject.

They were quiet in the car, the trip quite a bit longer than they expected. “I thought we were going to be in DC?” Steve asked as the man navigated the streets.

“The show will open in DC, rehearsals are outside of the city,” the man replied. “Your hotel is close to the theater, don’t worry.” He grumbled, mumbling under his breath, “I know you’re worried about your trunks.”

Peggy tried to hold back her smile, but couldn’t. Steve gave her a gentle tap with his elbow, and she acknowledged his performance on the subject with a grateful bow of her head.

“How are you feeling?” He spoke softly. Even though they were bound to be overheard by their driver, who was under no obligation to keep anything he heard a secret, his soft voice went a long way to making the question feel at least a little private.

“Much better,” she replied just as quietly. “Suppose I was more tired than I thought.”

She expected a smile, or maybe a flirt- something he’d been more confident in over the last day- but instead he sobered and dropped his voice even lower. “I’m glad you felt safe enough. I always want you to feel safe with me.”

She couldn’t help but smile this time. “I do.”

~*~

It occurred to Peggy, as she walked into the theater, that she’d never been in one as something other than a patron. She’d gone for films and for the occasional play, even to hear concerts… but she’d never been in a theater where she wasn’t ushered to her seat and treated to a performance.

She was stunned as she followed Steve through the backstage area, stepping over coils of rope and avoiding scattered set-pieces that were half painted and half built. The bright white backstage lights were nothing compared to the colorful performance lights she was used to. She’d always thought theaters seemed too glamorous, so frivolous, and yet, there was exposed, dirty brick and sawdust everywhere. There wasn’t a luxurious velvet curtain in sight and instead it seemed little more than a warehouse with an audience.

It left her with an odd feeling of awareness, as if it was the first time she realized everything she’d seen on a stage really was just smoke and mirrors, sets and rigs and pulleys that made Peter Pan fly and Hamlet’s father rise from the grave. Seeing the lighting rigs bare overhead and the mess of lights and wires and rope on the stage made her feel a peculiar sensation, as if she was seeing something no one was ever meant to see.

“About six feet to the left!”

The shout pulled her out of her thoughts, and immediately reminded her that this was a place that posed an extreme danger for the both of them. The man who was shouting was a rotund man standing just below the stage, eyes on the two workers hanging a large American Flag from the rigging. He shook his head then caught sight of them, only looking slightly interested.

“You must be my headliners!” He gestured for their pinch-faced chauffeur to bring them down the stairs to him. He watched as Steve helped Peggy down the steep steps at the front of the stage with a hand, the raw wood wobbly. “Don’t worry about that,” he bellowed, “They may be unsteady, but they won’t be there for the show. Just while we’re getting the stage set up.” He shot a careful look over to where the men were hanging the flag, “It’s been busy around here since we got the rewrites.”

He held out his hand to Steve, “I’m Walter Pennington, Producer.”

“Steve Rogers,” He shook his hand, pulling back when he saw the man fight to keep a pleasant face at his strength. “And this is my wife, Peggy.”

Peggy knew right away what kind of man he was by the fact that he barely acknowledged her. No handshake, and barely even a nod. Instead, he kept his attention on Steve. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to being looked over, but rather that it always stung.

“Well, they weren’t lying that you’re strong,” Walter said, flexing his hand a few times. “That’s good.” He took another short glance at Peggy. “We were surprised you’d want to bring the little lady with you, never mind incorporate her into the show.” He laughed, “I’m even more shocked Brandt went for it.”

Steve glanced over at Peggy. Neither of them had been briefed on what, exactly, Brant had told the people who were making the show, and she realized that her nap today really was lost time. They had no story put together and would be making things up as they went- at least for today.

That was always dangerous territory.

“Well, we’re still newlyweds,” Steve managed the reply fairly quickly, pulling Peggy into his side. “How could I leave a gal like this back home?”

She felt Steve’s hand just barely tighten at her shoulder, and she could tell he was just as uncomfortable with the man’s suggestive gaze as she was. “I guess not,” Pennington finally mumbled, though Peggy was sure there was something else he wanted to say.

Walter cleared his throat and finally looked at her face, addressing her directly. “I suppose we can work you into a few of the singing numbers, though that’s really up to the director.”

“I don’t sing,” she declared, arching an eyebrow at the man. His clothes said high class but the way he leered at her proved he hadn’t had a proper upbringing.

“Well, then,” he looked her up and down again, not hiding it, “At least you’ll look good in the kick line.”

Peggy wished she could punch him, the way he looked at her reminiscent of far too many men who thought they were better than her. She could feel Steve tensing up beside her. “And I don’t dance.”

He cleared his throat, crossing his arms. “Oh, you don’t, huh?” He leaned over to Steve, “What does she do?”

“Well, she…” Steve stuttered only for a second, thinking on his feet and smiling that boyish smile of his, “she’s swell at telling stories, pretty versatile, really, and just look at that smile!”

The producer turned his head back to her and she flashed him her best grin, trying her best to hide the disgust and sarcasm. “’Swell’ at telling stories?” He sighed. “I’m supposed to sell a great American hero who married a Brit?”

“I mean, we are allies,” Steve tried to rationalize.

Walter sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “What did Brandt think, you were going to stand on stage and smile? You might have a nice set of gams there, but that and a nickel will get you a cup of coffee.”

“I think you’ll find,” Peggy started loud, clear, and very American sounding, “that I can blend in quite well when necessary. I’m happy to affect any accent you’ll need for the stage, and do most anything except sing and dance.”

Walter looked up at Steve, obviously not used to being talked to in that manner by a woman, waiting for Steve to say something to her. Instead, he gave her a little squeeze and met the man’s confused gaze with a proud smirk. “That’s my girl!”

He wasn’t pleased, and he didn’t try to hide it. “Rehearsals start tomorrow, you’ll get your script then.”

“How long will we be here in rehearsals?” Steve asked, genuinely interested. Peggy wanted to know, too. They had woefully little information about the process.

“Three weeks of rehearsals then a soft opening run of four shows here. You open in DC for a week, then there’s a cross country schedule.” He tipped his head to their chauffeur who had stayed close. “Dave there will bring you to your hotel.”

Peggy almost smiled. Their pinch-faced man had a name. Dave.

“You need anything while you’re here, you ask Dave. Once you’re on the road, you’re on your own. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve replied, almost reflexively.

Walter looked him up and down once more. “Yeah, I think they’ll believe you belong in the army.” He turned away from them, mumbling as he left, “Damn government contract.”

Peggy had only the barest of moments to share a stunned look with Steve before they were interrupted by Dave, who stepped in front of them and motioned for them to follow him back through the audience.

~*~

Their hotel was not quite homey, but not quite bleak: two high towers full of rooms with a central connecting lobby filled with the dining room and common rooms. It was housing all the staff and performers for the show, most of whom, at least according to Dave, already knew each other from being on the performance circuit.

Steve unlocked their room, pocketing the key and swinging open the door wide. It wasn’t much: pale cream colors on the walls and faded floral bedsheets with matching curtains, a worn loveseat and a tiny table with two unsteady chairs. The bathroom was small, but having their own private one was a luxury.

“Not too bad,” Steve mused, walking around. He patted the tops of their trunks, sitting across from the bed. “How do you think they fared?”

“Well enough, I’m sure.” Peggy smiled just a little, eyes falling on the single bed. “Better than a tent on the front,” she mused.

He chuckled a little, shoving his hands in his pocket. “Very big upgrade,’ he agreed. “Should we unpack?”

Peggy held up her hand, her wife façade falling and the agent taking over, serious and stoic. She pulled a small black box from her purse and flicked a small button, moving it up and down as she slowly side stepped her way through the room. She slid it over the dresser and under the bed, in the small shower stall and behind the toilet. Finally, she sighed happily, clicking the box off and gesturing to the room. “Proceed.”

He didn’t move, but rather pointed to the box in her hand. “What was that?”

“One of Howard’s designs,” she held it up, admiring it with a small smile. She tapped the small, dark bulb on the end. “It lights up in the presence of an electronic listening device.”

Steve looked around the room, crestfallen that he had been so blindly trusting of their accommodations. “So… we’re good?”

“For bugs? Yes. Though the walls seem about as thick as a piece of parchment, so we should get used to keeping our voices down.”

His shoulders fell just a bit more as the whole thing became just a little more real to him. “You… you really think I’m in danger here?”

Her lips pressed tight as she looked up to him, she forced the tiniest of smiles. “I think that Colonel Phillips is one of the smartest men I’ve ever worked with, and despite his misgivings about you, he’s a keen judge of people. I also think that if the goal was to simply guard you or keep you safe, not only are there many other people besides myself who can do that job, it could be easily accomplished by putting you in a cell in Alamogordo. The Colonel has a great distrust of Senator Brandt, and made sure I was the one sent with you. Brandt didn’t make that pick, no matter how he tried to sell it- Phillips did. He told me himself.” She took a deep breath. “He had this show all ready for you to go in to without more than a day’s notice, and is a main suspect in how that Hydra Agent got past our defenses. Whatever’s going on, Phillips wasn’t just trusting anyone with this, and I’m not going to take any of it lightly.”

He was silent for a moment, taking in all he hadn’t known: that Phillips picked Peggy, not Brandt, and that Brandt was a suspect for being in cahoots with Hydra. “Thank you,” he finally whispered out, forcing himself to move on. “I guess… I guess we should get unpacked.”

Peggy shook her head, “Only the littlest bit. If we make it look like we’re living out of the trunks, it’s less suspicious that we’re not unpacking two of them.”

He nodded, undoing the straps on the top one and opened it, moving aside to let Peggy see the artillery had made it safe and sound. “We should put these on the bottom, I think, and ours on top so it’ll be harder for anyone to snoop.”

Peggy smiled up at him, proud. “Thinking like a spy already!” She reached in and pulled out a small handgun and a little filled canvas bag. “That should do for now, make sure those straps are tight.”

Peggy set her bounty on the counter and moved to the second trunk as Steve tightened the straps and moved it deeper in the room, setting it in the back corner, then grabbing another trunk and stacking it on top of it. Peggy pulled out a pair of retractable batons and the boxes of clothes Howard had sent with them, setting those on the counter as well. When she turned back, Steve was at the edge of the bed, holding a small, wrapped package, looking more than a little bashful.

“I, uh…” he laughed nervously, looking down at his toes. “This seemed like a good idea at the time, but uh, seems corny now.”

“What is it?” Peggy asked softly, taking a small step closer and fighting to keep her hands from fidgeting in the folds of her skirt.

Steve turned red, but met her eyes with a big smile that reminded her of the one she’d seen on him at the beginning of basic training. “A wedding present.”

She swallowed, hard. “I… I haven’t gotten you anything.” The retort seemed silly, even to her ears, but it somehow relaxed him.

“I didn’t expect you to. I just…” He shrugged and stepped forward, holding it out. “Here.”

She took it in her hands, soft and light, and let her fingers run over the brown paper wrapping and the little blue ribbon bow around it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a properly wrapped present. She realized she was taking her time, and looked up at him, smiling. “Thank you,” she almost whispered, still surprised.

He shoved his hands back in his pockets, shoulders up to his ears. Slowly she pulled at the bow, and separated the paper to reveal a piece of black fabric that looked suspiciously like a garter belt, but with a little more fabric to it. She looked up at him, his cheeks slowly burning red with embarrassment. “A garter?”

“It’s- it’s a holster.” He reached out one hand, almost touching it, then pulling back. “Or it’s supposed to be, anyway.” He cleared his throat and fought for composure. “After you left Howard’s lab yesterday he mentioned that his butler’s wife was a seamstress and had done the majority of the sewing for the… stuff he gave you.” Peggy fought to not laugh at how cute he was, struggling around the topic. “Anyway, he seemed to think there was some left, so I asked if she could make you something nice. Anna seemed to think you’d find this more useful.”

That caught her up short, even as she pulled the holster up to look at it. “She knows?”

Steve shrugged. “I was as surprised as you are, but apparently all she knows is that the fabric Howard gave her is supposed to be a lighter version of armor, and she figured if you’d need armor you’d need this.” One side of his lips turned up. “Sounded like a good idea, to me.”

Peggy smiled. The holster was genius: made out of the same protective fabric that the stockings and slips were made of, it would lay extremely flat against her thigh and the flap at the top would keep the shape from being too conspicuous. She’d been worried how she was going to keep a firearm on her when she needed to be on stage, and this had just made it very, very easy. “This is wonderful, Steve. Thank you.”

“You like it?” He sounded like a hopeful little boy.

Peggy bent over and slid it up her leg, reaching out and settling the small handgun she’d pulled from the trunk in it. “I love it!” She let her skirt fall back over her legs, and noticed that he’d looked away while her bare thigh was on display. She spun, letting the skirt settle. “Can you tell it’s there?”

He looked, swallowing as he stared at her legs. “Uh, no. No, I can’t.”

She smiled brightly. “Then it’s perfect.”

~*~

Peggy felt better with the gun nestled against her thigh as they walked down to the lobby. With the entirety of the show’s cast and crew staying at the hotel, they were providing breakfast and dinner each day. Steve and Peggy stopped at the double doors of the small banquet room, watching the people, most of whom seemed to know one another, hustle around the large buffet and bounce from table to table, chatting.

“Not too much different from the mess, I guess.” Steve mumbled, tugging at his shirt sleeves. The civilian clothes he changed into fit him tight across the shoulders, almost too tight, and the pants were too big by at least two sizes. Most of the clothes he brought with him needed tailoring, badly, but they were all he could piece together on short notice.

He’d only had this physique for less than a week, after all, and none of his old clothes fit. Even the socks were too small.

Peggy slipped her arm through his, setting them forward. “Stay close, please.”

“Not a problem,” he mumbled, trying to force smiles as they moved through the room. It was easy enough, stepping in line and filling plates. No one questioned that they were supposed to be there as everyone was enthralled in their own dinner conversations. Peggy struggled to split her attention, eyeing each performer in the room, looking for someone whose gaze lingered just a little too long or whose eyebrows knit a little too deeply, while trying to decide what to eat. Apparently, rationing wasn’t quite as bad here as it was in London, and nowhere near what it had been on the front lines. Bowls and platters were full of chicken and mashed potatoes and rolls and butter and there were little cakes at the end of the line that made her do a double take.

She hadn’t seen a proper dessert in months.

“Bloody Nora,” she mumbled, trying to keep from letting her eyes pile more than she could eat on her plate.

“Yeah, it’s a good spread,” Steve whispered beside her, not being shy about piling his plate high. “Better than rations, huh?”

She carefully picked out just one of the little finger cakes at the end of the table and looked up at him, astounded. “Does everyone in America eat like this?”

“This?” He laughed a little, taking his own cake and then following her to a corner where there was a free table. “No. This is pretty extravagant.” He set his plate down, noticing she set them in the corner, where they’d both have a good line of vision to keep nearly the whole dining room in view. “I’ll go grab us some drinks. Water? Tea?”

“Water, please” she replied, still a little shell shocked. She watched him take the few steps to another table and fill two tall glasses and she unfurled her napkin and revealed the silverware that had been waiting for them on the table. The room still buzzed, but she could see that it was with a jovial familiarity. People were talking like old friends, making new friends, smiling and laughing.

The mood, and the food, was a far cry from the front she’d grown used to during her time with the SSR. She wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. It certainly made her anxious.

Steve slid in across from her, setting her glass down. He smiled and pulled out his silverware, taking no time before tucking into his food. He stopped a few bites in when he realized she hadn’t started. He hurriedly wiped his mouth like a little kid and sat up tall. “Did… did you want to say grace or something?”

“No, sorry,” Peggy lifted her fork and tried to smile. “Just… people watching, I suppose.”

He started eating again, this time a little slower, with his eyes on her more often. “Did you… notice anything?”

Peggy swallowed and dabbed at her lips, moving her peas around her plate with the fork. “No, which bothers me.” She sighed quietly, leaning in towards him, “I’m used to knowing more about the situations I’m headed into. We know nothing about these people. I don’t even know who could be lying about who they are because I don’t have any dossiers on them at all.”

“Brandt didn’t give you any of that stuff?” Steve asked, his eyebrow knitting as he speared a piece of chicken.

She shook her head, chewing a forkful of potatoes thoughtfully. “I suppose I could get their bios and headshots somehow, but it still gives us little to go on.”

Steve tapped the fork against his lips, looking around. “What if… what if it’s not anyone here?” He turned back to her. “Wouldn’t it be easier to be an audience member?”

Peggy sipped on her water, nodding. “Could do, yeah.” She looked around, too, picking at her chicken that had seemed so appetizing just a few minutes ago. “Easy in and out. But if it were me? Someone in the show would be invaluable.”

“Like you,” Steve mumbled, looking at his plate and shoving a big forkful in his lips before he could say anymore.

Peggy’s heart skipped a beat, but before she could reply, a shadow slid over them. They both looked up to a bright, smiling face. “So, you must be the guy?”

“Excuse me?” Steve swallowed hard.

“Like, the guy, right? As in Mister Captain America?” She smiled and pulled the chair behind her up to the table. “I’m Angie,” she held out her hand, waiting for Steve to take it.

“Steve.” His handshake was tentative, but that didn’t seem to deter her.

She turned right away and held it out to Peggy, too. “And you must be the Missus!”

“Peggy,” she swallowed the mouthful of food she’d forgotten about, pulling her free hand to cover her mouth as she shook Angie’s hand. “Sorry, you surprised me.”

“Me?” Angie chuckled, eyes wide as she looked Peggy over. “You’re the surprise!” She let her voice drop, telling Peggy a secret she knew Steve could hear. “I mean, I was cast as Betty Carver, so I was a little disappointed when I heard I was getting dropped down to feature.”

Peggy watched Angie’s face fall when neither she nor Steve seemed to react to that. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to know who that is?” Peggy shrugged, trying to play it off as being dim. “We haven’t been given a script yet.”

Angie’s face went from disappointed to outraged. “You haven’t been…” Her mouth worked in disbelief as she looked between the two of them. “Who is your agent? We’ve all had the songs and script for weeks now!”

Peggy felt the sentence hit her like a punch in the gut: whatever Brandt had been planning, it had been going on for weeks, not days. Though they’d both known this couldn’t have been put together in the last few days, the realization that there was already a plan to center around some ultra-strong American hero bothered her deeply. She tried hard not to react to the plain panic in Steve’s eyes while Angie’s face was still on her. She made a snap decision, and decided the more honest they were, the better. “Agent? Why- the US Army, of course!”

Angie laughed, brushing Peggy’s comment away with her hand. “You’re funny! No- come on- tell me so we can help you guys get it all straightened out!” Angie’s smile faded as she watched Peggy’s straight face barely move. “Wait- you’re- you’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“But- this… this is a show. Why would the Army…” She looked between the two of them, truly confused.

Steve cleared his throat and stepped in. “There, uh, was an accident.” He looked down, and kept his eyes averted in a way that Peggy knew meant he was uncomfortable with what he was doing. “I couldn’t serve the way I wanted to, and some of the higher ups thought that this might be the best place for me.”

Peggy watched Angie’s face as she shifted uncomfortably. The young woman clearly hadn’t been prepared for what she thought was an injured veteran before her. Peggy reached out and took Steve’s hand, letting her thumb rub over the knuckle. “We’re very lucky to be here right now,” she nearly whispered, proud of how he’d managed to play his role.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” Angie, for her part, was now mortified, hands covering her mouth as she looked at the two of them. “You’re… wait- are you really married, too? I thought I just got re-cast!”

“What?” Peggy’s head swung around quickly.

“Betty Carver was supposed to be the love interest- the home front girlfriend of Captain America.” She rolled her eyes, talking out loud to herself. “I mean, I was thrown for a loop when I came over here and you were English! Couldn’t figure out why they’d recast the home front girl with an English gal, but…” She softened and turned, smiling genuinely. “Well, I guess it all makes a lot more sense, now.” She looked over at Steve. “You were really a soldier?”

He nodded, and Peggy pushed forward with the charade, skirting the line of reality as close as she could. “It’s how we met.”

Angie’s smile melted even further. “That’s so sweet. I wish I had a guy to write.” She shrugged, and switched gears quickly. “So, wait- you mean you’re really fresh out of the Army, no script or nothin’?”

“Nothin,” Steve confirmed.

“Well, you stick with me. I’ll show you the ropes, introduce you to everyone. Most of us have been taking gigs together for years now. After a while rehearsing and once we’re on the road we’ll be one big family.”

~*~

“I can sleep on the floor,” Steve said warmly, feeling gallant as he took a pillow from the bed even though he was drained from the way Angie had dragged them around the dining room, introducing them to nearly the entire cast.

Peggy pulled it from his hands and tossed it back on the bed. “Absolutely not.” Steve only knitted his brow at her. “The windows face the other side of the hotel. Even with the curtains drawn you can still see shapes. Plus, now that Angie’s introduced us around, I doubt she, or any of them really, will be too shy about stopping by. One overly nosy chorus girl sees you on the floor and starts talking and our cover is blown.”

Steve wasn’t convinced, and looked nervous now. “Still, I didn’t want to—"

“My modesty will survive if yours will.” She set her hands on her hips and looked at him, finding herself tired and frustrated after the afternoon they’d had. “One overly eager bell boy or maid comes in and finds you out of the bed, and we’re in the gossip mill. One wrong word to the wrong person, and this all goes south, you know that.”

He grabbed the pillow back from the bed, just as obstinate. “I don’t sleep that much anyway, it won’t bother me, Peg.”

Peggy shook her head, closing the tiny amount of space between them. “You and me, together against the world, right? But let’s get one thing straight, shall we? My official mission is to make sure you don’t get killed. If you die, I’ve failed,” she paused and smiled proudly, “and I never fail. Even more so than that,” she sighed, her eyes turning softer, “I’m quite fond of you, and I would very much appreciate you not dying.”

“Fond?” Steve nearly squeaked out.

Peggy smiled. Perhaps they’d been dancing about this too much, because his shock, after everything they’d said to each other this afternoon, was not the response she expected to her words. “Yes. Fond. So much so, in fact, that I might even let you take me on a date once this is all over.”

Steve flustered, surprised as he stuttered out, “D-date?” He cleared his throat and composed himself, nodding and looking anywhere but at her. “I mean, yeah. No. I’d love to take you out.” He took a breath and slowed himself down. “I’m… fond, too.”

Peggy smiled, turning her back, ignoring that he turned a deep shade of red. “Affection aside, we need to be comfortable with one another in public for strategic purposes: holding hands, casual touches, even kissing.” He’d very nearly gotten himself under control when she said that and she could see how hard he fought to keep his face from turning red again as she pulled the pillow from his hand, gentler this time. “When people see us, they need to believe we’re a couple, no matter if we love one another or can’t stand each other. Understood?”

He nodded swiftly.

She tossed the pillow down. “Now get in bed.”

He stared blankly at her for a second before sitting on the side of the bed, still fully dressed. “Did you… want to go to bed?” He asked cautiously.

She huffed, sitting heavily next to him. “No,” she admitted. “We need to talk this through. We can’t afford to get the details messed up. We came close a few times today already.”

Steve nodded. “I know. I tried to keep it as close to what really happened as I could, so we couldn’t mess it up, but—”

“No, that was good.” Peggy kicked off her heels and slid back on the bed, tucking her legs under her. “The closer we keep it to reality, the less details we have to remember. But the timeline is off. It’ll be what gets us caught.”

“Because according to the papers we were married before we even met.”

“Exactly.” She nibbled at her thumbnail, turning away to think. “And you were on the European Front. We need to figure out just exactly what your accident was, once these people get comfortable with us—”

“Angie’s already quite comfortable,” Steve mumbled.

Peggy hummed in agreement before continuing, “Once they get more comfortable, they’re not going to hold their questions for long. And it isn’t as if you’ve got anything overtly wrong that would take you off the front lines.”

Steve nodded. “They’re keeping every able-bodied soldier out there. It’s gotta be convincing.”

“Well, we should be able to fend off questions at least for a bit.” Peggy shifted, looking him over seriously.

Steve squirmed under her gaze. “What?”

“Just thinking,” she sighed, forcing her eyes to his. “If you were in your old body, we’d have no trouble passing you off as discharged.”

His laugh was somewhat self-deprecating. “If I were in my old body we wouldn’t be here.”

Peggy looked him over again, her eyes very pointedly popping up from the bed they were both sitting on once her gaze rested there. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

His jaw fell, more out of surprise than anything, and he was even more surprised to see a bright red tint start to shade in around Peggy’s cheeks. She cleared her throat and looked away. “Goodness only knows how people get places, yes?” she asked quickly, pushing through the heavy seriousness that had fallen over them both. She stood, pacing with newfound energy as she tried to halt the images of just what they could do in a bed together. “What if you were in your old body? What could we say was the reason?”

Steve switched trains of thought with her easily, shrugging and curling over, so reminiscent of the frail boned boy he’d once been. “Gosh, take your pick. I’ll start with the A’s: anemia, asthma, angina, all kinds a’ scrawny… then there’s the scoliosis, high blood pressure, constant sinus infections. I had scarlet fever, then rheumatic fever…. Nothing ever felt the same after that.” He almost jumped when he looked up to see she’d managed to creep so close to him that she was leaning in only inches away from his face, staring, fascinated. “What?”

The amazed look on her face never faltered. “How did you ever manage Basic Training?”

He laughed nervously, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he shrugged. “You were there. You know I barely made it through most of the time.”

Her amazement shifted to pride. “Sheer force of will, I imagine, was the only thing between you and collapsing on that field.”

“Probably more often than you’d know.”

Peggy stood slowly and resumed her pacing. “Asthma would work.”

“They catch that right away. No hiding it. I never would have made it past the recruitment center. In fact, there were five times I didn’t.” She hummed, leaning back on her trunk, still looking him over. Steve tried no to hide from her intense gaze. “You know, that’s getting a little…”

Peggy turned her eyes down, shaking her head. “Sorry. Can’t help it.” She looked back up and smiled. “Seems Erskin’s serum worked a bit too well.”

~*~

Peggy stepped out of the bathroom, pin curls hidden under her kerchief, face scrubbed clean with just a light sheen of moisturizer on, her robe covering the only nightgown she had. She smiled when she saw Steve’s back, his face turned carefully away as he sat on his side of the bed. “You can look, you know.”

“I, uh,” as he cleared his throat she could see the pink creeping up his neck, “I didn’t want to presume.”

“I’m sorry to say that there’s nothing scandalous about me without my make-up or with my hair pinned for the night.” She carefully sat on her side of the bed, smiling as his shoulders tensed when he felt the mattress move. “Though I am in a nightgown, I wasn’t allowed to keep the army-issued pajamas.” He slowly turned, looking over, relaxing a little once he saw her. “What?” She chuckled, “Was that all that bad?”

“I just… I didn’t want to presume…”

“You said that already,” she smiled, unable to see anything else but the stammering 98-pound man across from her in the back of the car.

“I know, but it seemed…” he huffed, shrugging.

“You’re not scandalized?” she teased.

He smiled softly. “You look like my Ma.” Her eyes widened and he threw his hands up, rushing to explain. “No, I just, I thought you’d be- I don’t know, more- but not like- no, and then I turned and you were just- normal.” His hands started flying and his eyes darted back and forth as he panicked, words spilling from his lips that didn’t make any of his stuttering confessions better. “But no, not like that. Not normal. You’re pretty. I just assumed you’d be more since I imagined—not that I want more, you’re enough. But I saw you like that with the kerchief and that was just how my Ma used to do her hair and—” His eyes widened comically large, “No! I do not think of my Ma like that. Not that I did or would, but I thought of you like that—”

“You have?” she interrupted, completely amused and charmed at his stammering.

“I have!” He announced, proud, before he realized what he’d said, his face falling again and the stammering resuming. “No, it’s just that, I respect you. A lot. And you’re gorgeous. And we are married, but not for real so then I shouldn’t—”

“Steve!” Peggy smiled, put a hand on his. “Breathe!” He stopped his disjointed rant, looking at her and finally taking a deep breath in, eyes wild with pleading for understanding. “It’s alright. I understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Good,” he chuckled, turning more completely to her, “because I sure don’t.”

Peggy laughed lightly, taking her hands from his. “I believe I have an unfair advantage here as I’ve already seen you without your shirt, and ladies do tend to have quite a few tricks up their sleeves.”

He looked sheepish, swinging his pajama clad legs on the bed, eyes focused on his threadbare undershirt. “I’ve heard fellas say that they’ve seen their girls without make-up and their hair done and they look completely different. Made them not want to date them.”

Peggy shrugged her robe off, setting it on the chair next to the bed. Her nightgown wasn’t exactly revealing, she had dresses with lower necklines, but it was thinned from use and age and she didn’t have another. His eyes traveled her form, and she pretended not to notice as she pulled down the blanket and slipped into the bed. “And do I?”

“No.” He smiled, turning away to click off the lamp to hide his expression. “You’re…” he looked down, trying to pick his words carefully, “just as beautiful.”

Peggy bit her lip, unsure of how to respond as he slipped in the bed, the pillow between them separating their sides. “That’s a kind assessment,” she finally whispered into the darkness.

“It’s the truth,” he whispered back. “Good night, Peggy,” he added gently, looking over the pillow that separated them, the compromise they’d made to keep him off the floor and somehow save her virtue.

“Good night, Steve,” she whispered back, completely sure she’d have quite the difficult time sleeping now that she knew that unlike Fred, he didn’t seem to mind her as she looked not so done up.

#SteggyWeek23 #Steggy Fic #3P's Fic #@roboticonography #Once a year is a valid update schedule I swear

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3pirouette · 9 months

Text

Fic: The Infinity Leap (1/1)

Title: The Infinity Leap

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: Through Endgame, Basic Quantum Leap Orginal Series knowledge required.

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Word Count:

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Dr. Sam Beckett leaps into Agent Peggy Carter to write a wrong, but in the end, he may just end up righting two of them.

Story A/N: This story assumes 3 things: 1. Season 2 of Agent Carter never happened 2. The MCU up though Endgame is otherwise intact and 3. The reader has basic knowledge of Quantum Leap. Quite Frankly, this is really more of a Quantum Leap episode than anything, so I know there’s gonna be like… 5 people interested? But for those of you interested, I hope you really, really enjoy this.

Also, I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m a subscriber to the Outlander/Doctor Who version of time travel that makes the events of Infinity War possible in the Main MCU timeline. Seems Quantum Leap rules also fit into that.

This story is set in 2000, about 5 years after the last “leap” we see in the series, and assumes they get to continue the Quantum Leap program for several years.

I had hoped to really get this to a full length story, but it’s been sitting on my hard drive for a LONG time. In the end, I’m pretty happy with it, even if it isn’t exactly what I set out to write.

For Steggy Week 2023, Day 3: AU’s and Crossovers @steggyfanevents

~*~

Peggy Carter blinked.

Before she’d blinked, she’d been in the conference room, sipping the dregs of the morning coffee as Thompson addressed the room with his usual narcissistic flare.

After she blinked, she was in a white room she’d never seen before, in a white unitard she’d never worn before, and she didn’t feel a thing.

~*~

Sam took a slow breath as the tingling dissipated and did his best to keep a neutral facial expression. He kept his eyes on the man talking, hoping to feign interest. It was always hard stepping into a person when there was something happening, when people expected him to be able to contribute.

He slowly brought his hands under the table and down his stomach: a suit jacket. That seemed to track for the way the rest of the room was dressed, but he felt that funny feeling where his chest was too tight and his neck wasn’t constricted enough. A little lower with his hands and he confirmed what he’d been afraid of: a skirt. He was a woman. Again.

He wiggled his toes and rolled his ankles; at least the heels were sensible. Was he the secretary? He hated being someone’s secretary.

“So that’s it,” the man at the front said sharply, turning to hook his thumbs in his suspenders. “Any questions?”

Sam stayed quiet, hoping to get through the meeting without having to say a word. He looked down at the folder in front of him and immediately tossed the idea of “secretary” out the door. Secretaries didn’t usually have folders marked “eyes only” and “top secret.”

“Even you, Carter?” The man looked directly at Sam, and he looked up, locking gazes. “No thoughts or suggestions?”

Sam knew that tone, recognized it for the goad that it was and wished he could fire back. He almost did, as the man seemed to expect something from him, but he didn’t know what was going on, and didn’t want to change anything before he knew what he was really here to change. “No. Not right now,” he replied, shooting what he hoped was just enough of a smile laced with just enough sarcasm that the man would believe it.

“Yeah, fine. Right.” He turned back to the rest of the men around the table, seemingly upset he wasn’t going to get to spar with him. “You have your assignments.” He waved his hand and everyone stood to leave.

Sam did the same, gathering the papers and coffee in front of him, standing slowly to get used to the feeling of the heels on his feet.

A man with a crutch stopped next to him, whispering even though they were the only people left in the room. “I thought you were ready to give him hell about that plan?”

Sam shrugged, juggling the folder for a second. “Well, I decided it wasn’t the right time.”

The man sighed, stepping forward and through the door. “One of these days he’s going to listen to you, Peggy.”

Sam nodded, slowly following him out to the bullpen of desks. Peggy. Peggy… Carter. He scanned the nameplates and found a Margaret Carter in the back and made his way to the desk. The one thing that was on his side was that everyone seemed engrossed in their own work. Sam sat at the desk and kicked the heels off underneath, wiggling his toes as he looked at the clean desktop. He pulled open drawers and sifted through the papers there, finding little to go on.

He heard the woosh of the imaging room door open behind him and picked out a pad and pulled a pen to his fingers as Al’s voice drifted over him in the noisy room. “Let me tell you, Sam, this is going to be a tough one, that lady in there- she isn’t spilling a thing! We had a hell of a time finding you, and even then, it was a wing and a prayer. Ziggy’s been malfunctioning ever since you leaped, insisting you’re in the 40’s.” He spun, frustrated. “We don’t even have a name.” Sam smiled to himself and tapped the nameplate on the front of the desk, just like he was thinking.

Al moved around in front of him, meandering to look at the name plate. “Margaret Carter…” He huffed, typing it into his handlink. “Well, that’s more than we’ve gotten all morning.” Al leaned back, looking Sam over. “Wow, Sam, you’re…”

Sam looked up, annoyance on his face, but he said nothing.

Al let his hands wave in the air for a moment and sighed. “Yeah, you’re a ‘she’ for sure.” He snapped his mouth closed, for the first time realizing where they were. He looked over the clothes, the decorations on the walls, the telephone on the desk. “This looks a little…” He stepped over to the desk across from Sam where a newspaper was lying next to an Agent drinking his coffee. Al leaned over, eyebrows raising. “April 16, 1948.” He looked at the handlink as it beeped at him. “Ok, fine. You were right.”

Sam looked up, surprised, but put his head down and wrote furiously on the pad before him. “1948?”

Al looked at Sam’s note. “I mean, it’s not unheard of- you have leapt out of your lifetime before… not a lot but…” Al shrugged, then looked up at his handlink as it beeped and blinked in his hand. “This can’t be right.”

“What?” Sam wrote.

Al huffed. “Ziggy is saying that this woman is classified.” Sam’s look asked the question he couldn’t say out loud. “Well, I don’t know!” Al waved his arms, one disappearing through the man seated in front of them as the hologram interreacted with the world around them. “I don’t know how a whole, entire person can be classified. I’m gonna…” He huffed again and pointed to where Sam suspected the door to the imaging chamber was. “We’ll get it sorted. In the mean time, just…” Al shrugged, disappearing into the air.

Sam sighed, crossing out the notes on the paper until they couldn’t be seen. “Oh, boy.”

~*~

Peggy gaped at the woman across from her. “This is, frankly, the worst interrogation I’ve ever been a part of,” she leaned back and crossed her arms, fighting to keep her breathing even. She was trying to come up with a clue as to where she was or why she was taken, but the woman across from her was giving Peggy as little as Peggy was providing.

The woman sighed gently. “I’ve told you, this isn’t an interrogation. I asked your name.”

She laughed, shaking her head and sitting back into the couch more. “You’ve kidnapped me and you don’t even know my name?” Peggy looked her up and down. She was probably poisoned. Maybe gas. She couldn’t believe they’d managed to get her out of the SSR building without anyone noticing or putting up a fight she didn’t remember. It must have been gas. She wondered how many others they had. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Miss,” the young, dark- skinned woman continued, closing the notepad she had in front of her. “If you don’t cooperate, we can’t help you.”

“You’ve refused to tell me who you are or why I��m here, and you don’t even know who I am. I believe we’re done speaking.” Peggy’s mind was racing, but she was somewhat relieved to see the woman slip her pad in her pocket and stand.

~*~

Al stood at the entrance to the Starbright Project, waiting patiently. He was sure Sam needed him in some way, that he’d been gone too long now, but surely a few hours wouldn’t hurt.

He hoped.

The black SUVs stopped in front of him, and out stepped a man in a black suit with unnecessary sunglasses as it was nearly night. He turned, and helped a stately woman out of the back. She was old, older than Al, with fine lines around her mouth and an expertly twisted hairstyle. She moved toward Al with purpose, the man following just a step behind.

The woman stopped right in front of him, and the man that followed stepped next to them. “Admiral Al Calavichi?”

“That’s me,” Al gave a short salute. “And you are…”

The man nodded, then held out his hand. “Agent Coulson, and this is Former Shield Director Margaret Carter.”

“Admiral,” she started, in a soft English tone that let Al know exactly who she was, “I believe we have a lot to talk about.”

~*~

Sam was following the flow of people out of the building, thankful for the idea of a general quitting time. He turned his ankle more than once on the pumps, stumbling out of the elevator just as the sound of the imaging chamber set his teeth on edge. He turned his head, but couldn’t say anything in the crush of people. His eyes said it all: where have you been?

“I know, I know!” Al waved his hands, following Sam as he made his way through the building. “I was sidetracked by… well, you’re not going to believe it.”

Sam raised his eyebrows and stopped, hoping for a payphone but settling for the little door to the side labeled “women.” He slipped into the bathroom and checked each stall before locking the door behind him, Al floating through.

“You’ve been gone all day!” Sam accused, dropping his briefcase on the floor.

“Like I said: sidetracked.” Al shrugged, barely able to hide his excitement.

Sam leaned on the sink, exhausted. “Well, it better be good, because tht bull pen was hell. Those guys, this time…” He shook his head and caught his hat as it fell into his hands. “’Coffee, Peggy. Can you take notes, Peggy? File these, would ya, Peg?’” He made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. “Leaping into women has given me such a different appreciation for them.”

“I have an appreciation for them.” Al pulled the cigar from between his teeth, his eyes unfocusing as he thought back to earlier that day, “And the one that got me sidetracked. When I tell you she was a knock-out! A ten! A real silver fox. I mean—”

“Al!” Sam turned, rolling his ankle and kicking off the heels. “You left me here all day to see a woman?”

“No, actually, I was visited by the head of one of the countries most prestigious intelligence organizations.” He shrugged, a light smile on his face, “who just so happens to be, well…” He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

Sam stared at his reflection, truly seeing Peggy for the first time, mumbling at his friend. “Let’s go, will you?”

Sam’s whisper of desperation stopped the man mid rude gesture and he shrugged. “Anyway, big to-do on arrival, she comes into my office, leaves her goon outside, and starts in on the story.”

Sam tried to straighten his hat in the mirror, feeling nothing of the complex hair style under his hands. “What story?”

“Turns out, you’ve lept into Agent Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. She was a Great American Hero, Sam.” Al’s eyes sparkled. “During World War Two she was a code breaker with the SOE then a spy with the SSR. She was Captain America’s liaison to the agency and tracked Hydra through Europe with the Howling Commandos!”

Sam looked blankly at him, then turned to look at the soft-boned woman in the mirror that stared back at him. It didn’t make sense to him that a woman with that kind of resume was relegated to getting coffee and filing paperwork. “Must be the Swiss Cheese… none of that means much to me.”

“She’s one of the best spies who ever lived,” Al threw up his hand and paced the small bathroom. “But that’s why literally her entire life was classified.”

“Classified?” Sam barked out a laugh, pacing the small bathroom. “What do you mean, classified? We have the highest clearance of any—”

Al lifted his eyebrows, punching more buttons. “Not from SHIELD.”

“SHIELD?” Sam ran his hand over his face, shaking his head. “Why did she show up?”

“Any search for her in a government database gets flagged.” Al shrugged. “She said when she saw it was Starbright, she knew she had to come.”

“She remembers?” Sam asked, astounded.

“She can’t. Well, shouldn’t.” He dropped the handlink down and pushed his cigar back between his lips. “She didn’t say if she did or not.”

“But, if she remembers, that means what I’ve needed to change—”

“Is already changed?” Al twisted his face up and shook his head. “No. No, no, no. That’s not how…” He shrugged and sagged. “I was going to say that’s not how this works, but every time I think we have a handle on it, something surprises me.”

Sam looked at the door, knowing it was only a matter of time before someone else was going to try to get into the bathroom. “So then, did she tell you want I’m here to do?”

“No,” All huffed, twiddling the cigar. “but…”

“But?”

He changed the subject. “But Ziggy thinks you’re here to stop an assassination.”

Sam perked up. He wasn’t sure how he could make something like that happen, especially if an actual spy like Peggy hadn’t been able to. “Assassination? Of who?”

“Angie Martinelli.” Al tapped the handlink and started reading off the facts. “Angie Martinelli was a broadway actress. She and Peggy are roomates, living at the Manhattan home of one Howard Stark.”

Sam rolled his eyes, leaning back into the sink. “Now that name I remember.”

“Imagine if Tony Stark had bankrolled us…” Al mused for a moment, eyes bright. He stopped and sighed. “Missed out. Anyway,” He hit the keys again, waiting for the next bit of information to pop up. “Tomorrow afternoon, Angie will be found in her bedroom, half naked with her throat slit. It’s only after the fact that it was discovered she was hiding that someone had been stalking her, meeting her at the stage door, sending her threatening letters…”

Sam leaned back on the sink, “Is that what Peggy told you?”

“No.” All sighed and shrugged. “She made me explain Project Quantum Leap, in detail, and then nodded.”

“Nodded?” Sam asked, confused. “That’s it?”

“Once she knew what it was all about, she asked what we knew about where you were, and then she came up with the same idea Ziggy did- Angie.”

“I don’t like you running around telling other agencies about-“

“You tell SHIELD what ever they ask for, Sam. You know that.” Al, paused and shrugged. “Knew that. Anyway,” He shifted, walking through the sinks as he paced. “She said that missing that Angie was in danger was something she never forgave herself for, and if we could fix it, well…”

“Well, what?”

“She just kinda stopped and looked sad. Asked if we had any way of targeting where you went.” Al frowned. “ I told her no and then she looked up at me and said the damndest thing.”

“What?”

Al, knit his brow, shaking his head. “She said, ‘I suppose you should save her, then, who knows if his chance will ever come.”

“His who?” Sam asked as the door rattled.

“Dunno,” Al shrugged, watching Sam pull his shoes on and grab his briefcase. “She and her goon left.”

“Look, just get me to her apartment and we’ll take it from there, ok?” Sam smiled, opening the door to the face a bewildered young woman.

“Everything ok in there?” She asked, looking Sam over.

“Fine, just…” he paused, smiling, “Classified.”

Sam rushed past her, headed out to save a life.

~*~

Angie stood with her hands on her hips. “What do you mean I’m not going in today?”

Sam matched her pose, the standoff tense in the living area of the Stark apartment they shared. Angie had barely been home, and Sam had only been able to track her down with Al’s help half the time. “I mean, you need to stay home tonight. Both of us do.”

Angie walked right up to him, got in his face the way that only best friends or siblings do. “You’re gonna get me fired, Peg.”

“Call in sick,” Sam held his ground, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“To Broadway?” Angie rolled her eyes and started pacing back and forth. “What in the world could be so important that-“

Sam had one card to pull, and he hoped his plan would be right. Peggy, in the original time line, had missed that Angie was being stalked. Probably, he’d thought more times than he could count as he tried to track the girl down, because she was never around. But Angie knew some of what Peggy did for a living, even if she didn’t know all of it, and he was banking on their bond of friendship being enough cause for Angie’s trust. “Why didn’t you tell me about what’s going on?”

It was enough to get her to stop in her tracks, back to Sam. Her shoulders tightened. “Tell you want?”

“You’re being stalked.”

Angie tried to brush it off with a laugh. “What? Like corn?”

Sam shook his head. It wasn’t a term that was familiar yet. “Who's harassing you?”

“I don’t even know the guy.” Angie looked down at her feet, shaking her head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing and you know it,” Sam moved closer to her, lifting her chin to him. Her eyes were filled with tears. “Tell me.”

~*~

Sam was supposed to be on a stake out, the very one he’d heard planned out as he lept into Peggy Carter. He took his own advice and called himself in sick, and now sat with a very disgruntled, and somewhat anxious, Angie, Peggy’s gun sitting next to him on the table as he read.

“Nobody’s coming,” Angie muttered, focusing on the script in her hands.

“You trying to convince me or convince yourself?” Sam asked, looking up from the newspaper in his hands.

“You,” Angie shot back, weakly.

They went back to reading, radio playing softly in the background, when after a few minutes Sam’s head popped up. It was the sound of scratching. Quiet, but there.

Angie watched as he pulled the gun into his hand, slowly standing. Sam hushed her with a finger at his lips.

The imaging chandler door opened, Al popping through. “Sam, it looks like any time between about a half hour ago and-“ He stopped, watching Sam slip through the dark apartment. “Oh, shoot, it’s happening now, isn’t it?”

Sam nodded, Angie following close behind as he swept through each bedroom, Al walking through walls and calling out as he cleared each room ahead.

“You really think someone-“

“Shh,” Sam quieted Angie again. “Stay close, ok?”

She cringed to his hips, following along like the caboose of a train. “You’re the one with the gun, I ain’t going nowhere.”

“Sam!” All called, two rooms ahead. “Here, in the Pantry. One guy coming up the dumbwaiter!”

Sam moved swiftly, Angie following. On Al’s cue, he pushed through the door to the kitchen, hitting the intruder in the face with the door and knocking him back. Angie’s screams mingled with the swing music pouring from the radio as Sam jumped on him, landing a solid right hook before tumbling him to the ground, unconscious.

Between Al’s supportive cries, Angie’s screams, and the music, Sam could barely focus as he reached for the handcuffs in Peggy’s pocket. “Angie, go call the police.”

“Aren’t you-“

Sam shook his head, sitting heavily on the man. “We need the regular police, not the SSR.”

Angie ran out of the room while All finally focused. “Good job, Sam! According to Ziggy,” he paused, tapping the handlink gently before giving it a final hard knock, “Angie lives a long life and has a fabulous career.”

“She get fired for calling in sick?”

All frowned. “Yeah, but it won’t matter. She gets picked up to be a series regular for a radio serial in a few months, then breaks into the movies.”

“Peggy?” Sam asks, slipping to the side of the intruder and sitting on the floor, one hand on him in case he woke up. “She still get to be Director of SHIELD?”

Al knocks his handlink again and it beeps. He smiles and nods. “Yup. Looks like the little information we had didn’t change, so-“ He pause,d listening to a voice only Al could hear back on the other side of the hologram. “What letter?” He waited again, and Sam watched, confused. “There is no letter!”

“Letter?” Sam asked quietly, knowing they only had a few seconds before Angie came back or their assailant came to.

Al shook his head. “Gushy is telling me there’s a letter in my office and it’s been there since Carter entered the waiting room for me to open, top secret, high priority. There’s no letter in my office.”

Sam tilted his head. “There wasn’t a letter in your office.”

Al opened his mouth to argue, but then it hit him. There hadn’t been a letter before Sam changed history.

Now there was.

“I’m gonna go read that letter.”

Al disappeared through the imaging chamber door just as Angie came back. “They’re on their way…” Her voice died out as she got a glimpse of the face of the man on the floor.

“You know him?”

Angie nodded, eyes wide. “That’s our stage manager! You mean to say he’s the one…”

~*~

Al tried to hold on to the feeling that there was no letter. He knew as soon as he stepped outside of the Imaging chamber, whatever had changed in history would feel like reality to him.

He needed to read it, to try to compare it with what he could remember.

He strode through Project Starbright’s halls without saying a word to anyone, holding his hand up to stop people from talking with him. Once in his office, he din’t even bother sitting to open the Manila envelope marked “eyes only, top secret.”

Admiral Calavichi,

If you’re reading this, that means the day has come when my younger self has shown up in your lovely white waiting room. I have been told that this is how this must happen, that to stray from this would be to mess with forces beyond all of our comprehension, and so though I have not given you any reason to trust me, I must ask that you do as I say.

If we do this right, all will stay exactly as it is, for it has already happened, and always will happen this way. Do not ask me how, for I have no understanding of it myself. What I do have is a deep desire for things to be as they are, and not as they could be.

Dr. Beckett has leaped into my younger self. You will find no record of me, as little exists. At that time I was Agent Margaret Carter of the SSR, a spy. I remember nothing of that time when I sat in your waiting room. Whatever right Dr. Beckett put wrong, I have no memory of, and cannot help you with this, but I know that he succeeded, or will succeed.

And when that is over, you must give Sam a message. You must tell him exactly this: He must go to the research level and wait. When he sees him, tell him to go home. Tell him, I’ve said to come home. 1952, to be exact.

The “him” I refer to must remain a mystery, but rest assured both you and Sam will know exactly who when the time comes, as Sam told him that much. He’ll be confused, but accepting, as time travel is not unknown to him.

You must deliver your message. It’s the only chance we’ll have to right this wrong.

Al looked for another page, for something that made sense, but there was nothing except Director Carter’s signature and a date: 1953.

~*~

Sam looked up from his desk in the SSR bullpen as Al stepped into the room, right through a desk and two men passing.

It was always jarring to see his friend moved through like a ghost.

Sam pulled over a pad and wrote, “Why haven’t I leaped yet?”

“Because I gotta show you this.” Al hovered the letter from Director Carter over the pad so Sam could read it. He waited as he watched his eyes go back and forth, Sam mouthing him over and over.

He leaned down, scribbling, “Who do you think ‘him’ is?”

Al shrugged. “No way to tell. We got bupkis on most of her life.” Al sighed. “You know where research is?”

Sam started to answer, but Al felt his heart drop as the blue lightning started to envelop him.

Sam was leaping.

There was no time to go to the research level.

There was no time to right one more wrong.

~*~

Sam took the long moment to let the blood rush to his fingers and toes, to feel the energy that crackled through him just a second ago dissipate. He took a deep breath and let his eyes see and his body feel.

Heels. Again.

Pants. A sensible pants suit.

He looked down in the small office at the papers in his hands. They were marked classified with a symbol that suddenly seemed very familiar. He looked up, searching for the answer he already knew. He picked up the nameplate on the desk and smiled.

“Director Carter,” he mumbled to himself, smiling before placing it back. “Glad to see they finally listened to you.”

He sat in the chair behind him, looking over the documents on the table to try to get a clue as to why he was there when the phone on the desk rang. “He-hello?” He stuttered out.

“Director Carter?” A male voice confidently replied, “You asked me to call when I detected that energy spike?”

“I did?” he asked, then caught himself and cleared his throat. “I did. Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know how you knew it was going to happen, but just now we got an alert from the research subbasement. Do you want me to send someout out?”

He felt fear and excitement run through him, the letter Al had shown him clear in his mind. “No, no. I’ll go.”

“Are you sure?”

He sat back, surprised after all this time they were still questioning her. “You think I can’t handle myself?”

“No, not at- I was just.”

“Thank you for the report, that will be all.” Sam hung up the phone and popped from his chair as the door to the imaging chamber opened.

“Sam—” Al started excitedly.

��I know.” Sam pointed to the plaque on the desk. “Can you get me to… the research subbasement?” he asked, carefully trying to remember the name.

“Yeah. Start moving and we’ll see what…” He tapped the hand link then pounded it against his palm as they moved out of the office. “I’m guessing down.”

Sam started through the base, trying to feign confidence as Al called out lefts and rights to bring him to a set of elevators. Once in, he hit the button and waited for Al to talk, he couldn’t say anything with the other people in there.

“So, you’re Peggy Carter again, Director do SHIELD, this time. It’s April 16th, 1970 and you’re in a SHIELD research facility at Camp Lehigh in New Jersey.” The elevator stopped, and the pair of scientist stepped off, leaving Sam and Al to descend to the lowest research level.

“And I gotta tell someone… to go home?” Sam asked. “I remembered the research level but-“

“Him was all she told us. You’re gonna know him when you see him.” Al emphasized the vagueness with his cigar, pointing it towards the doors. Al sighed, “You gotta tell him Peggy says to go home to 1952.”

“Which means he’s got to be another time traveler?” Sam asked, anxious as the elevator dinged.

He stepped out, Al following. “I’d assume, but you know what that makes out of you and me.” Al shoved the cigar in his mouth, wandering through rows of machines. “There’s nobody here, Sam.”

“There was some kind of energy spike,” Sam whispered, clearing the space one row of desks and shelves at a time. “Something has-“

“It oh.”

Sam stopped in his tracks, “What ut oh?”

Sam could see Al, frozen with his hands up, staring at a a corner he couldn’t see into. “He can see me, Sam.”

“Who?”

He pulled the cigar from his mouth, astounded. “Remember when she said you’ll know him when you see him?”

Sam slipped quietly up beside Al until he saw a figure hiding in the dark, red and white flight suit, nothing that belonged in this time, or any time Sam had ever been a part of, lifting and lowering a shimmering visor on his helmet, eyes wide with surprise and confusion. What stood out, though, was the shield on his arm. Even with his Swiss Cheese brain, Sam would have known that shield anywhere.

“Captain America,” he whispered out, in awe.

“Captain Freaking America,” Al echoed, in nearly as much shock. “She wants us to right that wrong.”

“I can hear you, too.” He let the visor stay down, his face partially hidden but the futuristic helmet. “You seem to know who I am,” Steve started, intensely. “So how about you tell me who the two of you are, and start explaining why you’re impersonating Director Carter.”

Sam smiled. “Oh, boy.”

End A/N: So, there wasn’t a place to PUT this, but the theory in my head goes that Without the visor to the suit up, Steve sees Peggy. However, with the nanotech visor up, which is partially powered by Pym particles and has been affected by traveling through the Quantum Realm, Steve can see Sam as he really is and see and hear Al. I had hoped to work that into the story, but I really liked the idea of ending on an “oh boy” for all my QL fans.

#steggy fic #3P's Fic #SteggyWeek23 #Quantum Leap Crossover #The crossover you never knew you needed but will only make any sense if you actually watched Quantum Leap #If you ACTUALLY read this I would LOVE TO KNOW THAT even if you hate it because I'm absolutely sure it has an audience of just me

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