La Petite Fleur

Retribution

He narrowed his eyes but nodded respectfully and accepted the file. When he returned to his room, he turned on the tablet and opened it. As soon as he saw the picture attached, he swore and set the tablet down beside him. On the front page was an image he'd never forget- the same photo of Peggy he'd cut out and put in his compass. The title in bold letters at the top of the page spelled Zodiac.

As he read through the file, he knew that his only job would be to get a report from Peggy telling what had happened that night she left the office a year after he'd gone in the ice. But why were they sending him? They knew his relationship with her. They knew what could go wrong. So why him?

As he read further through the file, he realized why they needed him. Peggy had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and couldn't remember many of her older friends and acquaintances. SHIELD was depending on Peggy's memory of Steve to trigger other memories and hoped to gain access to the night she went after Zodiac. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn't, but he'd have to try.

The file included a departing time of later that evening, so he packed a small duffel bag with everything he would need and headed to the mess hall for dinner. Since it was so early, few people were eating, but the few that were had chosen seats spread across the room. Steve got his food and took a seat at an empty table where he opened the file again. After he had reread it three times, he stopped himself. He wouldn't do this again, not this time.

This was just Peggy, right? He'd known her for years. But a nagging voice at the back of his skull whispered 'people change'. The voice was right, he knew, but that didn't stop him from still imagining Peggy as the lively woman he'd first met in '42. He could still clearly recall his first memory of her in boot camp.

He stood at attention in line, several inches shorter than the other soldiers and stretching to make an attempt at compensation but failing. A well-dressed woman in uniform approached them from the right, posture displaying control and authority.

"Recruits, attention!" she snapped. "Gentlemen, I'm Agent Carter. I supervise all activities in this division."

"What's with the accent, Queen Victoria? Thought I was signin' up for the US Army?" A brawny man down the line spoke out, slurring his words with a confident accent.

"What's your name, soldier?" she asked, stopping in front of him.

"Gilmore Hodge," he drawled.

"Step forward."

He glanced cockily to either side before saying, "Ooh, we gonna wrassle? 'Cause I've got some moves I know you'll like." With a slow step, he stuck one foot forward, chuckling. Before Steve could blink, Hodge was on the ground, picking himself up from a blow that left him snuffling blood.

Maybe she was still Peggy the way he remembered her or maybe she wasn't. But he wouldn't know until he saw her. And if he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure he wanted to see her.

Much of the flight to Washington was spent floundering in memories that tried to pull Steve in and swamp him. He had no control. If the memory came, he relived it in the fullest detail he could conjure and felt the entire emotional zip line ride that went with it. From every day he'd seen Peggy in bootcamp, to the last time he'd spoken with her as the jet crashed into the ice, if the memory contained Peggy, it rose to the surface and demanded attention like kids begging for candy.

Huffing and wheezing, Steve slowed to a stop behind the troop of soldiers as their commander spoke. He could barely hear the challenge issued to them over the asthmatic rattling of his own lungs, but when he saw the troop charge the flagpole and begin to climb, he understood. One after another, the exhausted soldiers failed to reach the flag. A few wasted minutes told the commander that the attempts were futile.

"Fall in!"

Steve couldn't make his feet move, but his eyes darted between the base of the flagpole and the truck waiting nearby. Peggy was watching him. He was weak and breathless, but she was watching him. And that was all the motivation he needed.

"Rogers, I said fall in!" the commander shouted again.

Somehow, his brain persuaded his leaden feet to carry him toward the pole. Without the other soldiers' boots cluttering the space, the answer was easy. Steve pulled the pin and watched the pole fall to the ground. Just a few more steps. He bent and pulled the flag off, folded it up and set it in the commander's hands.

"Thank you, sir," Steve gasped, taking his promised seat in the truck beside Peggy. From behind, he saw her turn away, a smile lingering on her lips.

"Captain Rogers, we're landing soon. I suggest you be ready." The pilot's voice snapped him out of his reverie and set him solidly back on earth. But not his earth, not his home- just a 'man out of time' as Loki had put it. And the worst part was knowing there was no way back.

With a jolt, the jet landed and bounced again before slowing to a stop. Steve stood with his bag over his shoulder. "Thank you," he told the pilot. The man saluted him before Steve descended the ramp and was led to an awaiting taxi.

The taxi drove to a special care home for the elderly and he tentatively stepped out. A cord inside him twinged. Would he be here if he hadn't crashed the plane? Would he be here with Peggy? The two of them old and wrinkled together? Possibly married?

No. Stop, he told himself. He couldn't think like that. This was a mission and he had to treat it as such.

With careful steps, he approached the front desk. Nervously, he swallowed, cleared his throat, and said, "Um, hi. You might be expecting me?"

The lady at the desk turned in the swivel chair to face him. Just like everything about the reception area, she seemed crisp and clean. From her pale green scrubs to her neatly braided blonde hair, she was collected and organized.

"Good morning." She smiled cordially and picked up a pen from the desk. "What's your name?"

"Steve Rogers."

The pen tip moved down a list of names and back up again. "I'm sorry. Your name isn't here. Are you visiting a resident or making arrangements?"

"Visiting."

Her smile widened. "Oh good. There's too few visitors through here nowadays. Who are you visiting today?"

"Um," he stammered. He wanted to say Peggy Carter, but was that still her name? Had Peggy been married during the years he'd been frozen? But the receptionist was waiting for him to speak. "Her name is Peggy, but I'm not sure of her last name."

"Well, you're in luck. There's only three Peggys in the building. Is she a relative?"

"A friend," he replied. More than that, or at least, she used to be more than that, he thought bitterly.

The receptionist gave him an odd look before her smile returned. "Do you know anything about her that might narrow it down?"

"She was part of the SSR during WWII and her maiden name is Carter," he offered. "She might have a British accent."

The receptionist smiled again and nodded. "Peggy, yes, okay. Her last name is still Carter, if you'd like to know. She's on the third floor in room 382."

"Thank you," he said, smiling once and heading toward the stairs. With every step, his nerves spiked and dipped. His thoughts raged between Peggy and the mission and what it would be like to see her again after all these years. When he at last reached room 382, his hand moved to knock of its own accord.