rules: tell us your one favorite character from ten different fandoms and tag ten people. (I’m totally stealing indie’s idea to separate MCU and Marvel TV shows.)
1. Agent Carter - Peggy Carter
2. MCU - Steve Rogers
3. Marvel Comics - Kamala Kahn
4. Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Buffy Summers
5. Firefly/Serenity - Zoe Washburn
6. Check Please! - Jack Zimmerman
7. Jane the Virgin - Rogelio de la Vega
8. Pacific Rim - Mako Mori
9. Parks & Rec - Leslie Knope
10. The Office - Pam Halpert (née Beasley)
tagging whomever would like to do this! lemme see your lists, people
Things come to a little bit of a head the year Ilsa turns fifteen.
“Home economics? Home economics.”
“Mum, give it a rest, I'm also the only girl in Physics.”
“But-”
She feels Steve’s hand over hers. “Honey, that sounds great.”
“Alice says that the traditional feminine arts are still important.”
“Alice,” Peggy mutters through her clenched teeth, “of course.”
Steve sighs.
The pesky O’Connor’s had moved out when Sarah was just under two and in moved the Larsons with their only daughter Alice, whom they promptly enrolled in the private school that the Rogers children also attended.
(He had protested immediately, arms crossed, at her suggestion. “Private school, Peg? I don’t know”
She gave her many and varied points, among them the school’s student body - mostly children of politicians, high ranking civil servants, diplomatic corps, and the city’s three security agencies - the proximity to their newly purchased home, and the multitude of security measures already in place.
He sulks for the rest of the day but by the time he slides into their bed after tucking both of the kids in, she knows he’s come to her side.)
In truth, Alice is a lovely girl; polite, fairly smart, unendingly loyal to Ilsa, kind to Michael and Sarah, both of whom adore her without question.
Even Peggy liked her until the girls get into their teenage years and Alice Larson becomes the paragon of femininity.
“Peg,” Steve ventures one night, “is this sudden aversion to Alice about you and not Ilsa?”
The decisive thud of her briefing folder is followed by, “I do not have the faintest idea what you could be talking about.” Which he realizes sounds somehow both icy and resigned.
The house settles around them in the quiet.
She sighs. “I don’t really mind Alice. She’s lovely. I just worry about her influence.” He takes her hand and they sit in the silence again for awhile. “She does make me feel worn out. Well, everything does these days.”
He leans over to drop a kiss in the soft spot behind her ear.
“That settles it, Director Rogers. I’m taking you on a vacation.”
“Steve! We just went on a vacation.”
“That was not a vacation, Pegs. That was a mission disguised as a vacation. No, I’m saying a real one.”
She leans her head against his with another sigh and says very quietly. “Could it be near the sea?”
“Of course, the sea.”
--
Some ten months later, David Carter Rogers is born.
She’s paler than he would like but she’s beaming at the slumbering bundle lying on her chest.
“Well, I think this will do, Mr. Rogers.”
He leans over and gently runs his hand over the fine layer of peach fuzz on the baby’s head.
“Is that so, Mrs. Rogers?”
She hums her assent. “We’re already outnumbered, darling. Think what another one would do.”
After a quick glance out into the hall, he stretches himself out cautiously on the edge of her bed. “Well, at least our kids are well-behaved. Not like those O’Connor’s down the street. Michael's gonna pick up some bad habits of we let him keep playing around with them.”
She wearily nestles into his side. “Mmmm, the O’Connor’s. They’re like a roving gang. And how many of them are there exactly? One never knows. I know it was their oldest who broke the garage window.”
Neither says, but he knows they’re both thinking about that night, when shattering glass woke them and, hearts hammering, they enacted the Plan.
Michael had only been three months old when Peggy came home one night to find Steve pacing the house, muttering. She waited until both the kids were in bed before coming back down into the living room and tucking herself against his broad back as he stared out the window, hands on his hips.
“This is about the ambassador’s children, isn't it?”
There had been an incident; two girls taken right from an embassy’s backyard. There had been talk of ransom and a failed rescue mission. She had locked the door to her office for an hour before she was composed enough to carry on with her duties. Steve had taken an early day.
She feels the muscles in his shoulders tighten. He doesn't say anything but he lays his hands over hers where they are resting on his chest.
“I just want to keep them safe.”
So the night the brick goes through the garage window, they enact the Plan; Steve has Ilsa and his shield, Peggy has Michael and her gun. All this fuss over the oldest O’Connor kid, who Steve swears afterwards he saw running down the street.
“What a hoodlum,” Peggy wearily proclaims over a three a.m. restorative cup of tea.
--
The newest Rogers scrunches her face and nuzzles her face into Peggy’s chest as Steve idly takes one of her miniature hands in his.
“Are you counting her fingers again? Don't be daft, we only produce perfect offspring.”
He smiles then and leans down to drop a line of kisses on her temple.
He counts five of them from his position behind his normally spotless desk.
Now it is scattered with debris and shards of glass. If he leans just slightly to the left, he can catch Peggy’s eye - also crouched behind her desk. She gives him a firm nod and the sight of her, one hand wrapped around her revolver and the other protectively around her rounded stomach makes the blood thrum in his ears. He checks his gun, releases the catch on the underside of his desk and is over the top, hurling his shield, shooting, and punching in a whirl. He’s always been a clean fighter (he has Peggy to thank for that, she taught him everything he knows). The last intruder gets kneed directly into the wall, leaving a sizable dent and there is finally some quiet.
There, he’s got them, he thinks, free hand on his hip, one, two, three, four...and it’s then that he hears the unmistakable metallic click of a bullet being chambered. Heart in his throat, he turns in time to see Peggy struggling to stand, her gun already surrendered on the top of her desk, the fifth intruder directly behind her.
There are no theatrics and somehow, this makes it worse. From his frozen position across the room, he can barely hear the man hiss at her.
“You stupid bitch, you think you can stop us?”
Steve’s mind has gone absolutely blank, all he can do is watch her. The man grabs her curls and yanks her head back which makes him suck in a breath and step towards them. The intruder swings his gun towards Steve.
“I don’t think so, Captain. You’re not saving your slut.”
Peggy is in motion before he can even blink. She knocks the gun out of his hand, slams her foot into his instep, elbows him in the face, and flips him. He’s two steps closer to them when she leans over, grabs the gun off her desk, and shoots the intruder perfunctorily in the kneecap.
Her voice only shakes a little when he reaches her. “Bitch I don’t always mind, but I do hate being called a whore.”
--
There are Rules; just a couple that keep the Rogers household running like a tight ship and at the forefront is the longstanding ban on the little one being allowed in their bed. Tonight, the instigator of many of the Rules doesn’t say a thing when she comes out from the bathroom after a blessedly long bath to find Ilsa already asleep, burrowed into Steve’s side. She does raise an eyebrow when he bashfully catches her gaze as she slowly climbs into bed. There’s a moment of cautious rearranging before they are, all three, settled.
Steve reaches over their sleeping daughter and gently rubs her arm. “I know, I know, the Rules. I just wanted everyone where I can see them tonight.”
It is quiet again for awhile, the only sound the soothing rhythm of his hand tracing the same pattern over and over.
She yawns, “I called Howard already, he’s flying in first thing to review security protocol. And I do feel better with the extra detail on the house.”
She shifts a little bit and smiles suddenly at him. She moves his hand down to her belly where he can feel the echo of movement and it’s then he finally seems to unknot.
She takes his hand again and brings it up to her face to she can grace a kiss on his palm before settling it back around her waist. Snuggling closer to Ilsa, she catches his eye one last time.
His favorite picture of them sits on his desk; Peggy in a vibrant blouse and her favorite wide-legged slacks, eyebrow cocked and one hand on her hip, her other arm slung around Ilsa’s waist.
Ilsa had been just under one and was looking at him, deliciously pudgy and wriggly, caught in the middle of a giggle.
Peggy had rolled over in their bed that morning and declared that they would use the rare fact that neither of them were working to have a family outing. It is a mild day but the sun is warm and it isn’t until they roll out the blanket and take off their shoes that he remembers how much she loves the sea.
They fall asleep - his girls - Ilsa covered in a light towel and curled into Peggy’s chest. He packs away the remains of lunch and cautiously slides next to them.
--
After she throws the glass, it had taken a little over two weeks of bitter silence before one night she turns over and curls into him, whispering her apologies into his shoulder.
She doesn’t tell him right away when she is pregnant again. They fight about it, even though he understands.
They are on a mission when he finds out. The suspect they’ve been tracking is finally cornered in an abandoned warehouse and as soon as the second team arrives to finish the arrest, she shakily bolts for the door and throws up fairly spectacularly into an empty barrel outside.
She’s standing with her hands on her hips, breathing heavily, when he finds her. “Well,” she says with an air of long-suffering, “this is ridiculous.”
It becomes an oft-repeated phrase. When her slacks won’t zip up; when she starts to become ungainly; when he tries to assemble the crib; when a rookie agent makes dangerous assumptions and takes all of her case files; when she comes home to find Howard and Phillips at her dining room table talking what, at first, seems like nonsense about starting an entirely new organization; when Steve is assigned a mission a week before the baby is due.
His bag is sitting by the door, next to their hospital bag, as she makes sure to point out when she pads by. He packs a few last things and then finds her settled on their bed, having commandeered all of the pillows and several couch cushions.
“Comfortable?”
He receives a raised eyebrow in lieu of a verbal response as he nestles in next to her, laying his hand over her hip in the way that still makes her shiver.
“I wish you weren’t going,” she finally admits aloud, lightly tracing his jawline with her fingertips.
“I’m sorry, Pegs. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He leans down, “Hear that, in there? You’re going to have to wait until I get back. Don’t give your mother any trouble.”
He looks back up at her just in time to watch the first tear track down her cheek.
“Oh Peg, honey. Please don’t; please don’t cry.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s this bloody ridiculous being pregnant nonsense.”
“Ah. So now it’s bloody ridiculous.”
This at least elicits a watery giggle and he leaves with promises of his quick return.
He does almost miss it, in the end. He finds, when he opens the door of their apartment, a distraught Howard who was left behind at Peggy's request to wait for him. Howard drives like a lunatic and they make it in enough time for Steve to wear a consistent track into the floor before he’s finally ushered in and everything changes.
“Isn’t that why you’re wearing your recreation tie?”
-Of COURSE Peg sleeps with a gun under her pillow.
-I might just be rethinking Evil Violet...she could just be a lovely nurse.
-Sigh, speaking of lovely. That proposal was just that.
-I am not really sure how Zero Matter works. I’m not complaining, just sayin’...
-”Oh, crumbs” is a fantastic phrase of disappointment. It is going directly into my vocabulary.
-Love that Hugh Jones’ belt buckle was based off of the best episode of Starlee Kind’s Mystery Show podcast.
-Wow. Whitney’s contacts are...erm....intense.
-”That’s funny, I’m seeing Daniel Sousa but I’m hearing Jack Thompson.”
-ROSE. Yassssssss gurl.
-That slo-mo shot underscored by Bing Crosby is completely ridiculous and I LOVE IT. #squadgoals
-ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE. So good.
-(I secretly love how this episode, and this show really, is all about people doing the things that no one thinks they can do. Everyone from Daniel to Rose to Whitney to Peggy herself defy expectations. Such a great message.)
-Speaking of so good - Peggy’s pantsuit...on point.
-WAH. NOW THERE’S A HOLE IN THAT PANTSUIT. Zoinks! Impaled Peggy!
-Uhhhhh, side note. If you’re ever impaled on anything don’t unimpale yourself...or take the object out. That can only end in tears...which is something Daniel should have known. But whateves...it added to the drama and let us see Violet being awesome.
-Calvin’s super going to die, right?
-Awww, Jarvis tucking Peggy in (WAIT. How is her hair so good? What the hell.)
-Ghost Jason! What’s happening!
-Well, another bangin’ episode. Loving Season 2 more and more.
This one’s for @jwhittz who asked for it ages and ages ago and is the best buddy a fangurl can have.
They are running, full tilt. The pound of her boots on the frozen turf makes Peggy’s teeth rattle and all she can hear over their footfall and heaving breathing is the crack of machine guns in the distance.
Even Dugan is silent, reserving all his energy for hauling ass out of there. She curses silently to herself. If this is how it ends, with a mad sprint through the frozen woods of France after a botched routine mission, there’ll be hell to pay. Someone calls out “right!” and they swing further from the road. Sweat is pouring down Dugan’s face and Peggy’s lungs start to burn. They scramble through a thicket, the Commandos and a handful of the 107th who had come along to ostensibly learn from the pros, and abruptly burst onto a rutted clearing. As if appearing from the heavens themselves, three ambulances emblazoned with the familiar red cross are heaving themselves along the far side of the field. A bedraggled cheer goes up and they sprint the final yards towards the vehicles. Peggy has just opened her mouth to request assistance as they close in when the driver of the first ambulance shouts “Oh for goodness sake, get in.” There’s a clamber but Peggy hangs back, scanning the field behind her for the familiar blue uniform that had dropped out of her sight. She can still hear shots and feels the tug of Jones’ hand on her arm. “C’mon Carter, we gotta roll out.” In a daze, she goes to hoist herself into the back of the ambulance only to find it packed. Glancing back at the woods she can see figures approaching and as she throws herself into the empty seat in the cab, Steve breaks through the tree line and races for the last ambulance. He’s in and the three ambulances roar away, leaving the Germans in their wake.
It takes several minutes for Peggy to catch her breath. “I really must thank you for picking us up. You really saved our bacon.” The driver laughs, “My goodness, I can tell you’ve been stationed with Americans, what a colorful expression.” It’s Peggy’s turn to chuckle “Well, you’re not doing so badly yourself, driving on the wrong side of the road.”
“Well, one does what one must. I do have to admit, it took some getting used to.”
“I understand completely.” Peggy extends her hand, “Carter,” and adds belatedly, “Peggy”. The driver meets her hand with a delightfully firm shake. “Windsor, Elizabeth.”
The rattling of the ambulance intensifies in the silence as Peggy concentrates firmly on watching the road. Many thoughts are fighting to be the first out of her mouth. She settles on “Uh, ma’am…” before Elizabeth cuts her off. “Peggy, if anyone asks, I’ve been taking a delightful tour of the hospital about 30 miles away this entire afternoon.” Peggy nods, “Of course, your-”. She is stopped by the firm wave of Elizabeth’s hand. “Please. Just Windsor or Elizabeth will do.” Peggy nods again. “Yes ma’am”.
There is a sigh from the driver’s seat. “You may also feel free to skip the ‘ma’am.’” Any additional conversation is halted by the ting of a bullet off of the ambulance's hood. “Oh for goodness sake” mutters Elizabeth as she ducks her head behind the wheel and fumbles in her bag. Peggy crouches, gun drawn, scanning the horizon for the offending sniper. She hears the cock of a gun and looks over just in time to see Elizabeth take two calm shots out of the driver’s side window. “Over there, in the brush,” she hisses to Peggy, “Gentlemen! We’ve got some unfriendlies,” she shouts to the crowd in the back. Several more shots ring out as Peggy swings out of the passenger side and fires a handful back over the front windshield. Nothing echoes back and as she slides back into her seat, Elizabeth puts her foot quite firmly on the gas.
“I honestly mean no offense, but I thought you had only been trained as a mechanic.”
The two women catch each other’s eye and Peggy is relieved to see an amused glint in the steely blue that evenly meets her gaze. “Well, one must be prepared for all sorts,” the heir apparent to the throne of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Commonwealth says in a very final way.
--
The other two drivers turn out to be hapless young male medics, who did not anticipate their day turning out quite as it had. They had all been listening to the radio chatter, Elizabeth explains, almost shouting to Peggy over the motor, and when she saw an opportunity, she thought they should take it. They have no more trouble but it’s not long after the sun sets when the third ambulance pulls ahead and signals the other two to pull over. Peggy and Elizabeth take the opportunity to hop down out of the cab as Steve strides over.
“Jones says we might run into trouble ahead if we carry on tonight.” Peggy nods as Dugan and Falsworth climb out of the back. “We’ll have to make camp right here. I am sorry,” he says turning to Elizabeth, “that you got stuck with us but we sure are glad you arrived when you did.” Much to Peggy’s amusement, a light pink blooms along Elizabeth’s cheeks when she finds herself the subject of Steve’s delicious attention. Even flushed, without missing a beat, she extends her hand to him. “We’re not put out in the least, Captain. Camping doesn’t bother me at all, it rather reminds one of Girl Guides.” Dugan chuckles, slapping Peggy on the back, “Girl Guides, huh? Does that mean camp songs after dinner?” He is greeted with a frosty silence. He looks from Peggy to Elizabeth and back again. “Good lord, Rogers, now there’s two of them.”
