the human soul is a treacherous place

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/28024917.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: F/M
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies), Captain
America - All Media Types, Captain America (Comics), Agent Carter
(TV), Agent Carter (Marvel Short Film)
Relationship: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers, Peggy
Carter/Johann Schmidt
Character: Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Michael Carter
(Marvel), Amanda Carter (Marvel), Harrison Carter, Johann Schmidt,
Ana Jarvis, Edwin Jarvis, Dottie Underwood, Fred Wells, Arnim Zola,
Hutter (Marvel), Pvt. Lorraine (Marvel), Angie Martinelli, Jacques
Dernier, Chester Phillips, Abraham Erskine, Howard Stark, Howling
Commandos, Timothy "Dum Dum" Dugan, Gabe Jones, James
Montgomery Falsworth, Jim Morita, Jonathan "Junior" Juniper, Heinz
Kruger, Werner Reinhardt, Johann Fennhoff, Jiaying (Agents of
S.H.I.E.L.D.), Calvin Johnson, Roeder, Schneider
Additional Tags: alternative universe, AU, historical fiction - Freeform, WWII, 1940s,
1940s setting, Nazi Germany, Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Angst,
Marvel Universe, Marvel - Freeform, Captain America: The First
Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: Civil
War (Movie), Captain America: First Vengeance (Comics), Agent Carter
- Freeform, the Howling Commandos, Friendship, Childhood Friends,
History, World War II, Alternate Universe - World War II, Will depict Nazi
symbols, Will depict Nazi propaganda
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2020-12-12 Updated: 2023-01-01 Chapters: 7/? Words:
30964

the human soul is a treacherous place

by scrumdiddilyumptious

Summary

A romance forged in friendship. A marriage cemented with lies. And a spy with everything
to lose.

Steve Rogers met Peggy Carter one carefree summer when their lives were untouched by
duty, politics and the looming threat of an oncoming war.

A tale of love, classism, war and redemption.

 Prologue
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Loving you was like going to war;

I never came back the same.

- Warsan Shire

Prologue

It was a crisp Parisian evening. The soldier strode through the dark Jardin des Tuileries, kicking up
the fallen leaves in a flurry of red, brown and gold. Hungry, resentful eyes followed him from the
shadows — taking in the großer Gesellschaftsanzug of the invading army — but furtively slunk
away from his returning cold, arrogant glare. He did not need interruptions this evening.

Exiting the park, he crossed towards the dazzling neo-classical entrance of Hôtel le Meurice.
Heavy flags fell over the many archways, clashing vibrantly with the natural stone: a field of red
with a white disk and black hakenkreuz. Lavishly dressed women clung to the arms of powerful
men in either expensive suits or dress uniforms. They lingered outside the hotel, hoping for the
assembled photographers to take an interest and snap their image — after all, this evening’s event
could be tomorrow’s front cover news in the Fatherland. The soldier, however, avoided the
flashing bulbs of the cameras and approached the barrel-chested doorman. From a trouser pocket,
he wordlessly produced an invitation printed on thick, ivory card.

The doorman inspected the invitation before returning it, along with a leather Arlecchino mask
attached to black ribbon.

“Your mask, monsieur.”

The soldier fixed him with a disdainful glare.

“House rules.”

Snatching the offending mask into his hands, the soldier settled the grimacing face over his own
and deftly tied the strings of ribbon behind his head.

“Parfait,” the doorman simpered.

The soldier grunted in disapproval before striding into the lobby of the hotel. The brassy tones of
the Reichsmusikkammer band spilled out of the double doors on either side of the concierge’s desk,
beckoning guests towards the opulent Salon Pompadour. Golden, shimmering light fell from the
five crystal chandeliers hanging from the domed, gilt ceiling. The Portrait of the Marquise de
Pompadour, captured in pastel and gouache, adorned the far wall above the unlit fireplace.
 Intimate parties of two-to-four sat at round, lamplit tables while couples twirled on the glossy
dance floor. A fleet of waiters wearing black three-piece suits and bow ties smoothly navigated
their way through the crowd, balancing trays of oval champagne glasses and neat rows of canapés.

It was difficult to believe that outside these walls food was scarce and children were starving.

Every face was concealed behind a mask. The male guests wore a wild array of full and half-
masks: the square-jawed Bauta, the long-nosed Pantalone, and the full-faced Volto. The women
hid behind Colombina masks, intricately decorated with feathers, luxurious materials, or gemstones
. Even the waiter's attire included simple, satin eye masks. Distorted and leering faces were
reflected in the mirrored walls of the Salon Pompadour as though they were all figures captured in
a renaissance painting.

Walking slowly among the crowd, the soldier caught snatches of conversations — the main topic
of discussion centred around the recent invasion of Vichy France and the subsequent disbandment
of their military force. Pride for the Fatherland shone through these vibrant, gleeful conversations.
The loudest table discussing this was in the corner. The lanky Oberst-gruppenführer Gustav
Roeder was folded into his chair, a half-mask concealing hollow eyes and cheekbones, whilst the
more rotund Obergruppenführer Otto Schneider lounged in his chair, one pudgy hand gesticulating
wildly as he spoke. Their table was already littered with empty champagne glasses.

The music of the Reichsmusikkammer band came to a halt, drawing the attention of every guest as
the conductor tapped a microphone. “Mein Damen und Herren,” he began in carrying tones,
“Please be upstanding for this evening’s benefactors: Baron and Baroness von Schmidt.”

The assembled guests began to politely clap at the couple framed in the doorway; the Baron wore
his impressive Waffenrock, adorned with a belt of silver braid, silver aiguillette, a red armband and
array of medals. Beneath his Schirmmütze, a full mask designed to look like a blood-red skull
covered his face. The Baroness wore an off-the-shoulder, a-line gown of black velvet with a black
lace eye-mask and hair piled atop her head. A slash of red lipstick complimented the diamond,
ruby and pearl necklace that hung above her breasts. It caught the light and dazzled the eyes.

For the first time, the soldier felt a crack form in his ironclad composure.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading!

Please excuse my self-indulgent spiel :D

I am a sucker for historical fiction (particularly the Tudors and the Second World
War), especially when it is mixed with romance and, to some extent, political intrigue.
I'm also hugely fascinated (and horrified) by the events that led to the Second World
War, the war itself and all of the other goings-on that occurred during the war (e.g. the
S.O.E., French Resistance, life on the home front, international espionage and the
Holocaust). I also, apparently, am a sucker for old-worldy high society and lavish
balls.

This story has been inspired by a mixture of real-life stories and events, as well as the
following forms of media: Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks, Atonement by Ian McEwan,
Charlotte Gray by Sebastian Faulks, Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh,
'Schindler's List' (Spielberg, 1993), 'Inglourious Basterds' (Tarantino, 2009), [in part,
due to only seeing short segments] 'Band of Brothers' (Hanks and Spielberg, 2001).

This will be a historical fiction AU - there will be no super soldier serum; advanced
weaponry; HYDRA division, etc. The characters that we all know well will continue
to make their appearances however it may not be in the form that we are used to seeing
them in. When necessary, I will identify which characters are playing which parts -
especially for those minor characters in the films/TV series - unless this would spoil a
later reveal. I am trying to, unless absolutely necessary, avoid using OCs.

I've put a LOOOOOTT of research into this however I am taking a teensy bit of
creative license in some aspects. After each chapter I will, if necessary, explain any
historical background information and/or translations.

BACKGROUND INFORMATION:
- The title comes from the song 'There's a Ghost' by Fleurie
- The Warsan Shire quote comes from her poem "34 Excuses for Why We Failed At
Love"
- Hotel Le Meurice was occupied between September 1940 and August 1944 by the
Wehrmacht (German Army). The Salon Pompadour is a real room within the hotel
where Pablo Picasso once celebrated his wedding to Olga Khokhlova.
- I am taking some creative liberties by having a German Baron and Baroness as the
peerage system was abolished in Germany in 1919 - hereditary titles are only permitted
through the use of 'von', 'zu' etc. I'm excusing myself on this with the MCU's use of
Baron von Strucker (CA:TWS, AOU, AOS).

TRANSLATIONS:
- Jardin des Tuileries: (Fr.) Tuileries Gardens, Paris
- großer Gesellschaftsanzug: (Ge.) dress uniform
- hakenkreuz: (Ge.) another name for a swastika, particularly when referring to the
Nazi-symbol
- Arlecchino; Bauta; Pantalone; Colombina: a variety of masks, most of which have
been taken from Commedia Dell'arte, an Italian form of theatre
- "Parfait": (Fr.) perfect
- Reichsmusikkammer: (Ge.) Reich Music Chamber; "good German music" composed
by Aryans and seen as consistent with Nazi ideals as opposed to music described as
"degenerate" music, such as atonal music, Jazz or music written by Jewish composers
- The Portrait of the Marquis de Pompadour - a painting of Jeanne Antoinette Poisson,
the chief mistress of Louis XV, that hangs in the Salon Pompadour
- Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer: (Ge.) a high commissioned rank of the SS, roughly equating
to a Colonel General
- Obergruppenfuhrer: (Ge.) paramilitary rank of the SS, roughly equating to a General.
- "Mein Dammen und Heren": (Ge.) "Ladies and Gentlemen"
- Waffenrock: (Ge.) military coat
- Schirmmutze: (Ge.) peaked cap

CHARACTER INFORMATION:
- Roeder from Captain America: The First Avenger ("Your HYDRA division has
failed to produce so much as a rifle in over a year...") playing the role of Oberst-
Gruppenfuhrer Gustav Roeder.
- Schneider from Captain America: The First Avenger ("The Red Skull has been
indulged long enough!") playing the role of Obergruppenfuhrer Otto Schneider
 Part I: One
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

PART I

Chapter One

Coney Island, 1930

A heady perfume of cotton candy, frankfurters and tangy sea air spread over the smiling, sunburnt
crowds of Luna Park as they wandered between attractions, feats of splendour and souvenir stalls.
The jaunty tune of a fairground organ swelled, mingling with the delighted screams of children and
adults alike as they spun on The Teaser or slid down the helter skelter.

Guided by the eclectic architectural mesh of Neoclassic, Late Baroque and Morrocan structures,
visitors were led towards the sunken man-made lagoon that dominated the centre of the
amusement park. Accessed by descending sweeping stone staircases, the lagoon boasted golden
sand, an elegant bandstand with live music, and a sparkling pool of shallow water. Families, groups
of friends and courting couples lounged on the sand or frolicked through the ankle-deep water. For
a few hours, the frivolity of Luna Park chased away the harsher reality of learning how to survive
after Black Thursday. From every tower and spire, the Star-Spangled Banner waved lazily in the
sea breeze with the promise of better days to come.

The Cyclone, an ever-popular wooden roller coaster, performed its final dip in the circuit and
ground to a clattering halt. Grinning and windswept thrillseekers clambered out of their carriage
and headed towards the exit in a snaking line. Bringing up the rear, a boy with bright eyes, dark
hair and a crooked smile punched the air exultantly.

“See? I toldja there was nothing to worry about!” he exclaimed.

His companion, a remarkably slighter boy with a mop of blond hair and a faintly green
complexion, stumbled after him. His knuckles were still bleached white from how hard he had
been gripping the safety bar. Instead of answering, the second boy gave an unintelligible murmur.

“Er, Steve?”

The blond boy, Steve, leaned forwards and retched loudly. A stream of vomit splattered the floor.
He was vaguely aware of jeering laughter and people skipping away from him in revulsion. Steve
held onto his stomach as it convulsed painfully.

“Bucky…” he managed to groan out before vomiting spectacularly again.

Bucky patted his best friend awkwardly on the back; he was painfully aware that they were
attracting a lot of unwanted attention. Clapping his hand to the scruff of Steve’s neck, Bucky
guided him around the puddles of vomit and towards the exit before anyone could scold them for
making a mess — or, worse, insist that they clean it up.
Once out in the open, Bucky guided Steve towards a narrow alley where the dumpsters were stored
and shoved him between the two buildings. Turning towards the crowd, Bucky whistled shrilly to
cover up the sounds of vomit splashing on the wall as his friend was sick for a third time.

“Damn, Rogers, what’ve you been eating?” Bucky called over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Steve mumbled. He pushed past Bucky, gloomily wiping his mouth with the back of
his hand. He was no longer green but pale and shaky; sweat beaded his forehead. “It was the roller
coaster.”

“Aw, c’mon; it weren’t so bad!” Bucky said brightly, throwing his arm around Steve’s shoulders.

Steve shrugged him off and sat down on the kerb. He hugged knobbly knees to his thin chest.
“Maybe not for you,” he said, “but I’ve always been yella.”

Bucky dropped down beside Steve and nudged him with his shoulder. “Hey, don’t call yourself
that,” he berated. “You ain’t no namby-pamby baby, alright? We all get sick sometimes.”

He waited but Steve’s expression didn’t change. Sighing, Bucky looked around the busy
amusement park and spotted a nearby concessions stand selling hot dogs, drinks and snacks. “How
about a ginger beer? My Ma swears by it for a sick belly,” he said, injecting as much brightness
into his tone as possible. Finally, he added, persuasively, “My tree-eeat.”

Steve felt a reluctant smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Your treat, huh? You must feel real
sorry for me.”

Bucky cuffed him around the ear and stood up, dusting dirt off of the seat of his pants. He joined
the queue at the concessions stand. Steve watched him go and sighed morosely; sometimes, he
didn’t feel as though he deserved a friend like Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes was his best friend,
and the closest thing to a sibling that he had. He was the only kid who had ever given Steve a
chance and yet, occasionally, a fierce jealousy rose in Steve and threatened to eat him up.

Bucky was All-American charm with his mischievous grin, cheeky manners and unaffected
confidence. He could sweet talk just about anyone; girls in particular. The girls in school always
giggled maddeningly whenever Bucky passed them and even crabby old Mrs Blonsky, who lived
in the same apartment block as them, would give him a rare, moustachioed smile. Steve, on the
other hand, always got tongue-tied and could only stammer helplessly as unconcealed disdain for
him spread across their faces.

It wasn’t just the girl’s either. Bucky inspired confidence and respect in the neighbourhood kids.
With his lithe, athletic build, he was always picked first for kickball during recess or stickball out
on the street. If Steve was ever picked first for a team then it was only because Bucky was team
captain, and his name was usually met with resounding groans of dissatisfaction. Steve was neither
lithe, nor athletic; instead, he was small, spindly and disappointingly clumsy. His stature may have
fooled some people into thinking he was quick-footed or possessed excellent stamina but running
for any period of time reduced Steve to a wheezing, asthmatic heap.

Sometimes, he just wished he could trade places with Bucky — if only for a day.

The queue moved slowly along. Bucky turned and grinned his crooked grin, giving Steve a
double-thumbs up, and suddenly Steve felt like the biggest jerk in the world. Bucky was more than
simply a hit with the girls or a buffer between Steve and the other boys; he always stepped in when
Steve (deservedly, but even so) picked a losing fight, he never looked at Steve with either pity or
revulsion, and he was always around when Steve needed him.
Steve let his eyes wander over the bustling crowd to distract him from his ungrateful thoughts. His
fingers itched to take up a pencil and sketch the men in their suits and ladies in their dresses, the
towering buildings with their turrets and archways, and the children eating Coney dogs with
mustard-smeared grins. His gaze fell on a kid at the Cowboys and Indians-themed shooting gallery;
the boy was tiny, even smaller than Steve, and this was emphasised by his too-big clothes. Despite
the heat, he wore a knitted sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his wrists, shorts that were pulled
in tight at the waist by a thick belt, and a newsboy cap pulled low over his face. The air rifle
pressed into his shoulder looked absurdly big in his small hands. In spite of this, the tell-tale ping!
cut through the noise of the crowd as the pellet fired from the gun found its mark, knocking over
the metal figure of a Brave.

Steve sat up a little straighter, watching with interest.

Ping! Ping! Ping!

More pellets hit the figures, missing the mounted cowboys and instead hitting the Indians as they
rose and fell behind tumbleweeds, cacti and boulders. The final pellet hit the Chief squarely
between the eyes. A whirring siren and flashing lights announced that the kid had won and was
free to claim his prize.

Steve lost sight of the kid as a particularly boisterous crowd moved between them and almost
instantly forgot about him. Bucky returned, holding a bottle of frothy ginger beer, and dropped
down beside Steve on the sidewalk again. They passed the drink back and forth, each taking a slug
until the soda was mostly gone. The ginger settled Steve’s stomach and brought colour back into
his pale face.

Across from them, a girl in a plain dress sat with her mother. Bucky pointed her out to Steve as she
looked their way; instead of getting embarrassed that he’d been caught staring, Bucky flashed her a
winning smile and flirtatious wink. A pretty stain of pink stretched across her cheeks and button
nose as she tossed her head coquettishly.

“Eugh, I think I’m gonna be sick again,” Steve groaned, only half-joking. Bucky ignored him,
waggling his eyebrows suggestively at the girl.

While this display continued, Steve was distracted by a commotion behind them: the kid from the
shooting gallery was surrounded by four older boys. They’d trapped him against the wall of the
building behind and blocked his path every time he tried to move past.

“You cheated!” the whiny voice of the leader of the gang cut through the cheerful hum of the
crowd.

A second boy made a grab for the toy cowboy that the kid had won. The kid snatched it back,
clutching it tighter against his chest. Steve felt his hands curl into fists — if there was one thing he
hated, it was bullies. Jumping to his feet, his earlier sickness forgotten in his newly awakened
indignation, he marched towards the gang of boys before Bucky had even noticed anything was
amiss.

His little voice rang out clearly. “Hey! Leave him alone!”

The gang of boys turned towards Steve, looked him up and down and laughed derisively. “Beat it,
kid! This ain’t got nothing to do with you.”

Bucky sighed resignedly and pulled himself away from his flirting. He stood up as Steve,
mustering all of his strength, socked the boy closest to him in the gut. Surprise, rather than pain,
flitted across the boy’s face until it gave way to fury. Suddenly, all seven boys — the gang of four
plus Steve, Bucky and the kid — were scuffling. Fists were flung in all directions, catching chins,
noses, stomachs and temples. Steve took more blows than he landed but Bucky had always been
capable of throwing a solid punch, and even the kid fought with surprisingly scrappy ferocity.

The kid’s cap was suddenly knocked off and a cascade of brown curls tumbled out. The leader of
the gang stared in wide-eyed horror.

“It’s a girl!”

“Let’s get outta here. Quick!”

The four boys turned-tail and ran, disappearing into the crowd. Bruised, bloodied and panting —
but grinning nonetheless — Steve, Bucky and the kid watched them go, shouting insults and
crowing at their victory. Steve was sporting a bloodied nose whilst the kid had a splotch of red
around her eye that would bloom into a magnificent shiner. Only Bucky appeared to be unscathed
although his knuckles were the bloodiest of all.

Bucky stooped down and picked up the toy cowboy that had fallen to the floor during the fight. Its
arm was bent at an odd angle, but otherwise it appeared to be fine. He offered it to the kid,
suddenly embarrassed. “Er… here, I think this is yours.”

The kid took it gratefully and stuffed it into her pocket.

“So what’s the deal? D’you usually dress like that or…?” Bucky asked, tactlessly. Steve rolled his
eyes.

“Not usually,” she murmured.

Before she could continue, a distinctly British voice asked, “Do you have any idea of how much
trouble you’re going to be in?”

A gangly third boy, closer to Steve and Bucky’s age than the girl’s, was hanging over a nearby
railing. There was a certain resemblance between the boy and girl in the shapes of their faces and
shades of their hair. Despite his words, a teasing smile played across the newcomer's face as he
approached them. He looked her up and down, taking in her current attire, and said delightedly,
“Ooh, mother would throw a fit if she could see you now.”

“Oh Michael, you aren’t going to tell, are you?” the girl implored, also in accented tones.

Michael pretended to think about it. “I suppose that depends; what do I get in return?”

She stuck her chin out defiantly. “I won’t tell mother about those nude-y drawings you traded
Freddy your best gloves for.”

Michael gave a great bark of laughter. “You vicious little beast!” he declared, without malice. “All
right, then; fine. I won’t tell on you — Scouts honour.”

The girl beamed at him. Michael turned and eyed Steve and Bucky, who had been watching this
exchange silently, with open interest. “And who are these two, then?”

“The name’s Bucky — well, James Buchanan Barnes, but most people call me Bucky. This is
Steve Rogers,” Bucky introduced them.

“Good to meet you, Barnes; Rogers. Michael Carter,” he said before gesturing to the girl, “And this
little terror is my sister, Margaret.”

Margaret winced. “Peggy,” she corrected, “As you fully-well know.”

“Come along, then; best get back quick. The Dudley’s are starting to get suspicious — Ana’s
covering for you but she was nearly hysterical when I left, worrying that the worst might have
happened. Ana’s our governess,” he added for Bucky and Steve’s benefit.

Peggy had the decency to look abashed. “I didn’t mean to worry her,” she mumbled. She cast a
longing look around the amusement park before bursting out, “Oh Michael, please let’s not go back
just yet — we’re out now; let’s have some fun!”

Michael also looked around, taking in the many wonders that Luna Park had to offer. He finally
turned back to Peggy’s shining, hopeful face and smiled, conceding defeat. “We really are going to
be in so much trouble if mother finds out.”

Peggy beamed, as radiant as sunshine poking through an overcast sky. Michael picked up the
discarded cap and clapped it onto her head. He turned to Bucky and Steve again.

“What do you say? Fancy showing two out-of-towners around?” he asked cheerily.

Bucky looked to Steve, who gave an easy shrug of compliance, before answering, “Sure.”

The newly formed foursome set off further into the amusement park, with Bucky pointing out the
sights and Steve occasionally pitching in. Dominating the furthermost wall of Luna Park, and
towering over the lagoon was The Dragon’s Gorge — an enclosed roller coaster and scenic
railroad ride. An immense proscenium arch stretching between two minarets hung over the dragon-
flanked entrance. The four children joined the queue of waiting riders.

“How come you guys are in Brooklyn?” Bucky asked.

“Father’s working in the city,” Peggy answered. “He brought us along for a holiday but it’s been
frightfully dull.”

“We haven’t seen much of him,” Michael chipped in. “He’s a Parliamentary Undersecretary for the
Foreign Office so he’s been in constant meetings. Our ‘holiday’ has mostly been us completing our
lessons with Ana and then waiting around for Father to return for dinner. Mother flits in and out;
she’s making the most of being in New York to strengthen — what she likes to call — her
‘connections’.”

“She only allowed us to come to the beach today with Ana because her friend’s daughters were
coming with their housemaids.”

Michael grinned conspiratorially at the boys. “Catherine and Edith Dudley are two proper little
ladies; I think mother was hoping they might rub off on a certain someone.”

“They’re complete ninnies,” Peggy declared brutally. “All they do is brush each other’s hair and
simper at Michael. It’s revolting.”

Peggy’s assessment of the Dudley daughters brought to Steve’s mind the girls at school. He could
appreciate how tiring it was to constantly watch such a display. The queue moved onwards and
they shuffled forward.

“You still haven’t explained this,” Bucky said, gesturing at Peggy’s clothes.
“I’d heard about the Coney funfair and knew that we’d never be allowed to go with the Dudley’s
— Ana probably would have let us, if we were on our own. She’s something of a bohemian when
Mother isn’t around,” Peggy explained, and there was a note of respectful adoration in her tone. “I
knew mother would make us each pack a spare change of clothing so I stole Michael’s out of the
bag, changed in the bathhouse and snuck away. It was all relatively easy.”

“Yes, well, luckily for you I noticed that my clothes were missing and had the foresight to bring
your spare dress,” Michael told her. “Can you imagine what the Dudley’s would tell their mother if
you returned dressed as you are?”

From his pocket, he pulled out a distinctly crumpled wad of blue material. It had clearly been
stuffed away with all the carelessness of a boy. Somehow, Steve didn’t think that Peggy would
mind this in the slightest.

“Good thinking,” she said, confirming Steve’s theory, as she took the dress and stuffed it into her
own pocket.

They moved forwards again. Bucky and Michael struck up a lively conversation about sport:
Michael explained how he played cricket back home while Bucky tried to describe the differences
between baseball and stickball. Steve lost track of the flow of the conversation fairly quickly and
let his eyes wander over his surroundings once more, picking out how the sun glinted off of the
water in the lagoon and how the rivulets of sand waved across the faux-beach. He was so absorbed
in his observations that he didn’t realise that Peggy was watching him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

He turned to her and suddenly his tongue felt two-sizes too big in his mouth. “Er, I’m not — I
mean, I can’t really… I, er…” he sighed before muttering lamely, “I talk.”

“Do you come to Coney Island very often?” she prompted.

For a moment, Steve hesitated and eyed her suspiciously. After his initial faltering attempts to
string a sentence together, this was usually when other children got fed up with him and moved on
— Peggy, however, was looking at him with encouraging patience and open curiosity. It was…
somewhat unnerving.

Gathering his courage, he forged on.

“Sometimes, not a lot. Only when we can afford—” Steve cut off, feeling the tips of his ear
starting to burn red. “Um, when we feel like it.”

Peggy didn’t comment on his slip. Steve felt as though she understood, though — or, at least,
understood as much as anyone in her position could understand. He’d already taken note of the
expensive quality of the clothes that she and Michael wore, the fact they had a governess, and a
mother who seemingly had a reputation within high-society; not to mention the father in
government and the cross-Atlantic trip that the entire family had made. It was clear that the
Carter’s were wealthier than most families, and certainly wealthier than both Steve and Bucky
whose families barely managed to stay above the poverty line.

And yet, despite this, neither Michael nor Peggy seemed to have any qualms about spending time
with two children who were significantly different to them.

“Why did you feel like it today?” Peggy asked delicately.

“It was my birthday last week,” Steve said before adding with faint pride, “Eleven years old. My
mama gave me money and Bucky insisted that he needed to take me on The Cyclone.”

“How was it?”

Steve winced at the not-too-distant memory of vomiting. “Dreadful.”

Peggy gave him an impish grin and Steve, without realising it, relaxed in her company. “What
d’you think of old Coney, then?”

“It’s wonderful!” she declared sincerely and Steve felt a punch of pride for his hometown.

They were nearly at the front of the queue when Peggy suddenly said, “You know, I could have
handled those boys earlier.”

Steve, recalling how tiny she had looked surrounded by the four older kids, nearly laughed until he
caught sight of her serious little face. He quickly rearranged his features before saying, tartly,
“Gee, most people woulda said ‘thank you’.”

An indignant frown cut through her brow. “Just so we are clear—”

“Alright, alright,” he said hastily, holding his hands up in surrender. “You coulda handled it.”

She continued to frown at him, studying his face carefully to see if she was being mocked. Finally,
her face cleared and she added, somewhat begrudgingly, “Thank you for stepping in.

“You’re a pretty scrappy fighter,” Steve admitted and for the second time that day Peggy’s face
radiated with joy. He grinned before adding, “Y’know, for a girl.”

“Ooh! ” She scowled at him. “I’ll get you back for that one day, Steve Rogers.”

Somehow, Steve recognised that this wouldn’t be an empty threat.

The four children finally made their way onto The Dragon’s Gorge which took them on an
exhilarating ride from the bottom of the sea to the North Pole, Africa and the Grand Canyon. They
crashed through a waterfall, travelled over the River Styx and ventured into the Underworld, ruled
by Hades. Once finished, they climbed out of the ride, exuberantly recalling their favourite
moments.

That afternoon, the foursome created an everlasting friendship as they bounced downhill on The
Tickler, marvelled at the Infant Incubators exhibition, and raced against each other on Shoot the
Chutes. Steve and Bucky even managed to convince Michael and Peggy to try a Coney Dog whose
positive verdict (“It’s not half-bad.”) was taken as high praise. After a couple of hours, however,
the Carter children guiltily conceded that they really should return to Ana.

Steve and Bucky led their British friends towards the swimming pool where the lockers would
allow Peggy to change. She pulled the wadded dress out of her pocket which was more wrinkled
than ever, shook it out uselessly and disappeared into the lockers. Whilst they waited, Bucky
wasted no time in pointing out the ‘dames’ to Michael and Steve — complete with bawdy
commentary.

They were laughing jovially when Peggy returned, her arms filled with a bundle of Michael’s
clothes. “All set?” she asked her brother.

Steve turned and felt an uncomfortable swoon in his belly. Peggy was in a light-blue, puff-sleeved
dress with a white Peter Pan collar; she wore it well despite its crinkled state. Steve suddenly found
himself tongue-tied again — as though this show of femininity cancelled out the last few hours,
which he thought was pretty ridiculous, really. Luckily, he wasn’t required to speak, as Michael
was inspecting her audibly.

“Nothing to be done about the shoes, I suppose,” Michael said. Steve realised that she still wore a
relatively large pair of brown, lace-up brogues. “How on earth did you even get them to fit?”

“I stuffed them with newspaper,” Peggy said and there was no mistaking the note of pride in her
tone at her ingenuity.

"Hey, Steve used t—" Bucky managed to say before Steve stamped on his foot. "Er, never mind."

Peggy looked at them both curiously. She passed the pile of clothes to Michael, "Here, take these a
moment."

In her hand, she held a Coney Island pamphlet. “I managed to find this and a pen inside which was
bloody good luck,” she said and swiftly ripped the pamphlet into two, handing each half to Steve
and Bucky. “I’ve put the name and address of our hotel on the back as well as the suite number.
You’ll have to come and visit sometime.”

“Er, yeah, sure,” Bucky answered for them, somewhat stunned at her forward thinking.

“We’ve been here since mid-June and today’s the most fun we’ve had in over three weeks,” she
declared.

“She’s not wrong,” Michael pitched in. “Do come and visit; won’t you?”

“Next weekend?” Bucky suggested tentatively. Peggy and Michael gave identical grins.

“Until next week, then,” Peggy said.

“See you then, chaps,” Michael added. The Carter children turned and left, bickering animatedly
about who should be responsible for carrying Michael’s clothes. Steve and Bucky watched until
they disappeared into the crowd. Steve turned the ripped pamphlet over and read the information
on the back.

“Buck,” he began tentatively, drawing his friend’s attention, “Have you looked at this?”

Bucky read the message over Steve’s shoulder and whistled impressively. “We might be in just a
little over our head here,” he said seriously.

Peggy’s neat script read:

Michael and Peggy Carter

St. Regis
2 East 55th Street
Manhattan
New York City

Suite 217
Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Luna Park: The original Luna Park was built on Coney Island in 1903 but closed in
1944 after one of their main attractions, The Dragon's Gorge burnt down. In it's
heyday, it attracted thousands of visitors and housed many different attractions
including The Cyclone and Infant Incubators - where real babies were presented to
audiences as part of an exhibition.
Black Thursday: The name given to Thursday 14th October, 1929 - the first day of the
1929 Wall Street Crash and subsequent Great Depression.
'Cowboys and Indians' - whilst today we recognise that the term 'Indians' is
inappropriate to use when referring to the indigenous peoples of the Americas, it
would have been a historically accurate term used in 1930. This has not been used to
cause offence but merely to reflect the time period.
 Part I: Two
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter Two

The following Saturday dawned bright and clear — Steve woke up extra early, too excited and
nervous to sleep. All week he had been distracted and jittery with the anticipation of meeting his
new friends again. He often found himself wondering what Michael and Peggy were up to. He’d
even been caught daydreaming in class, thus missing a direct question, and been reprimanded
severely. The marks on the back of his hand still shone purply-red from where Principal Malik had
rapped a ruler across the knuckles.

Steve climbed out of bed, tucked in the bedclothes and threw open the curtains. Sunlight trickled
into his room at a slanted angle as he turned and crossed his tiny bedroom. The Rogers’ apartment
was pokey but homely; Steve’s bedroom and his mama’s were adjacent to each other, opening out
directly into the living room. An aged, sagging couch and his mama’s floral armchair took up most
of the floor space. In the far left-hand corner, a simple hutch filled with crockery stood beside the
central gas fireplace that, more often than not, they couldn’t afford to light. In the height of winter,
when it was cold enough to see their breath indoors, Sarah Rogers would consent to lighting it for
an hour a day — during this time, Steve enjoyed lounging on his belly in front of the fire, protected
from the cold linoleum floor by a singed, threadbare rug, either reading or colouring.

On the mantle above the fire, a photo of baby Steve proudly stood in the centre. On the left of this
was a military portrait of the father Steve never knew and then on the right a photograph of Sarah
and Joseph Rogers on their wedding day.

On the right-hand side of the room, the kitchenette (which was only big enough for one person to
navigate their way around at a time) was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar. A
stove, single food cupboard, washtub and ironing board set took up most of the space. At the end of
the breakfast bar, a pillar stretched from floor to ceiling. Marks gouged into the wood documented
Steve’s height progression since infancy — although no marks had been added in over a year.

Steve padded towards the bathroom and relieved himself. Located beside his mama’s bedroom, the
windowless room contained a toilet, sink and medicine cabinet with a cracked mirror-face. Steve
pulled the chain on the toilet and shed himself of his pyjamas. Half-filling the sink’s basin with the
almost-warm water, he vigorously washed himself with the hard sliver of carbolic soap. Once
clean, Steve took a scratchy towel off of a hook on the door and wrapped it around his goose-
pimpled body.

For a long moment, he stared at himself in the mirror, critically eyeing the mop of blond hair that
fell into his eyes. His mama had meant to cut it earlier in the week but she’d been busy at the
hospital, covering double and sometimes even triple shifts. Running the tap again, Steve cupped
handfuls of cold water and poured them over his head, shuddering as the rivulets raced down his
spine. Once his hair was fully saturated, he turned the tap off and opened the medicine cabinet,
taking down the tortoiseshell comb that had once belonged to his father. Aside from a few missing
tines, the comb had been well-cared for over the years.

Steve pulled the comb through his hair, trying to make the blond locks sit neatly but they still
flicked outwards at the ends and fell into his eyes. Decisively, he knotted the towel around his
waist, turned from the bathroom and headed back out into the living room. Crossing to his mama’s
basket of darning, he rummaged around before retrieving the large and, unbeknown to him, mostly
blunt scissors.

Grabbing the first lock of hair that he could see, Steve pulled it taut and cut. The scissors jammed
halfway through. He sawed back and forth until the blades were free and he was clutching his first
fistful of hair. Letting it drop to the floor, he picked another. A second hank of hair fell to the floor.
With mounting confidence, Steve grabbed and snipped with increasing frenzy until a pile of hair
collected at his feet.

Steve threw the scissors back into the darning basket, feeling immensely proud of himself.
Dropping to his knees, he swept the discarded hair into his hands and disposed of it in the trash can
in the kitchenette. Steve then returned to the bathroom to admire his handiwork.

Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he recoiled backwards in horror at the reflected image. His
stomach gave a sickening lurch.

The back of his hair was still thick and curling at the ends whilst the front of his hair was jaggedly
uneven and, in some places, shorn so short that only spiky bristles remained. Steve could only gape
wordlessly at his reflection.

The sound of a key being inserted into the front door made Steve jump. He bolted back to his
bedroom, grabbed a shirt from his closet and slung it over his head before Sarah Rogers had even
fully made it through the front door.

“G’morning, Mama,” he greeted, voice muffled from the shirt he was pretending to struggle with.
He wasn’t yet prepared for her reaction to his new hairstyle.

Sarah moved through the apartment and stopped in his bedroom doorway. Although her image was
muted by the fabric, Steve could imagine what she looked like — leaning into the doorway in her
nurse’s uniform looking tired and wan but wearing her special smile, reserved just for him.

“You’re up early.”

“Heading out later with Buck,” he explained.

“Ahh, I see,” she said. “Going to meet this Michael and Peggy I’ve been hearing all about, hm?”

There was an ever so slight emphasis on the name ‘Peggy’ which made Steve groan.

“Mama.”

“Yes?” she asked, entirely too-innocently.

“Don’t get all mushy,” Steve said. “She’s a kid.”

“As are you.”

“No, I mean she’s a kid-kid.”

“Alright, alright; she’s a kid-kid,” Sarah relented, amusement laced through her tone. There was a
pause as Steve gave the shirt a few halfhearted tugs. “D’you need a hand with that?”

“No, thanks; I’ve got it,” Steve said.

She crossed the room and planted a kiss on the top of his covered head. “I’m going to bed for a few
hours,” she told him. “When you go out, take the spare key with you and try not to slam the door -
y’know what old Mrs Blonsky’s like.”

Steve grinned. “I won’t, Mama.”

Sarah turned and retreated from the bedroom. Steve waited until he heard her bedroom door close
and heaved a sigh of relief, glad that she hadn’t insisted on helping him with his shirt. Popping his
head through the collar, he tentatively stroked the front of his hair, feeling the uneven cut.

Steve dressed slowly, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to make his excuses when
Bucky arrived and forgo visiting Michael and Peggy. Once dressed, he flopped down on his bed,
miserably wondering whether Bucky would still go into the city without him. If Bucky did go
without Steve then perhaps Michael and Peggy would realise how much fun they had as a group of
three, and Steve wouldn’t be invited again. Alternatively, if neither boy turned up then perhaps the
Carter’s would be offended and thus end their friendship entirely.

Steve wasn’t sure which option he disliked more. Two images spiralled through his head, as
though a film reel was playing on a continuous loop: in the first version, Bucky, Michael and
Peggy played together, laughing and enjoying each other’s company without once mentioning
Steve; in the second, Michael and Peggy sat staring at a clock, watching the hours slip away as
they waited for the two boys from Brooklyn to arrive — first in anticipation, then in
disappointment, and finally in furious indignation.

A smart rap on the front door broke through Steve’s thoughts and he jumped up, realising how late
in the morning it had gotten. The sun was shining more fiercely into his room now. He dropped to
all fours and hastily rummaged under his bed, pulling out a dusty knit cap which he slapped onto
his head. Hurrying to the front door, he pulled it open to reveal Bucky with his easy grin.

“What have you got that on for?” Bucky asked, by way of greeting, eyeing the unseasonable hat on
Steve’s head.

“I can’t go; I don’t… I don’t feel very well,” Steve lied, feeling like a heel.

“But you haven’t stopped going on about it all week!”

“You’ll just have to go without me,” Steve mumbled lousily, looking anywhere but at his friend.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Steve stammered for a moment but couldn’t think of a lie quick enough. Bucky’s eyes narrowed
suspiciously.

“Alright, Steve, quit horsin' around. What’s really going on?”

“I already told you…”

“Mm-hm.” Bucky suddenly reached out and made a snatch for the top of the knit cap. With
surprising agility, Steve managed to duck away from his grasping fingers.

“Bucky, don’t!”

Bucky reached out again and the two boys scuffled in the doorway. Bucky pinched the cap
between his fingers and tore it away from Steve’s head. The latters hair (or lack, thereof) fell into
place. Bucky’s frown sagged into shock before the corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes
danced with delighted amusement.

“Go on, laugh it up,” Steve said miserably.

Bucky quickly sucked his lips between his teeth and bit down on them, trying to contain himself.
Once the initial urge to laugh passed, he blew them out noisily. “It ain’t so bad,” Bucky managed
to say, his voice higher than usual with suppressed mirth.

“Yeah, right,” Steve scoffed. “Now you know why I can’t go; you’ll just have to go without me.”

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky implored, “No one’ll even notice — it’s just a few hairs.”

“Easy for you to say,” Steve said, glaring resentfully at Bucky’s neatly parted locks. He ran a hand
over his own head again, feeling the prickly bristles. “I look like a moron. Michael and Peggy’d
never wanna be friends with me, looking like this.”

“What a loada baloney,” Bucky replied impatiently. “Ya really gonna let one bad haircut ruin your
entire weekend? Now that’s what I’d call moronic.”

The image of Bucky, Michael and Peggy having fun without him played again across Steve’s
mind. He felt his resolve starting to crumble.

“You’ll regret not going a helluva lot more than if you do,” Bucky said temptingly.

“Alright, fine,” Steve finally conceded, “but I’m keeping the hat on.”

Snatching it out of Bucky’s hand, he replaced it back onto his head and tucked his hair up beneath
the folded brim. It made his face look even thinner and more pointed than usual. Bucky raised his
eyebrows skeptically, wondering whether it would be worth reminding Steve that they were in the
height of summer but, with a shrug, chose not to — at this point, he was simply glad to have gotten
his friend to agree to leave the house.

Three train rides later, Steve and Bucky emerged out of the sooty subway and into brilliant
sunshine on a busy, vibrant street. They’d pooled together the last of Steve’s birthday money and
the savings Bucky had painstakingly collected whilst working afternoons as a paperboy to pay for
their train fare. Tucking their tickets safely away, they started walking in the general direction of
their destination.

Despite living so close, the boys rarely ventured into the city. It took them a significant while to
find their way and they were often distracted by various marvels: monolithic buildings that
stretched into the sky, automobiles squawking their horns, construction sites with half-formed
structures and, in Bucky’s case, the girls that passed by. They followed the numbered street signs
and clutched the slip of pamphlet that Peggy had given them, checking and re-checking every few
moments as though the message inked on paper might suddenly change.

Finally, they stopped outside a towering, grand building. Gold lettering on a strip of black showed
that they had arrived at the St. Regis. Opened in 1904 by John Jacob Astor IV, the St. Regis
adopted the Parisian architectural style, Beaux-Arts; a mixture of French neoclassicism with Gothic
and Renaissance elements. The natural stone had been sculpted and manipulated to include
ornamental festoons, balustrades and pilasters. Framing the centre of the hotel were two sets of
steps, each leading up to an elegant archway. Within the archway, a revolving door permitted entry
to guests and the warm, golden light of the lobby spilled through the glass panels.
It was an elegant mixture of inviting and intimidating.

Bucky and Steve stood rooted to the spot, open-mouthed with awe. Doormen in black overcoats
with gold piping and matching peaked caps escorted guests from automobiles to the front entrance
whilst bellboys in red, gold and black uniforms unloaded luggage from the trunk and carried it into
the hotel.

The two children were brought back to themselves as other pedestrians on the sidewalk jostled
them out of the way. Bucky jogged towards the entrance, climbing the red-carpeted stairs with
Steve trailing behind, still looking around dazedly. Bucky’s path was suddenly blocked by one of
the doormen. He sneered down a long, pointed nose at the two boys, taking in Bucky’s shirt that
had been darned in many places and Steve’s fraying knit cap.

“May I help you?”

“We’re here to see our friends,” said Bucky.

The doorman gave an unpleasant titter. “I’m sure any friends of yours wouldn’t be welcome in an
establishment such as this.”

Bucky’s temper flared. “And what’s that s’pose to mean?”

The doorman didn’t respond, instead giving the two children a sardonic smile. Bucky waved the
torn pamphlet in his face.

“Look here,” he said. “Michael and Peggy Carter; Suite 217 — now let us up!”

“On your way, thank you,” the doorman replied, without looking at the pamphlet, “Or we will be
forced to call the authorities.”

Two high spots of colour were starting to form on Bucky’s indignant face. “You think you’re real
great just ‘cause you’ve got this lousy job; all you do all day is open car doors for folks who’re
bigger ‘n’ better than you!”

Steve tugged on Bucky’s sleeve. Humiliation at their rejection was eating away at him like acid.
“Buck, c’mon — let’s go,” he said quietly.

The doorman continued to smile unpleasantly at them as they turned and walked away. Bucky’s
hands were balled into tight fists and he was quaking with suppressed rage. Steve’s stomach
continued to churn unpleasantly and an acrid taste filled his mouth.

“That guy was a jerk!” Bucky burst out when they were out of earshot.

“Yeah, well…” Steve mumbled dejectedly.

What had they honestly expected? It wasn’t usual for children like the Carter’s to befriend children
like him and Bucky. Sure, friendship had come easily last week when they’d been revelling in their
victory against the bullies but, somehow, that seemed like a long time ago now. Perhaps it had only
been the wonder of Coney Island that had suspended the rules for a few hours and now the real
world was kicking in again, reminding Steve and Bucky of where their place truly was.

“Ya got balls, kid.”

Steve and Bucky both spun around. In a narrow alley between the St. Regis and the building next
door, a young man wearing the bellboy uniform of the hotel was lounging against the wall,
smoking a cigarette. He’d discarded his hat and his dark hair hung in curtains around his face. The
top button of his jacket was undone, revealing a sleeveless shirt underneath. Overall, he didn’t
appear to uphold the elegance that the hotel was famed for.

“Stickin’ up to old Torrance like that,” the man continued. “You said what half of us bellboys have
been thinkin’ for a long time.”

“Er, thanks,” Bucky said, uncertainly.

“Joe,” the man introduced, holding out his hand. Bucky and Steve took it in turns to shake because
it was the polite thing to do and introduced themselves. Joe sucked on his cigarette until it was a
tiny stub and then flicked it away. He eyed the two boys interestedly before releasing the smoke in
a steady stream. “So whaddya think ya doin’, tryin’ t'walk through the front door of the Regis?”

“Our friends invited us,” Bucky said defensively. He held out the pamphlet that was still clutched
in his hand — although a little crumpled now from his clenched fists.

Joe took it and read the information. He nodded to himself. “Oh yeah, I know these two — good
kids. Brits. Ma’s got a great pair of…” he trailed off sheepishly and handed back the pamphlet.
“Look, I can’t get you in — it’d be more’n my job’s worth if Torrance found out and complained to
management — but I could maybe get a message to the room for you.”

“Great! Tell them—”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Joe cut over Bucky, holding his hands out in front of him. “Now you’re a
smart kid; y’know nothing comes free in this world. So, what do I get for helping?”

“That’s extortion,” Steve accused.

“Yeah, yeah; cry me a river, kid. You wanna get a message to them, or not?”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look before Bucky turned to Joe, looking suspicious. “How do we
know you’re actually gonna deliver our message?”

Joe pushed off of the wall, shrugging. “Hey, don’t mind me; if ya got an alternative delivery boy
waitin’ to take ya message, then…” he left the sentence hanging.

Bucky sighed. “How much is this gonna cost us?”

Joe flashed a grin. “How much ya got?”

Bucky pulled out his battered wallet and counted the contents. “Four dollars and sixty eight cents.”

Joe slapped his forehead comically. “Well, whaddya know? That’s exactly how much it costs to
deliver one message,” he paused and then added, “Ya know what? I like ya, so I’ll knock off the
sixty eight cents.”

Bucky started to pull out the assembled notes and coins and Steve didn’t miss the faintly crushed
look on his face as he prepared to hand over the last of his savings. Steve stepped between Joe and
Bucky, looking fiercely at the bellboy.

“Is this what you do all day? Lounge around outside the hotel, smoking cigarettes and swindling
people? You’re nothing but a cheap crook,” Steve accused.

Joe pointed a finger in Steve’s face, his easy charm slipping and there was a definite threat in his
cold, blue eyes. “Watch ya mouth, kid.”

“Ignore him. Here,” Bucky said, elbowing Steve out of the way and dropping the money into Joe’s
outstretched palm. He relayed the message that he wanted delivered to Michael and Peggy.
“Thanks.”

“You should teach ya friend some manners,” Joe told Bucky before fixing his steely gaze on Steve
again. “Ya lucky my nonna ain’t around to hear how you disrespect me; she’s gutted men with a
kitchen knife for less.”

Joe turned on his heel and marched down the alley towards a service door, fixing his uniform as he
went. They watched until he disappeared back into the hotel before Bucky turned to Steve, giving
him an exasperated look.

“Why d’you always gotta do that?”

“Do what?” Steve asked peevishly, “That guy is a crook. You shouldn’ta given him your money.”

“D’you see anyone else offering to help us? Even paid help is better than none,” Bucky said before
sighing — he really didn’t want to argue about this. “C’mon, we need to keep an eye on the
entrance in case they do come out.”

Bucky turned and started to walk across the street and, after a moment, Steve followed him. Once
across, they lolled against the railings of a building opposite the St. Regis as the doorman,
Torrance, continued to usher guests in and out of the hotel.

Towering above the (somewhat) patiently waiting Steve and Bucky, Michael and Peggy
participated in their lessons, copying from their respective textbooks under the vigilant supervision
of Ana, who made the occasional comment or suggestion for a misspelt word or incorrect concept.
From Michael and Peggy’s previous experience, Governesses were what they liked to call ‘the
three S’s’ - Strict, Stuffy Spinsters, who always wore grey and never deemed to smile.

Ana Simko, therefore, was a breath of fresh air; originally from Hungary, she was fairly young
with vibrant red hair that was usually twisted into braids and then wound around her head. She
wore eye-watering florals, bright shades of green and was very rarely ever cross. Ana delivered all
of Peggy’s lessons at home and Michael joined when he wasn’t attending Boarding School.

If Lady Amanda Carter sometimes disapproved of Ana’s perceived eccentricities, then she was at
least satisfied with the schooling and progress of the children — both of whom fervently expressed
their admiration for the governess. This, in itself, was a blessing.

Amanda could still recall the embarrassment and shame she had felt following the frogspawn
incident. Both children had been straight-faced and tight-lipped when the study room door had
been thrown open three years previously at their home in Hampstead, and their governess, Miss
Fry had ran out, hair splattered with frogspawn and shrieking that the children were devils. To this
day, Michael still claimed that it was a nature study experiment gone wrong but Amanda suspected
that Margaret’s scheming fingers were all over it. Either way, Miss Fry immediately packed her
bags and the agency refused to send another replacement.

That September, Michael had started boarding school and a different agency had provided them
with Ana — so far, there had been no incidents. Even so, Amanda was convinced that Margaret
would turn her prematurely grey. Since a young age, her daughter had been unruly, preferring to
roughhouse with the boys than play quietly with other young ladies. Her hope was that Margaret
would eventually grow out of this, otherwise she dreaded to think what drastic action she and
Harrison would have to take.

Amanda was currently locked away in the ensuite bathroom, bathing before this evening’s meal
whilst the children worked. She had requested not to be disturbed and, so far, her order had been
followed.

In the large, comfortably furnished living room, Peggy and Michael were starting to grow bored
with their studies. Peggy dropped her pencil mid sentence.

“Ana, why must we keep working?” she asked with a little whine. “We’re on holiday - let’s do
something fun!”

“Don’t you think you had enough fun last weekend?” Ana replied dryly in her lightly accented
voice, raising an eyebrow.

“We said ‘sorry’, Ana; haven’t you forgiven us yet?”

“Yes, haven’t you forgiven us?” Peggy repeated. She made her eyes large, round and entirely too-
innocent looking.

“Oh no,” Ana said with a laugh, “Don’t you try that with me, little Miss.”

“Why? Is it working?” Peggy asked with a grin.

There was a knock at the front door of the suite and Mr. Doobin, the butler, answered it to a
bellboy carrying an armful of dry cleaning containing Amanda’s evening gowns. There was a
discreet exchange of a monetary tip. The bellboy looked interestedly at the two Carter children
before the door was firmly closed. Mr. Doobin carried the garment bags towards the master
bedroom to pack away into the closet and a slip of crumpled paper fell from between the folds of
fabric to the floor. Ana crossed the room and retrieved it, scanning the front and then reading the
messages written on the back — Peggy’s distinctive handwriting followed by an unrecognisable
scrawl.

“What’s this?” Ana asked curiously.

The two children crowded around and also read the note.

“They remembered!” Peggy exclaimed.

“I told you they would,” Michael replied, beaming.

“‘Bucky and Steve; waiting outside; Be there until two-thirty’,” Ana read. She looked up at Peggy
and Michael. “Are these the two boys you told me about? The ones from the funfair?”

“Yes,” said Peggy, excitedly. “I gave them our address and told them to visit us this weekend.”

“Elgurult a gyógyszered!” Ana exclaimed, “What were you thinking? We’re already hoping your
disappearing act won’t be reported back to your mother by the Dudley’s, and now you’ve invited
these boys to the hotel!”

“It’ll be fine, Ana,” Peggy reassured, surprised at their governess’ lack of calm. “If mother asks,
we’ll just tell her that we met them in the park.”
“Besides, now that we know they’re outside, they needn’t come up at all — we can go down to
them,” Michael added. He hesitated before adding, “You will let us meet them, won’t you?”

Ana looked between each of their hopeful faces. “It’s worrying how many lies roll so easily off of
your tongues,” she said with a sigh before relenting, “Fine; you may go down but you must be back
by four o’clock to prepare for dinner. No excuses.”

“We promise,” Michael said, nodding vigorously.

“Four o’clock, on the dot!” Peggy added before both she and her brother scurried off to get ready to
leave.

Across the street from the St. Regis, Steve and Bucky continued to wait. They kept one eye fixed
on the entrance and the other on the sidewalk clock half a block away. The time was steadily
counting down to their deadline of two-thirty. Steve couldn’t help but wonder what would happen
if two-thirty arrived and neither Michael nor Peggy made an appearance; would he and Bucky
leave straight away or would they stay rooted in their position, giving each other excuses about
why the Carter’s might be running late until the hours dwindled away and it grew dark?

Finally, two familiar children clattered down the front steps, talking animatedly. They stopped on
the sidewalk and looked around expectantly. Steve nudged Bucky who grinned and the pair of
them made their way back across the street. Michael and Peggy wore matching beams upon seeing
them.

“Hullo,” Michael greeted. “Found us all right then?”

“Piece o’ cake,” Bucky said smoothly.

Michael looked interestedly at Steve. “What’s with the hat?”

Steve stammered unintelligibly until Bucky stepped in. “He’s caught a chill,” he lied, “The best
way to get rid of it is to sweat it out.”

“Are you sure you want to be out today?” Peggy asked Steve sympathetically.

“M’okay,” he mumbled.

“You’re lucky we found your note; it had been slipped between some of mother’s dresses,” Peggy
said. “Goodness knows what would have happened if she’d found it. Why didn’t you come up to
the suite?”

Steve fidgeted embarrassedly and Bucky hesitated before retelling them, briefly, what had
happened with the doorman. Peggy’s eyes narrowed as she listened until they were two hard slits.
Once Bucky finished, she asked him to point out the doorman responsible and he immediately
nodded his head towards Torrance. The boys watched, incredulously, as Peggy marched up to him.

“Excuse me?” she said in a loud, carrying voice. Drawing herself up to her full height (which
wasn’t saying much), she continued regally, “These boys, whom you so ungraciously denied entry
into the hotel, are friends of mine and therefore will be shown the proper respect that they deserve.
The next time they visit, you will allow them in without questions asked. And,” she added, “you
will inform the other doormen too. Unless, of course, you would rather I speak with the hotel
manager?”
Torrance gaped at her for a moment. Then, in an unctuous tone said, “Why of course, Mistress
Carter. It would be my… pleasure to permit any friends of yours.”

“That will be all,” she dismissed.

Without waiting for an answer, Peggy skipped back to the waiting boys. Steve and Bucky looked
in equal parts pleased and embarrassed. Michael guffawed with laughter.

“Sometimes, I forget that you’re mother’s daughter, and then you go and do something like that.”

“Yes, well,” she began, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “He shouldn’t be such a rude arse
then.”

Michael nudged Bucky in the ribs. “She’s back to normal.”

Peggy grinned as though Michael had just paid her a great compliment. She pirouetted on the spot,
taking in the immediate sights of the city. “Where to first?” she asked eagerly.

“How about Central Park?” Steve suggested, naming the first place that he could think of. “Have
you been there yet?”

“Only in passing,” Michael replied.

“To Central Park,” Bucky declared as though they were embarking on a great expedition, rather
than just walking a few blocks.

Bucky and Steve took the lead, guiding the Carter children up Fifth Avenue towards where the
buildings parted for greenery. The four children stopped at the final crossing and marvelled at the
size of the urban park as it disappeared towards the north. At the edge of the park, lines of horse-
drawn carriages waited patiently to take passengers for a ride. Peggy looked excitedly at Bucky
and Steve.

“Can we ride in one of the carriages?” she asked.

Steve exchanged a look with Bucky before turning back to the excitable nine-year-old. “They can
be a little pricey,” he said slowly, the apology already lacing into his tone. “We, er, used up our
money today.”

“Not a problem,” Michael said cheerfully, “Our treat.”

“We can’t let you do that,” Bucky protested.

“Nonsense. You came all the way into the city to meet us; this is the least we can do.”

It was clear that there wasn’t room for argument so the two boys from Brooklyn agreed with
reluctant smiles. The four children walked towards the first horse owner in the queue and Michael
paid the fare before the four of them climbed into the carriage.

Steve and Bucky rode backwards, facing Michael and Peggy whose faces lit up with delight as the
driver climbed aboard and started to set the horse in motion. They were taken on a long, scenic
route through the park that led them past sweeping lawns, rocky outcrops and large bodies of
water. At this moment, it was hard to believe that this serene parkland would shortly be reduced to
a shantytown as impoverished families lost their homes and flocked to what Charles Michelson
would coin ‘Hoovervilles’.
“How much longer d’you think you’ll be in New York?” Bucky asked as they bounced along in the
carriage.

“A couple more weeks,” Michael replied. “Father’s close to finishing his trade deal, one way or
another. Once that’s completed, he’ll spend a few days relaxing and then we’ll all head back to
merry old England. I’ll have to return to boarding school, of course, until the summer holidays
arrive.”

The next few minutes passed with Steve and Bucky quizzing Michael on attending an all-boys
boarding school. They wanted to know everything, from the quality of meals to lessons to extra-
curricular activities and, in Bucky’s case, how Michael manages without girls in his classes.
Michael laughingly told him that it made studying easier as there were less distractions — although
at the weekends, he and his friends would leave the school and flirt with the local village’s
daughters. Michael started to tell a rather bawdy story about how he and his friends liked to hang
around the village square and try to guess which girls had started wearing brassieres.

Peggy tsked disgustedly. “You are repugnant.”

Bucky, however, was howling with laughter and encouraged Michael to tell him more. Ignoring his
sister, Michael went into detail about how a person might tell the difference. Peggy folded her
arms and turned away bad-temperedly. She noticed that Steve didn’t appear to be involved in the
boys’ conversation; he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, tugging furtively at the collar of his
shirt as a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face from beneath the knit cap. His neck and
cheeks were rosy.

It was a blazingly hot day and there was no respite from the heat in the shadeless carriage.

“Steve,” she said quietly and kindly, “You seem ever so hot. Perhaps the chill has passed now.
Why don’t you remove the cap?”

Steve gave her a panicked look. “I can’t,” he said, his voice strangled.

Peggy looked at him in surprise. “Whyever not?”

Steve glanced down at his knees. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“No, I won’t,” she said, quiet and earnest.

“You will,” Steve promised. His expression was one of someone facing the gallows rather than
simply removing a hat, as he tugged the knit cap off of his sweaty brow and revealed his jagged
haircut. He continued to stare at his knees, cheeks now crimson with embarrassment rather than
heat.

“Oh, Steve,” Peggy said sympathetically.

Michael cut off from his conversation with Bucky mid-sentence as he caught a look at Steve’s hair.
“Good God!” he exclaimed, delightedly, “What’s happened to you?”

Peggy shot him a filthy look and Michael stalled. “Er, I mean…” he trailed off uselessly, finally
taking in Steve’s defeated and humiliated body language. He quickly changed tact, “We’ve all been
there; our last governess, Miss Fry, once gave me the most frightful haircut — do you remember,
Peg? The back and sides were two inches higher than they should have been; I looked as though I
was due to take up orders in a monastery. All I needed was a shaven pate.”

A small, reluctant grin tugged at Steve’s full lips.

“Who did it to you, then? Your mother?”

Steve took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I-did-it-myself.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Well, I’d say you were jolly well brave cutting your own hair. It may
not have worked out the way you wanted it to but,” Michael gave an exaggerated shudder, “I surely
wouldn’t have had the guts to do it.”

Steve looked up hopefully. “You think I have guts?”

“Of course you do!”

Steve tugged on a few strands. “I only wanted to trim the ends so that it didn’t look so messy but I
kinda got carried away and…”

He trailed off as his original mortification gave away to laughter. It started as a snigger and then a
grin before finally his shoulders shuddered and his eyes filled with tears of mirth. Bucky, Michael
and Peggy, witnessing Steve’s infectious humour, started to laugh as well until the carriage was
filled with four roaring children. Each time they would calm down, one of them would catch the
other’s eye or look at Steve’s hair and it would set them off again.

The giggles finally subsided and the children were able to catch their breaths again as the carriage
pulled to a stop after completing it’s great loop of the park. They thanked the driver profusely and
climbed down onto the cobbled sidewalk again. Steve’s cap had been stuffed into his pocket and
he was grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Where to next?” he asked, “There’s a menagerie in the park, if you want to see it.”

The Carter children expressed their excitement at the prospect and so they entered the park, Steve
and Bucky leading them down narrow paths where the carriage couldn’t have travelled. They
reached the menagerie which was popular with tourists due to its omission of an entrance fee. The
children wandered between cages housing exciting animals such as gorillas, a rhinoceros, a bison
and even a pack of wolves, however were left relatively disappointed; the buildings were
crumbling, the smell was awful and the animals looked downcast and neglected.

By the time they wandered out of Central Park, it was fast approaching Ana’s curfew for the Carter
children. Steve and Bucky offered to walk them back to the hotel but they assured them that they
remembered the way, so instead the four of them headed towards the subway that the boys would
need to take back to Brooklyn.

“What are you doing this Friday?” Bucky asked as they walked.

“Mother and Father are taking us to the theatre,” Michael said. “It should be exciting but I’m sure
they’ve chosen something frightfully dull to watch.”

“What about Thursday?”

“Nothing, as far as I’m aware. Just dinner.”

“Would you like to come for dinner at my home?” Bucky offered. Steve eyed him with surprise;
after seeing the grandeur of where Michael and Peggy were currently living, he hadn’t expected
either of them to invite the Carter’s to Brooklyn. Bucky looked serious, however.

Peggy’s face lit up. “Are you sure we’d be allowed?”

 He shrugged easily. “‘Course; Ma won’t mind — she always cooks more for Steve here, anyway,
just in case he comes by.”

Michael looked with interest at Steve. “You can just drop in whenever? No invitation needed?”

Steve nodded. “Well, yeah,” he said, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

“How splendid,” Michael said, delighted at this new concept. “In that case then we’d be more than
happy to share dinner with you.”

Bucky pulled out the crumpled Coney Island pamphlet which was fast becoming their easiest way
of communicating. Steve produced from his pocket a tiny stub of a pencil which he gave to Bucky
who quickly wrote down his address and the time for dinner. He hesitated before handing the
paper over.

“You sure you wanna come to Brooklyn? It ain’t like this place,” he said, gesturing around at the
well-to-do Midtown.

“We’d like nothing more,” Peggy said sincerely.

Bucky gave a shy smile and handed the paper over. They said their goodbyes before Steve and
Bucky disappeared down into the subway to catch the first of their three trains home.

“Are you sure inviting them to our place was a good idea?” Steve asked anxiously, once they were
underground and out of earshot.

“You heard ‘em; they wanna come,” Bucky said. “Look, Steve, they don’t treat us no different
because we’re down in the mud compared to them — maybe it’s time we start doing the same.”

Steve had always been content with his homelife and place in the world; he’d never felt the need to
better himself in terms of society. After a few days with the Carter children, however, he’d started
to doubt his background and found himself constantly comparing what he didn’t have to what they
did. Bucky gave him a patient smile, as though he was able to read Steve’s thoughts.

“Maybe it’s not only rich folks who can be snobby, huh?”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Bucky replied, his words nearly swallowed by the clattering of the train as it
arrived at their station.

Chapter End Notes

As ever, thank you for reading! I hope you have enjoyed this latest instalment.

BACKGROUND INFORMATION:
- In 1930, Bucky's savings of $4 would equate to roughly $62 by today's standards
(2020)
- Amanda Carter has been updated for this story: instead of the warm, bumbling
woman introduced to us in Agent Carter S2 who is always misplacing her
handkerchief, Lady Amanda Carter is a socialite who believes in status as power.
Whenever I picture her, I think of Emily Tallis from 'Atonement' or Anne Hamilton in
'The Notebook'.
- 'The carriage tour of Central Park dates back to the opening of the park to the public
in 1858. Frederick Law Olmsted designed Central Park’s curving drives to offer
beautiful vistas, best viewed from a carriage, at every turn.' (Taken from Iconic New
York - The History Behind the Icon). Whilst other carriage tours in major cities have
fallen to decline, the horse carriages of NYC have survived the Great Depression, both
World Wars, and various mayoral changes.
- The Central Park Hooverville (a shanty town created during the Great Depression in
many American cities and named as such due to the Presidency of Herbert Hoover)
really came into fruition between 1931 and 1938. The reservoir, which had been
drained for filling but then abandoned by the construction company due to the
Depression, became the home to many families who had lost their homes.

TRANSLATIONS:
- "Elgurult a gyógyszered!" (Hu.) Roll your pills away: a Hungarian expression
roughly equating to 'Have you gone mad?'

CHARACTER INFORMATION:
- Torrance, the host of the Arena Club from Agent Carter S2, playing the role of
Torrance the Doorman
- Joseph Manfredi from Agent Carter S2 playing the role of Joe the Bellboy
- Ana Jarvis from Agent Carter S2 playing the role of Ana Simko, governess to
Michael and Peggy
- Miriam Fry from Agent Carter S1 playing the role of Miss Fry, Michael and Peggy's
former governess
- Alexander Doobin from Agent Carter S1 playing the role of Mr. Doobin, the butler
to the Carter household
 Part I: Three
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter Three

The air was heavy with anticipation. Bucky stepped up to the discarded hat that was acting as home
plate and used his forearm to swipe sweat away from his brow. Bending his knees, he swung the
splintered broomstick handle over his shoulder and squinted at the pitcher waiting down the street.
Two crude foul lines of chalk had been drawn on the street, meeting in a V where the cap lay. The
other bases consisted of a trash can outside the family-run hardware store, a manhole cover further
down the street and a fire hydrant near Brooklyn Antiques — all of which were loaded with his
teammates.

An elastic band ball — slowly formed over many months from the elastics discreetly swiped from
school — flicked out of the hand of the pitcher. The swish and crack of the stick cut through the
jeers of the opposing team as Bucky hit his mark. The ball sailed through the air, hit the overhang
of Brooklyn Antiques and skittered down into the gutter. The outfielders scrambled to collect and
return the ball as Bucky sprinted between the bases, plimpsoled feet pounding across the sun-
baked tarmac.

The other batters raced towards homebase with Bucky close behind them, aiming for a homerun.

From the waiting line of batters, shouts of encouragement followed their teammates as they ran.
Steve cheered his best friend on loudest of all as the outfielders lobbed the ball between
themselves. The first, second and third batters all returned safely until only Bucky was left. He
sprinted hard, eyes fixed determinedly on the final plate.

The elastic band ball arced into the waiting hands of the last fielder. Excitedly, he stamped his foot
down on homebase. From the line of batters, the cheers of encouragement turned to groans of
disappointment as Bucky decelerated to a jog before finally stopping.

“Bad luck, Buck.”

Bucky gave an unaffected shug as he returned to the batters. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

Picking up the discarded broom handle, he passed it to Steve who was next up to bat. The pitcher
cupped two hands around his mouth and shouted to his team, “Bring it in, boys! He ain’t got a hard
whack in him!”

The outfielders moved their positions insultingly closer.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Bucky said encouragingly.

Steve took his place to bat, holding the broomstick over one spindly shoulder. The pitcher threw
the ball and Steve immediately swung. The ball soared straight into the waiting hands of the
catcher who flicked it back. A collective groan rose from Steve’s team.

“Knock it off,” Bucky berated before calling to Steve, “C’mon Steve, you’ve got this!”

“Forget it, Rogers,” the catcher said from behind him, his tone full of spite. “You’re such a
blockhead; why don’t you go back to fingerpaintin’ like the other babies?”
Steve gritted his teeth. Gilmore Hodge — one of the biggest bullies in the neighbourhood. Hodge
was tall, burly and athletic. In many ways he was similar to Bucky: good at sports, charming (when
it suited him), and (for some reason beyond Steve) well-respected. Unlike Bucky, he was also
brutish and cruel — particularly to Steve.

When he wasn’t engaged in sport, Hodge could usually be found prowling the streets with his
faithful gang — boys whose cruelty found an outlet through the whims of their leader; boys who
followed-on for lack of original ideas; and boys who hid their own fear and weakness behind
perceived loyalty. Hodge’s gang had been responsible for smashing the windows of the hardware
store, spray painting the front of the diner, denting the side of the antique store’s truck and
savagely beating half of the kids on the block. And yet, somehow, they were rarely ever caught
doing something wrong.

When they were caught, their actions were described as ‘boys being boys’. To this day, Steve
couldn’t understand the sentiment — especially when this had been expressed after little Jonny
Juniper had ended up in the hospital with a broken clavicle, three missing teeth and a sprained
wrist. He’d tried asking his mama to explain it but she’d only given him a misty-eyed smile and
hugged him tight.

Steve rolled his shoulders and tried to bat again. He swung wildly and the second ball sailed past.
The opposing team started to snigger and Steve could feel the tops of his ears beginning to glow
hotly.

“The only thing worse than your swing is that hack-job,” Hodge said, eyeing his hair. He lobbed
the ball back to the pitcher.

Steve ran a hand over the front of his hair, feeling the still jagged cut. Once the initial shock and
indignation had worn off, his mama had sat him down and neatened up the back and sides with a
proper pair of scissors. The front was declared as a lost cause. Steve had been teased mercilessly at
school for his haircut all week but, for once, had managed to shrug the insults off — to the
confusion of his peers. Each time a comment had followed him down the corridor, across the class
or in the playground, he had simply recalled Bucky, Michael and Peggy’s roaring faces from the
back of the horse-drawn carriage. No insult could eclipse the joy he had felt at laughing at his
misfortune with his friends. Besides, as his mama had pointed out, hair would grow back.

Steve felt his resolve strengthen. Bending his knees, he swung the stick over his shoulder again. He
could do this — he’d been practising with Bucky at the batting cages and had managed to hit the
ball at least twice in one hour. Steve thought the pitcher was eyeing him a little more warily.
Clearly, he could see determination radiating off of him. Steve was glad; let them all underestimate
him and then let him prove them wrong. A flare of excitement ignited in the pit of his stomach at
the thought of the outfielders scrambling for the ball as he brought in a homerun — something
even Bucky had been unable to achieve.

The ball left the pitcher’s hand as though in slow motion, spinning through the air with complete
accuracy. Steve swung the stick and it whistled through the air at speed. The broom handle
skimmed the bottom of the ball as it whipped past and, once again, landed in Hodge’s gloved
hand.

“OUT!”

Steve’s dream of being the new hero of the neighbourhood burst so suddenly and violently that he
physically sagged.

A black automobile pulled down the street, hooting its horn and the children began to scatter.
“Nice one, Rogers,” a member of the opposing team crowed.

“Yeah, thanks for winning the game for us,” another snickered.

“You’ll always be a loser,” Hodge said with nasty relish, elbowing Steve as he passed.

Steve remained in the street, defeated and dejected. Bucky walked over and clapped him bracingly
on the shoulder. “You, er… ya did…”

“Lousy,” Steve muttered.

Bucky was saved from answering as both his and Steve’s names were called. The Carter children
were scrambling excitedly out of the same car that had interrupted their game, wearing their
matching grins. Curious eyes swept over the street, taking in the immediate sights of Bucky and
Steve’s neighbourhood. Bucky raced up to them with Steve trailing behind.

“Found us alright then,” Bucky stated, echoing Michael’s words from the weekend.

Peggy beamed. “Piece of cake,” she quoted.

A woman with coiled red hair and an open, honest face stepped out of the car, leaving the driver
alone. She wore a matching skirt and jacket in an eye-watering shade of green. The woman smiled
at the two boys from Brooklyn.

“You must be the famous Steve and James that I’ve been hearing such marvelous things about,”
she said in warm, European tones. As she said each boys name, she looked correctly into their face
— a small touch that pleased both boys and infused her polite works with genuine sincerity. She
lowered her voice conspiratorially, “Goodness knows why two nice boys such as yourselves would
want to befriend these ragamuffins.”

“Ana!” Michael laughed. He turned to the two boys. “Please ignore our governess; she seems to
think she’s funny.”

“Hysterical,” Peggy added dryly.

Ana smiled indulgently at her two wards. “I’ll wait here with the car; do not be late,” she said with
kind sternness. “Have fun and, for heaven’s sake, mind your manners.”

“We will,” Peggy grinned.

“When don’t we?”

“Irgum-burgum,” Ana sighed dramatically. She threw an arm around each of their shoulders and
hugged them tight before shooing them both away.

Michael immediately wandered over to where the broomstick handle still lay by the chalk lines.
The hat was gone; snatched up by its owner when the game broke up. “What’s this all about then?”
he asked interestedly.

“Stickball,” Bucky answered, following him over to the base of the V. “Don’tcha remember me
telling you about it?”

“Oh yes, your Yanks’ street version of rounders.”

Bucky and Michael wandered between the bases with Bucky pointing out the function and the
intricacies of the game. Steve and Peggy were left alone.
“You’re awfully quiet again,” Peggy said once Bucky and her brother were out of earshot.

“I’m not really into sports,” Steve lied.

“You seemed pretty into it when we turned up.”

“You saw that, huh?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted.

Before they could discuss it further, Steve swiftly changed the topic. “Want a tour of the
neighbourhood?”

Peggy smiled. “Sure.”

Steve led her up and down the street, pointing out the local sights. As well as the hardware store
and Brooklyn Antiques, their neighbourhood consisted of apartment blocks separated by narrow
alleyways, a parking lot and a diner that promised hot coffee and fresh rolls.

Pointing down the road and into the distance, Steve said, “Over that way is the Brooklyn Bridge —
I guess you musta crossed it when you came over from the city. Our school is down that way too
and round the corner. I won’t take you there, though; it’s pretty boring.” He led her down the road
and pointed at Brooklyn Antiques. “The lady who runs that store is a real battleaxe. She isn’t too
fond of us kids ever since someone broke her window a few years back whilst we was playing
stickball.”

They turned and walked back the way they had come. Pointing as they walked, Steve said, “I got
beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner.”

Peggy looked at him with raised eyebrows. “D’you have something against running away?”

Steve shrugged. “You start running, they’ll never let you stop,” he said sagely. “You stand up,
push back; can’t say no forever, right?”

Peggy pursed her lips together thoughtfully. “I know a little something of what that’s like,” she
finally said. “To have every door shut in your face.”

Steve looked at her skeptically.

“You don’t believe me,” she accused lightly before sighing noisily, “Aside from Michael, I’ve
never really had any friends.”

“Come off it,” Steve scoffed.

Peggy gave him a sardonic smile. “I’m not exactly what one might call ‘normal’, Steve. Mother’s
constantly setting up luncheons with me and the children of her friends but… they never work out.
The boys don’t want to play with me because I’m a girl and the girl’s don’t want to play with me
because I’m not enough of a girl.”

“That’s not fair,” Steve said indignantly.

Peggy gave a humourless laugh. “Haven’t you heard yet? Life often isn’t fair.”

“I think you’re just the right amount of girl,” Steve declared honestly before flushing scarlet. He
spluttered for a moment, spitting out half-sentences before Peggy took pity on him.
“Thank you.”

“Anyway,” he forged on, ignoring the burn that was spreading up his neck and across his
cheekbones, “being ‘normal’ is overrated. If the jerks back home don’t think you good enough…
well, then that’s on them.”

Peggy managed a grateful smile. “Hm,” she mused, “You give pretty good advice — perhaps you
should listen to yourself every once in a while.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, pleased and embarrassed all at once. For a brief moment, he
wondered whether Peggy had made up the story about not fitting in, to make him feel better. He
quickly rejected this, however. Steve knew all about how narrow-minded children could be when
faced with someone who was just a little bit different. For a nine year old, she was surprisingly
headstrong and unafraid to speak her mind, she was also fierce when provoked and brave enough to
stand by any of her actions or words. Steve could understand why some children would find these
qualities intimidating or confusing and therefore act dismissive. To Steve and Bucky, though, it
was these things that made Peggy so interesting.

“What’re you two making googly eyes at each other for?” Bucky suddenly interrupted, calling to
them from down the street.

“Ugh, we’re not making… how're we… shut up, Buck!”

Grinning widely, Bucky gestured for them to come back to where he and Michael were waiting,
having finished talking about stickball. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

Steve and Peggy returned to the two boys (Steve glaring daggers at Bucky the entire time) and the
foursome headed towards the apartment complex on the corner of the street. Similar to most of the
nearby buildings, the block was constructed of brown brick. The apartment block was U-shaped
around a concrete courtyard with a single, wilted tree in the centre. Exterior stairways and
walkways led to the apartments on the upper floors and lines of washed clothes criss-crossed
overhead between buildings.

“That’s my place,” Steve said, pointing to an apartment at the end of a walkway on the second
floor. He pointed to another apartment on the opposite side of the courtyard and up another level.
“And that’s Bucky’s.”

“It must be pretty swell living so close to your best friend,” Michael said.

Steve and Bucky grinned at each other. “It ain’t bad.”

Bucky led them up the nearest stairwell. They wound around it and emerged three floors up.
Passing half of the apartments along the walkway, Bucky grinned at them before pushing open an
unlocked door. An explosion of sound swept out from inside.

“I’m home!” Bucky bellowed into the depths of the apartment, adding to the cacophony of noise.

There was a great scramble as three girls, all blue-eyed and dark-haired like their brother, bundled
towards the front door. They jabbered excitedly over each other.

“We thought you were gonna be late! Ma’s nearly—”

“Jimmy, look what I made—”

“—and soon we’ll be setting—”

“—it can move if you—”

“Stevie!” Chubby arms and legs pumped as the youngest sister squealed delightedly and streaked
straight at Steve, throwing herself into his arms in gales of laughter. Steve stumbled backwards as
the toddler thumped into him but he caught her under the arms nonetheless.

“Woah!” he laughed. “You’re getting big.”

She smiled proudly, showing pearly rows of milk teeth. “Me big girl.”

“Michael and Peggy, these are my sisters,” Bucky introduced, pointing first to the eldest daughter
who appeared to be slightly older than Peggy. “This is Rebecca, Marie and the baby, Charlotte.”

Charlotte pouted. “Me big girl!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah; you’re a big girl. Girls, this is Michael and Peggy Carter.”

“Is she your girlfriend, Jimmy?” Marie asked, eyeing Peggy slyly.

“Knock it off,” Bucky snapped, glaring darkly at his sister — clearly he had forgotten his own
earlier remark to Steve and Peggy. “Unless you want your diary to go to Hodge.” He put on a high
falsetto, “Mrs Marie Hodge. Mr and Mrs G. Hodge. Gilmore Hodge is soooooo handsome! ”

Marie flushed scarlet. “You wouldn’t dare!” she hissed.

“Don’t be rude, then.”

Marie glared at him before stamping off into the apartment, scowling at all of the other children as
she passed. Bucky looked to Rebecca who rolled her eyes.

“Sorry about her,” Rebecca apologised to Peggy and Michael tiredly. “Ma says she should be on
the stage — what with her flare for the dramatics.”

“Apparently it’s a ‘phase’,” Bucky said, curling his fingers around the word. “I sure hope it ends
soon. Anyway, forget her — come an’ meet Ma.”

Bucky and Steve’s apartments were nearly identical except there was an extra bedroom and more
living space. A short hallway leading from the front door opened out into the living room ahead,
and Bucky and Rebecca’s room on the right-hand side. The door to the bedroom was half-open
and, peering inside as they passed, Michael and Peggy could see that it was a room of two halves:
on the left, childish paintings of nature and porcelain animals whilst the right was a jumble of
sports memorabilia. Bucky led them into the living room where a woman wearing a flowery apron
over a smock dress was emerging from the kitchenette.

Ma Barnes, as everyone called her, was a warm and affectionate mother who was fiercely
protective of her children but unafraid to cuff them around the ear when they stepped out of line.
Within a short amount of time, it was clear to see that this relationship extended to Steve, too. It
appeared that Steve was a frequent visitor at the Barnes’ household and was thus treated as an
extended member of the immediate family. For Michael and Peggy, who were sometimes treated as
strangers within their own home, this was a new and (at first) unnerving marvel.

After the greetings had been made between Michael, Peggy and Ma Barnes, the latter
unselfconsciously set all of the children to work in laying the table for dinner. Marie even slunk in
to help, looking moody and sullen. The table — a collapsible contraption — was pulled away from
the far wall and set up in the middle of the living room. The Barnes children and Steve worked in
easy tandem, completing their chore efficiently through years of practise whilst the Carter siblings
eagerly pitched in where possible. In a relatively short amount of time, the table was laid and the
seven children were situated around it with Ma Barnes at the head. Dishes of boiled vegetables, rice
and chipped cream beef were passed around the table and scooped onto plates.

“James says you are from London,” Ma Barnes said, addressing the Carter’s as they all ate.

“Yes, a place called Hampstead,” Michael said with a hint of nervousness. Despite Ma Barnes’
cheery manner, there was something intimidating about her. She was smiling encouragingly at
Michael, though, so he forged on, “There’s a nearby park called Hampstead Heath; perhaps you’ve
heard of it?”

Ma Barnes shook her head ‘no’.

“It has its own fairground,” Michael said, “Although it’s nothing like your Coney Island.”

“The swing carousel is the most exciting ride,” Peggy pitched in.

“Yes, James said that you all met at Coney Island,” Ma Barnes said.

“Jimmy said you were dressed as a boy,” Marie added, the faintest trace of spite in her tone
following on from her earlier embarrassment.

Ma Barnes gave her daughter a quelling look and Marie’s eyes quickly returned to her plate.

“That’s right,” Peggy said unabashedly. “I was dressed as a boy. I was dressed as Michael, to be
specific. I’d borrowed his clothes so that I could sneak away from our governess and go to the
fairground…” Peggy hesitated, seemed to realise how flippant she sounded and added, “I don’t
usually run away from our governess or steal — I just really wanted to see the amusement park.”

There was a sparkle in Ma Barnes’ eye. “You’re a brave one,” she said with a measure of
understanding, “Going to Coney Island on your own. You’re lucky they didn’t steal you away and
turn you into a carnival performer.”

Peggy beamed, eyes alight. “That would be wonderful!” she declared. “I’d meet lots of interesting
people and have all sorts of adventures.”

“A girl dressed as a boy?” Michael asked teasingly. “You’d be in the freakshow!”

“And where would you be, then?”

“I’d be a lion tamer,” he declared easily.

“You’d be eaten,” Peggy stated before adding, thoughtfully, “Actually, I think I would pay more to
see that.”

The table laughed at the children’s lighthearted bickering and even Marie began to thaw. Whilst
they ate, the table spent the next few minutes deciding which roles they would play in Coney
Island. Peggy finally chose a tightrope walker and Steve thought he’d be a good human cannonball
due to his size. Charlotte said she would be ‘a big girl’. Flexing his muscles, Bucky decided he
would be a strongman until Rebecca told him that he looked as though he needed the toilet.

“What about you, Ma? What would you be?”

“Me?” Ma Barnes asked, laughing. “I’d be the ringleader, of course — someone has to keep all of
you lot in check. Now, c’mon, eat up before it gets cold.”

The sun was setting in Brooklyn, casting the borough in a rosy glow. Steve and Bucky and taken
the Carter’s up to the roof of their building once dinner had been eaten, the table cleared and dishes
washed — another chore for the children that had passed quickly due to the many hands working
together. The roof was strictly ‘out-of-bounds’ to residents however the chain around the gate and
post was loose enough for even Bucky and Michael to squeeze easily through.

The four children sat on the parapet of the building, their feet dangling over the edge as they
looked out over Brooklyn. The nearby buildings were fairly level and so they had a mostly
unencumbered view of the harbour, Brooklyn Navy Yard and the Brooklyn Bridge as it stretched
towards Manhattan in the distance.

“I like your mother,” Peggy said to Bucky. “She’s warm and friendly but seems ever so tough at
the same time. You wouldn’t want to mess with her.”

Bucky chuckled at the accurate analysis. “She’s had to be. Ever… ever since my Pop took off,
she’s had to look after us all on her own.”

“Why? Where’s he gone?” Michael asked.

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly. “Probably out west somewhere; lookin’ to make his fortune so he
can drink it all.” Bucky hesitated before adding, savagely, “He was a lousy, good-fer-nothin’ bum.
We’re better off without him.”

A tense silence followed Bucky’s outburst. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “’Snot
so bad, really,” he said quietly. “I’ve got Ma and the girls — things are better without him around.”

“I’m sorry for being indelicate,” Michael said.

Bucky flashed him a half-grin. “Don’t be. We’re friends, aren’t we? You were just taking an
interest.”

“What about you, Steve? What’s your family like?” Peggy asked hesitantly.

“It’s just me and my mama,” Steve said. “My father died before I was born — mustard gas during
the war. Truth be told, most kids round here are missing one parent or the other.”

“How come?” Michael asked curiously.

“Lots of reasons: illnesses, crime, death,” Bucky listed. “Some, like my Pop, just aren’t cut out to
be parents.”

Bucky could see that his candid honesty had shocked and faintly horrified the two Carter children.
For the first time since they’d met, they were looking sympathetically on him and Steve. Bucky
plastered a patient smile on his face and wagged a finger at them.

“Now none of that,” he said. “We don’t need your pity.”

Peggy and Michael immediately blushed, and started spitting out apologies that the other two boys
waved away, faintly amused.

“Don’cha have any folks back home that have separated from each other?” Steve asked curiously.
“Well, sure but… there’s not many.”

“Our parents’ social circles would consider it quite the scandal.”

“And scandal doesn’t bode well where we’re from,” Peggy said. “Couples tend to stay together,
even when they shouldn’t — especially when they shouldn’t. It makes for some pretty miserable
dinner parties.”

They lapsed into a silence that was more comfortable than their last, looking out over the borough
and distant city.

“We sat up here last year and watched the Pensacola launch from over there,” Bucky said,
pointing northwest towards the shipyard. “Even from up here you could see that it was huge.”

“We come up here every New Year’s Eve, too,” Steve said. “You can see all of the fireworks
being set off across the city and in Brooklyn. One year, the air was so heavy with smoke that it
blocked out the moon.”

“It’s a marvelous view,” Michael said. He paused before adding, “It almost makes me wish we
weren’t returning home.”

Bucky and Steve’s ear pricked up — something about his tone suggested that this wasn’t some
speculative date in the distance. They looked to Peggy who gave a little, miserable nod.

“Father finished up his business this week,” she said quietly. “Mother’s started to arrange the
packing up of our belongings already.”

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Bucky asked.

“We were waiting for the right moment.”

The four children fell silent, each contemplating their looming separation. They had known, of
course, that this summer friendship couldn’t last forever but hadn’t anticipated it being cut short so
quickly. In just a few weeks, this unlikely group had formed a natural and firm relationship but
convenience had so far kept them together. How would a friendship survive when it stretched
across continents?

“If we write to you, will you write back?” Peggy asked, a little shyly.

“Of course,” Steve promised. “Why wouldn’t we write back?”

“You might forget us; once we’ve left.”

Bucky thought back to when they’d first met; Peggy dressed in her brother’s clothing and then the
two of them bickering goodnaturedly. He grinned. “Trust us; we won’t forget either of you in a
hurry.”

“Yeah; if anything, you might forget us when you’re back home.”

Michael gave a quiet smile. “Not bloody likely.”

“Perhaps we could refuse to go back,” Peggy suddenly said, brightly. “We could simply sit on top
of our packed suitcases and refuse to move. Or we really could all run away to the circus and turn
into performers!”

The boys laughed and the tension broke. Peggy jumped up and tiptoed along the parapet, arms
thrown out on either side of herself for balance.

“I really could be a tightrope walker,” she said. “Or a trapeze artist. Or—”

“Margaret Carter!”

“Uh-oh.”

On the sidewalk across from the building, Ana stood with her hands on her hips, looking up at
them with an uncharacteristically furious expression. “Get down from there this instant before you
break your neck!” she called up before eyeing the three boys. “All of you. Now!”

The four children scrambled off of the parapet.

“We’d best go down to her,” Michael said to Peggy, worriedly. “She didn’t look happy.”

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” Steve asked, a little desperately.

Michael checked his watch and grimaced. “It would have been our curfew soon anyway.”

“We’ll try to come back another day,” Peggy promised. “And if not—”

“You’ll write?” Steve cut over her, eliciting a promise.

“We’ll write.”

The Carter children scurried off, calling goodbye’s over their shoulders. Bucky and Steve hurried
over to the edge of the building again and peered down. Ana was now waiting down the street by
the idling car. Within a few minutes, Michael and Peggy burst around the corner and hurried
towards her. Bucky and Steve couldn’t hear what anyone was saying but Ana’s gestures suggested
she was telling the two children off.

Ana climbed into the car with Michael and Peggy following. Before they disappeared inside,
however, the two children looked back to the building and caught Bucky and Steve watching. They
waved vigorously. Bucky and Steve responded in kind before the two Carter’s climbed into the
back of the car. They remained on the rooftop, watching the car until it disappeared out of sight.

Once gone, Steve’s shoulders slumped and a knot formed in his stomach. He had a profoundly
foreboding feeling that this was the last time he and Bucky would ever see their two friends again.
Bucky clapped him on the shoulder, as he had done earlier after the stickball game. He didn’t
speak — each boy seemed to know exactly how the other was feeling.

Luckily, both boys were wrong.

On the following Monday, Bucky and Steve returned home from school to find Michael and Peggy
loitering outside their apartment block, waiting for them. Both wore their matching grins at the
looks of delighted surprise on the boys’ faces. Michael and Peggy managed to visit Brooklyn three
more times in total before their departure for England. During this time, Steve and Bucky
considered it their duty to ensure that the two Brits enjoyed everything that Brooklyn had to offer.

They drank foamy milkshakes at the local diner; they walked the sweeping lawns of Prospect Park;
and they crossed beneath the Soldier’s and Sailor’s Arch at Grand Army Plaza. On a rare
afternoon when Sarah Rogers wasn’t working, Steve managed to excitedly drag the Carter children
up to his apartment to introduce them to his mama. The Carter children joined a game of stickball
in the street and when the infamous Gilmore Hodge made a lewd and derogatory comment, the
 youngest Carter right-hooked him in the mouth so hard that he hit the dirt and was too stunned to
retaliate.

On their final day, whilst Ana loitered by the car in the background, the Carter’s gave both Bucky
and Steve a slip of card with two addresses written on: their home address and the address of
Michael’s school.

“For use during term time,” Michael explained. “If… if you want to write, of course.”

“We do,” Bucky assured him.

“We can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done; all the places you’ve shown us,” Peggy
said sincerely. “We were having such a terribly dull time until we met you.”

“It was nothing,” Bucky said, embarrassed.

“It was everything.”

Peggy reached up and pressed a soft kiss to first Bucky and then Steve’s cheeks. Steve felt his ears
growing hot and a bashful smile spread across his face. Michael gave Bucky and Steve each a
hearty handshake.

“See you then, chaps.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Peggy swore.

Steve felt a lump rise in his throat as the Carter children disappeared once more into the back of the
car. Ana gave both Brooklyn boys a fond smile before also climbing into the car. Bucky and Steve
stood by for the final time and watched their friends drive away. Michael and Peggy’s faces filled
the back window as they contorted in their seats and waved farewell. Steve and Bucky returned the
gesture, the address card clutched firmly in each of their hands.

Steve lasted one day before he took up paper and ink and wrote to the Carter’s.

He couldn’t explain it, even to himself, but something profound had happened to him during
Michael and Peggy’s visits to Brooklyn. He no longer felt like the sickly boy he had always been.
The Carters’ friendship had healed many of his past hurts. Now, when he looked at the diner, he
wouldn’t think of the time he had gotten his ass kicked but rather of Michael blowing milkshake
bubbles through his straw and accidentally spraying the counter. When he passed Brooklyn
Antiques on the way home from school, he would recall his and Peggy’s honest conversation about
neither of them truly fitting in with their peers. And, best of all, when Hodge started up, he would
recall the look of terror on his face as he cowered at the feet of a tiny, fierce nine year old.

Two days after Michael and Peggy left Steve and Bucky standing in the street, the Brooklyn boys
stood on the rooftop of their apartment block and watched the RMS Olympic set sail for England.

Chapter End Notes

As always, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed.

Have we all been watching WandaVision? What do we think? No spoilers, of course!

For me, Wanda and Vision were always characters that I enjoyed but that was kind've
where it ended. I am absolutely loving WandaVision, though! I keep asking my
boyfriend how something so wholesome can also simultaneously be so sinister.

TRANSLATIONS:
"Irgum-burgum!" (Hu.) A Hungarian expression of playful anger, usually used with
children. Interestingly, there isn't really an English translation.

CHARACTER INFORMATION:
Gilmore Hodge from Captain America: The First Avenger playing the role of Gilmore
Hodge, in miniature form
Jonathan "Junior" Juniper from Agent Carter S1 playing the role of Jonny Juniper, a
victim of Gilmore Hodge's

As we don't know much about Bucky's MCU family, I'm taking some creative license.
The inspiration for Rebecca Barnes comes from her brief appearances in the comics
'Captain America' and 'Captain America and Bucky'.
 Part I: Four
Chapter Notes

Please note: All spelling and/or grammatical mistakes at the start of the chapter are
intentional.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter Four

Steven Rogers
Apartment 13B
2768 Settlers Street
Brooklyn
New York

11206

3rd August, 1930

Dear Steve,

Thank you ever so much for your letter. It arived in the post a few days after we got home. Michael
says it may even have been on the same ship as us. Wouldn't that be funny? I would have writen
sooner but we’ve been kept busy unpacking. Mother made us take evrything out of our cases on the
first day home and put it strait away. It was ever so boring. Michael made a big mess of his things
and tried to hide it under his bed but mother caught him and he had such a telling off.

The voyige from America to England went very well. There was an actriss traveling with us. She
was ever so nice and very pretty. Mother didn’t care for her. She said something about a big affair
and divorse. We didn't care though. Ana let us speak to her when mother wasn’t around. She was
so smart. She told us the most fassinating things about a film she wanted to make that was based on
science. It should have been boring but she made it sound so fun. When we arived in England and
said goodbye she kissed me and Michael on the cheek. He was bright red for the rest of the day! It
was ever so funny. He gets awfly snippy if you say a thing about it though. Boys.

I hope that the last few weeks of school went well. Michael was so lucky because by the time we
arived back home it was too late for him to return to school so he got to stay home and he was very
smug about it. Ana’s now gone back to hungry for the summer to visit her family. It’s lovely to not
have any lessons but we miss her terebly. She’ll be back by the end of the month wich will be nice.
The only sad thing is that then Michael will go back to school again. I wish they both could stay
home all the time.

Me and Michael are going to the Hampsted Heath fairground at the weekend. It won’t be the same
after going to Coney Island with you and James though. Do let us know if you go back again. We
want to hear all about your adventures there.

I hope you write again soon.

Kindest regards,
Peggy

Peggy Carter
St. Martin-in-the-Fields
High School for Girls
Lambeth
London

SW2 3UP

September 5th, 1932

Dear Peggy,

I hope that you receive this letter. I double and triple checked the address before sending.

By the time you are reading this, you will have already started school. I just wanted to say good
luck!!!! I hope your first few days go well. Or should I say are going well? I remember how scary
it felt to start school when you don’t know anybody. Luckily, me and Bucky were in the same
class and recognized each other right away from the apartment block. We just kinda fell into
spending time with each other and nothing’s ever changed since. Hey, maybe you’ll meet a new
best friend at school too! I’m sure you’ll make lots of new friends at your school and you’ll have to
tell me all about them.

I’m sure that when

Bucky's badgering me to ask whether you school is really in a field. I keep telling him no but he
won't leave me alone until I ask. Please answer so that I can shut him up.

I want to know everything about your new school. What are your favorite lessons? What are your
teachers like? What does the school look like? What's the food like? The food at our school is
discusting. I hope that everything is good and that you're enjoying it.

Sorry this letter is so short. I'm writing it on our lunch break and the bell is about to go soon. I
promise to write a lot more next time.

Write back soon!!! (Lots and lots)

From
Steve
p.s. and Bucky (he made me write that)

Mr. Michael Carter

136 Magnolia Drive
Hampstead Heath
London
England

NW3 0HE

March 27th, 1935

Dear Michael,

It’s been a while since I’ve written to you so I thought I’d give it a go. I know Steve adds in bits
from me but it’s not always the same, is it?

I hope things are good over the pond and that you’re not getting into too much trouble. Although, if
your last letter is to be believed, then it sounds as though it’s Peggy that teachers had better watch
out for! I can’t believe she got caught breaking into her headmaster’s home — and with an armful
of underwear and liquor no less. That girl is going places, let me tell you. I bet you were in
hysterics when you first heard about it. God, I bet your Ma wasn’t best pleased, though.

Last weekend, me and Steve went to Coney Island. It was a lot of fun. We went on all of the rides
except The Cyclone — Steve still refuses to go on that one after he got sick that time. Whenever
we go, it always reminds us of the summer when we all met. It feels like such a long time ago now.
If you come to New York again then we’ll have to go back. They’ve added a few new attractions
which we think you’ll like.

We got in a spot of trouble when it was time to leave. We were supposed to buy our train tickets on
the way back but accidentally spent all of our money on hotdogs. I also spent $3 trying to win a
stuffed bear for Delores — I didn’t manage it though.

Delores… Michael, you should see her. I think I might be in love. Ever since we came back from
Summer, she’s all I can think about. She might just be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. It’s
strange though. Before the summer she was just this regular girl in my class but now suddenly she
is like this goddess. Rebecca says it’s just because Dolores got her boobs. I told her to shut the hell
up. I wish I’d won that stuffed bear. I think it would’ve been a nice gesture.

We ended up hitching a ride on the back of a freezer truck to get home. It wasn’t too comfortable
because we had to hold on real tight or risk being blown off the back. The driver was mad as hell
when he finally stopped in Brooklyn and caught us riding on the back. We then had to walk the rest
of the way home and didn’t end up getting back until nearly one o’clock in the morning. Steve was
mad as hell too by the time we got home but that was only because he was tired and grouchy. We
can laugh about it now.

A big thing happened just after Christmas, too. My Pop came home. He just turned up one day
outta the blue. The girls were real pleased to see him again. I don’t think Charlotte remembered
him all that well cos she was just a baby when he left. He had gifts for us all — said they were
Christmas gifts, even though Christmas had been and gone. He gave this little pony to Charlotte so
she was pleased as punch.

He even got Ma a nice perfume in a bottle with a stopper; reckons it’s real crystal. Only thing is,
Marie kept sneaking into Ma and Pop’s room to sniff it and dropped it. There was glass and
perfume everywhere. I thought Pop’d lose it because the perfume was meant to be so expensive but
he just gave Marie a real stern talking to and told her that she would have to save up her money and
buy a replacement for Ma.

He reckons he’s changed — kicked the booze and all the bad habits that came with it. He reckons
he ain’t stepped foot on a track or placed a bet in years. He’s back working in the docks and hasn’t
been sent home once for poor conduct. As they say, time’ll tell.

The girls are happy and Ma seems happy which is the main thing.

I hope you and Peggy are doing well. We talk about the both of you all the time.

Bucky

Mr. James Barnes

Apartment 27A
2768 Settlers Street
Brooklyn
New York

11206

1st November, 1936

Dear James,

Thank you for writing and letting us know about the passing of Steve’s mother. Michael and I were
both saddened to hear the news. I cannot imagine how any of you are feeling at the moment;
particularly Steve.

Please do pass along our condolences. Whilst writing to you, Michael and I are also drafting a
letter to Steve. It is difficult to find the right words to say — everything seems so meaningless
when written on paper — but we’ll try our best. We hope that anything we can say will bring him
some sense of comfort; even if it is only the knowledge that we’re thinking of him.

Although I only met Sarah the once, I really rather liked her. We both did. She was kind and caring.
You could instantly tell how much she loved Steve and how proud of him she was. All of Steve’s
best qualities seemed to come from her.
 I dearly hope Steve is well. Or, as well as he can be, given the circumstances. We know that you
and your family will be caring for him and we are ever so grateful for that.

By the time this letter reaches you, the funeral will probably have passed. We’ve enclosed a small
pouch of money — please can you use this to buy some flowers for Sarah’s grave? It is the very
least that we can do. We wish wholeheartedly that we could do more.

Kindest regards,
Peggy and Michael

Mr. Stephen Rogers

Lord Harrison Carter and Lady Amanda Carter

respectfully request the pleasure of
your company to celebrate
the sixteenth birthday of their daughter,
Margaret Elizabeth Carter
on 9th April 1937.

We await your response no later than

the 26th March.

p.s. Steve, please say you and Bucky will come! We’ll arrange all of your travel and expenses. You
needn’t worry about a thing.
— Peggy

p.p.s Yes, please do. Then Peggy might stop harping on:
“Do you think they’ll come? I hope they do. They will come, won’t they? What if they don’t want
to?” etc. etc.
If you do not say yes then you are personally responsible for forsaking my sanity.
— M. Carter

Chapter End Notes

Long time no see! I've been slowly plugging away at the next couple of chapters,
writing in dribs and drabs when inspiration hits - usually at the most inconvenient
times! Florence Given recently commented on this on her Instagram, pointing out that
inspiration never flows when you've set aside dedicated writing time; it's scribbling a
couple of sentences down during a coffee break, in a taxi, on the way to meeting up
with friends, etc. I can imagine that this is the same for many of us and it's a concept
that I find really interesting.
 Part I: Five
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter Five

London, 1937

The English countryside began to fade as the train snaked its way towards the capitol. Neatly
trimmed pastures bordered by wild hedges steadily dissolved into the suburbs of an industrialised
city. The large Queen Anne, Regency and Georgian homes that once possessed sweeping views of
parks and farmlands were now penned-in by compact grids of Victorian townhouses. Dark clouds,
heavy with the threat of rain, hung overhead, and the winds that had chased Steve and Bucky
across the Atlantic now whistled towards the city.

The sway of the train and regular clack of its wheels had pulled Steve into a light doze. He had
been vaguely aware when their fellow passengers (two young dames who had joined their carriage
at Winchester and spent the next half an hour fluttering long, painted lashes at Bucky) had left in a
gust of chilly air. On the edge of his consciousness, he could hear the rustle of Bucky’s newspaper
as he flicked through the pages.

Steve hadn’t slept particularly well the night before. Silently fretting in the bottom bunk of their
shared cabin on the RMS Queen Mary, a tight knot had settled in his stomach that was equal parts
excitement and dread. He still couldn’t quite believe that after all these years, he and Bucky would
be meeting Michael and Peggy again. Unmistakably, the frequent letters sent between the four of
them had kept their friendship alive; they had laughed together, mourned together and grown
together, all through written word but now, finally, they would be face-to-face once more.

At times it had felt odd, holding a friendship together that had been made over the course of a few
weeks during childhood. Their friendship had seemed such a brittle thing, barely even tangible, and
yet it had lasted. There had been many times when Steve had sent a letter, fearing that it may be
his last — an unanswered message from a friend-turned-nuisance — but the Carter’s had never
failed to reply, their warmth and friendship seeping through pages of ink. Whenever a new letter
arrived at Steve’s apartment, or Bucky came by brandishing a response, the joyful memory of their
first meeting was renewed afresh.

And now they were in London. There was no longer an ocean separating them.

Steve was suddenly and rudely awakened by a sharp, painless smack to the top of his head. He
opened his eyes, a deep frown cutting through his brow, to find Bucky stood over him with a grin.
The newspaper was rolled up in one ink-stained hand.

“Jerk.”

“C’mon, the train’s starting to slow. This is our stop,” Bucky said.

Steve pulled himself up from the slumped position he’d fallen into whilst sleeping. His best clothes
(brown slacks, a shirt that had once been white but was now tinged grey, brown suspenders and
striped tie) were rumpled from where he’d spent two hours in the train seat. He straightened his tie,
knowing that the rest was a lost cause, and slipped on his tan mackintosh.
“Nice work with the gals, by the way,” Bucky teased, rolling his eyes as he pulled their suitcases
down from the overhead storage. “I think they were real impressed with you snoring and drooling
your way through the conversation.”

Steve shrugged, nonplussed. “They only had eyes for you, anyway.”

“I don’t know.” Bucky scratched his chin thoughtfully. “The little blonde seemed interested until
you dozed off halfway through her explaining what her job was.”

Steve contemplated this for a moment before dismissing it. Bucky often seemed to miss the mark
where Steve and girls were concerned: how many times had Bucky assessed their double-dates as
successful, unaware that Steve’s date had taken one look at him and worn her frosty
disappointment plainly on her face all evening? And how many times had Bucky missed the way
Steve’s date gravitated towards his more handsome, charming and gregarious best friend?

Steve swiped the sleeve of his mac against the condensation on the window, and peered out at a
dull, grey world as the train screeched into the station.

“You sure this is the right stop?”

“It’s what the note said.” Bucky distractedly fiddled with the broken strap on his case, held
together by a fraying piece of string, before finally declaring, “Ehh, that’ll do.”

“We don’t want to get off at the wrong place,” Steve persisted.

Bucky removed a crumpled slip of paper from his coat pocket and thrust it at Steve. “Read it
yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Steve took the telegram that had been waiting for them, along with their luggage, when they’d
passed through customs at the Southampton Dockyard that morning. The telegram read:

Steve and Bucky STOP Hope the crossing went well STOP Change of plans STOP
Alight from train at Clapham Junction STOP Will meet you there STOP M Carter
STOP

On the platform, a shrill whistle preceded a gruff male voice bellowing their arrival at Clapham
Junction. Impatiently, Bucky plucked the telegram out of Steve’s hand. “Happy now?”

“Well it wouldn’t be the first time you got it wrong,” Steve grumbled half-heartedly.

Compartment doors were banging open as passengers exited or entered the train. Bucky slid the
window to their compartment open, pushed his arm through the gap and unclasped the exterior
lock. The door swung outwards and fixed itself to a bolt on the outside of the train, keeping it from
swinging closed again. A light misting of rain engulfed Steve and Bucky as they stepped down
onto the platform, tightly grasping their cases as passengers boarding the train jostled them out of
the way.

Bucky caught Steve’s eye and jutted his chin towards a sign that pointed towards the station’s exit.
Politely shouldering their way through the throng, they managed to leave the crowded platform
and navigate their way through the station before finally emerging onto a busy street. For the first
time since arriving in England, the two men from Brooklyn were surrounded by something familiar
— bustling streets, buildings over two storeys high, and the honking of impatient automobile
drivers.

Directly across the street sat a grand corner building with Arding & Hobbs stamped across the
lintel at regular intervals. Beside the main entrance, a gangly young man wearing a familiar grin
lounged against a cream and brown Derby Bentley, black umbrella held aloft to keep away the
drizzle of rain.

“Hullo, chaps!” Michael called warmly, his grin cracking even wider open. He indicated towards
the grey skies. “Welcome to Spring in Britain.”

Steve and Bucky crossed to Michael who pushed himself off of the luxury car to greet them. The
three men shook hands heartily, exchanging greetings and pleasantries.

“You received my message then,” Michael stated. “I’m dreadfully sorry about the sudden alteration
to the plan; there was a train crash at Battersea a few days ago so all trains are being diverted — it
took Freddy nearly two hours to navigate his way across London yesterday, and he only lives in
Surrey!”

If ‘Freddy’ or ‘Surrey’ was meant to mean anything to Steve and Bucky then Michael didn’t pause
to find out.

“Peg sends her apologies,” Michael continued, “She wanted to come and meet you but… well, I’m
sure you’ll see when we get home.”

Michael popped the rear compartment to the automobile open and took each of their cases, stowing
them inside. Bucky gave a low, appreciative whistle as Michael closed the compartment again.

“Nice wheels.”

“You like it? It’s a couple of years old now; it was an eighteenth birthday present from mother and
father,” Michael explained as he rounded to the driver’s side, lowering his umbrella and shaking it
out.

He climbed into the front as Bucky opened the passenger door, allowing Steve to slide into the
back before taking the front seat. Michael pulled on a pair of leather driving gloves. “If the weather
clears up in a few days then I’ll take you out with the drophead down; that’s when she’s really in
her element.”

Steve settled back into the tan-hide bench, already half-imagining how wonderful a roofless drive
through the open country would be. Even with his limited knowledge of cars, he knew that this was
a superb model — elegant in its design whilst providing a smooth ride. He couldn’t imagine being
gifted something so expensive.

Michael eased the car into traffic, smoothly merging with the other vehicles. “How was the trip?”
he asked conversationally.

“Pretty good,” Bucky answered. “Neither of us have ever left the state before, let alone sailing
across the ocean. The weather held out well, apart from a few high winds which seem to have
followed us here.”

“We shared a cabin with two guys from Pennsylvania,” Steve added, “They were good, weren’t
they, Buck? We’d do our own thing during the day and then share a table with them in the evening
for dinner.”
“Sounds like a jolly good time,” Michael said.

The journey across London took a relatively short amount of time, with Michael occasionally
pointing out interesting or historic landmarks. They passed Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park and
Marble Arch. Steve thought of the tour he had taken Peggy on back in his own neighbourhood
where the most interesting places were the local diner and antique store. Michael began pointing
towards places that he visited regularly: landscaped parks, elegant storefronts and restaurants, large
homes belonging to this friend and that acquaintance. Steve watched these places pass, silently
musing that Michael was taking him and Bucky further into unchartered territory.

“Here we are,” Michael finally said, turning the car off of the main road and stopping before an
elegant set of wrought iron gates.

A grey-haired man tripped out of a gatehouse, followed by a younger man who looked as though
he could be his son. They hurried to the gate, tipping their hats to Michael, and pulled it open on
creaking hinges. Michael gave a brief nod before driving through and the younger of the two men
ogled at Bucky and Steve as they passed. The tyres of the Bentley crunched against a gravel
driveway bordered by neat rows of lavender as the path cut its way towards a grand, brick-built
Elizabethan manor.

The rain had ceased as they were crossing London and weak sunshine peeked through the clouds,
setting the many windows ablaze. Michael swung the car around and killed the engine.

“Welcome to the Madhouse,” he half-joked grimly.

Steve’s breath fogged up the back window of the Bentley as he pressed up against it, staring in awe
at the house. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled — he had the unsettling feeling that the
fiery windows of the house were glaring down at him in disapproval — and he shrank back on the
rear bench, suddenly and overwhelmingly intimidated. Not for the first (nor last) time, he
wondered whether he and Bucky had made a mistake in coming to England.

The oak front door suddenly swung inwards and a young woman in a modest, belted tea dress flew
out, grinning jubilantly. Steve slowly relaxed as a smile cracked across his face. The nine-year-old
whom he had met at Coney Island, wearing her brother’s clothing and scrapping with bullies, had
grown into a radiant young woman. Peggy waved vigorously at them, bouncing impatiently on the
balls of her feet.

Steve followed Bucky and Michael out of the car to greet the latters younger sibling (who was
positively vibrating with excitement). Finally giving up all pretences of decorum, Peggy skipped
towards them once they were out of the car with a shriek of joy.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here!” she said, breathless with pleasure. “I’ve been listening out for
Michael’s car ever since he left. Look at you both!”

Her eyes travelled over both men, drinking in every inch of them. She looked to Steve, “You’ve
gotten rather tall.”

Steve supposed that the surprise in her tone should have been hurtful but he’d never been ignorant
about his stature. Instead, he found himself grinning bashfully, “My mama always said I’d be a
‘late bloomer’.”

Bucky draped a brotherly arm around his shoulders. “Now that he’s got some height on him, the
next thing to build up is his strength. I’ve been putting him through his paces at Goldie’s Gym —
teaching him how to throw a proper punch.”
“Bucky is the YMCA’s newest welterweight boxing champion,” Steve explained with pride.

Michael congratulated Bucky but Peggy tilted her head at Steve, seemingly unhearing him. “Have
you been getting into fights again?”

“One or two,” Steve said with a nonchalant shrug. “Getting my ass kicked is more like it.”

Sniggering at Steve’s candour, Peggy opened her mouth to reply but was suddenly interrupted by a
sharp—

“Margaret!”

A pained look of disappointment briefly flitted across Peggy’s face before it was quickly replaced
by a patient smile. She spun around. Lady Amanda Carter stood in the doorway of the manor,
wearing a peached-coloured satin dress and thunderous expression.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Forgive me if I am wrong,” Lady Carter began, her tone a unique mixture of condescension and
passive aggression, “but I believe the agreement was that you would spend time with your friends
after your studies were completed for the day.”

“Yes, but—”

“And yet, here we are.”

“I was merely greeting our guests, Mother,” Peggy said quietly.

“And Mr. Ackerman is merely sitting at the piano, being paid to wait for you,” Lady Carter replied
acerbically. She clapped her hands twice, sharply. “Off you go.”

Peggy mumbled a quick goodbye to Steve and Bucky before darting past her mother, back into the
house. Lady Carter lingered in the doorway, looking at Steve and Bucky with an unfathomable
expression that was at least one-third disapproval. Her eyes travelled over the two men, taking in
Bucky’s ink-stained fingers and the rumples in Steve’s shirt.

Michael quickly stepped forwards. “Mother, may I introduce you to James Barnes and Stephen
Rogers,” he introduced, his falsely bright tone doing nothing to dissipate the frosty atmosphere.
“James, Stephen; our mother, Lady Amanda Carter.”

“A pleasure,” Lady Carter said, monosyllabically. She turned towards her son, “I trust that you can
get your… friends situated?”

“Of course.”

Lady Carter turned and marched back into the house. There was a pregnant pause before Michael
released his breath noisily. He winced apologetically at Bucky and Steve.

“So… that’s mother,” he said. “I’m sorry about her. She just gets so… well, you know…” he
finished, embarrassed.

“Why did she invite us here, if…” Bucky also trailed off. It seemed that none of them wanted to
put into words how Lady Carter felt about the two men from Brooklyn.

“It was Peggy,” Michael said. “Mother and Father sat her down and told her that now that she’s
coming-of-age, they expect her to start acting like a proper lady. The first step was a big, lavish
party — sixteenth-birthday-cum-coming-out-to-society.”

Steve and Bucky looked confused so Michael paraphrased, “‘Eligible bachelors, come and look at
how marriable our daughter is’.”

“Oh.”

“And Peggy agreed to that?”

“Of course not,” Michael said. “Peggy knew exactly what kind of price would come with this party
— endless decisions made without her consent, being barked at by mother, having to follow a
dozen ridiculous new protocols, et cetera, et cetera. So, the sly little fox used it all to her
advantage.”

“What did she do?”

“She made one non-negotionable request — she would agree to everything, follow every rule, if
two certain chaps from across the pond would be brought over for the party.”

Both Steve and Bucky seemed to grow three inches taller at the implied compliment.

“Did she really?” Steve asked, his voice somehow an octave higher than usual.

“Oh yes, that was her price.” Michael looked towards a pair of blazing windows on the ground
floor of the house. “I can’t say it hasn’t been costly; mother has relished finally having this much
control over her daughter, but it’ll all be woth it now that you two are here.”

Steve wondered how much Peggy had suffered in order to bring him and Bucky to London. Little
did he know that true suffering, on a global scale that would irrevocably change all of their lives,
was only a few short years away.

A suited man with thinning hair stepped out of the house and walked towards them. Michael gave
him a friendly smile, “Ah, Mr. Doobin; this way, please.”

Michael retreated to the rear compartment of the Bentley to retrieve Steve and Bucky’s cases,
followed by Mr. Doobin. He passed each of them to the butler. “Take them to the first-floor guest
suites.”

“Will that be all, Master Carter?”

“For now.”

Mr. Doobin looked doubtfully at the string holding Bucky’s strap to the case before hoisting it
under one arm and holding Steve’s by the handle. He disappeared back into the house.

Michael clapped his hands together. “Shall we get you settled then?”

The entrance hall was a grand, two-storey room of panelled oak and intricately carved arches. A
wraparound balustrade overlooked the lower floor from above. Formal, sombre portraits captured
in oil and hung in gilt frames lined the walls at regular intervals and a richly-threaded Persian rug
dominated the centre of the ground floor. From behind one of the many closed doors, the careful
plucking of a piano filtered through the house.

At the far end of the room, a young man with neatly parted blond hair and wearing an immaculate
cashmere suit was folded into a wingback armchair by the fire. His brow was furrowed as he read
through a sheaf of papers.

“Making much progress there?” Michael addressed the stranger cheerily.

“Not hardly,” the young man answered, sounding tired and frustrated. He held the papers out to
Michael, pointing at a sentence. “Honestly, what does this even say?”

Michael squinted at the page. “‘Aborrhant’. Blimey, the Old Man isn’t pulling any punches, is he?”

The stranger also squinted at the page incredulously. “‘Aborrhant’?” he repeated, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, see here.” Michael stabbed a finger at the page. “Double ‘r’.”

“Gracious, I thought that was an ‘m’.”

Michael chuckled. “I’m afraid Father's always written in sanskrit.”

“You’re not far off,” the stranger sighed, rubbing at bloodshot eyes with his thumb and middle
finger.

He shuffled the papers into a neat pile and returned them to a manila folder that rested on a side
table before interlocking his fingers and stretching them over his head with a jaw-cracking yawn.

“I’m supposed to be reading through the report and signing it off—” he broke off to yawn again,
“but I can’t seem to concentrate.”

“Nothing to do with the seven Negroni’s that you slung back last night, I suppose,” Michael lightly
accused. “I think I have some aspirin upstairs, should you want it.

“No need; I have my medicine right here.” He reached for a highball glass of a viscous red
concoction with a stick of celery poking out of the top. Ice cubes rattled against the glass as he took
a long pull, his eyes sliding to Steve and Bucky. Replacing the half-empty glass, he sucked on his
teeth before saying, not unkindly, “There are the Yanks, I take it?"

Michael — who had been frowning at the Bloody Mary — suddenly pulled himself out of a
reverie. “Oh, yes! My apologies,” he blustered. “Steve, James — this is Fred Wells; childhood
friend now enjoying the plum job of working as an aide for my father. Freddy, this is Stephen
Rogers and James Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you; I’ve heard a lot about you,” Fred said politely with a smile that didn’t quite
reach his blue eyes.

“Likewise,” Steve said, as it seemed the polite thing to say.

“Oh yes?”

Panicking, Steve hastened to add the first thing that popped into his head. “You-gave-Michael-
your-nude-drawings-in-exchange-for-a-pair-of-gloves,” he said in one breath.

There was a long, pained silence following Steve’s statement. He could sense Bucky cringing with
incredulity beside him. His ears began to glow hotly.
A bark of delighted laughter from Michael broke the terse silence. “Goodness, I’d forgotten about
those,” he said to Fred. “You were always trading them for something or other with the chaps at
school.”

“Yes, well…” Fred trailed off disapprovingly, his expression now decidedly hostile towards the
two men from Brooklyn. He picked the folder of papers up again and began to slide them out with
a flourish. His tone was hard as he said, “If you don’t mind, I really do need to get through these
today.”

Michael rolled his eyes goodnaturedly and gestured for Bucky and Steve to follow him. Fred was
staring hard at the papers, a stony expression on his face.

“Nice to meet ya,” Bucky said with a bite of irony.

Leading them through an archway and up a half-landing staircase, they emerged on the first floor,
overlooking the entrance hall. Fred still sat in his chair, the ruffling of his pages and clink of ice in
his drink cutting through the quiet room. Michael pushed open an oak door and guided them
through a labyrinthine set of white-panelled passages that gave the illusion of airiness.

“Here we are, chaps.” Michael stopped in a corridor that looked much like the rest. “This is the
Male Guest Wing; it’s pretty empty at the moment but will fill up as we get closer to the party —
mostly with boring old fuddy-duddies from father’s work,” he said apologetically before adding
brightly, “But Fred is just across the corridor.”

In a single raised-eyebrow look (mercifully missed by Michael, who was opening one of the white-
painted doors) Bucky communicated to Steve that he wouldn’t dismiss Fred from falling into the
category of ‘fuddy-duddy’. Steve quickly looked away, carefully schooling his features before
Michael turned back to them again.

The bedroom beyond the corridor was a delicate balance of pale green, red florals and rosewood
furniture. A four poster bed jutted out from the wall to the left, its rose-patterned hangings neatly
gathered together and tied back to form orderly, uniformed pleats. Matching curtains framed a bay
window that overlooked the front of the house showing glossy, manicured lawns that were cleaved
in two by the gravel drive and stretched down to the distant woodlands that bordered the
property. The chill of the wooden floor was dimmed by a plush green rug and on either side of the
bed, a side table supported a vase of fresh blooms that enveloped the room in a subtle, floral scent.
In the nearest corner, an open doorway led to an adjoining bathroom of shiny porcelain and
polished brass.

This room, Steve mused with a thrill of awe, cost more than his and Bucky’s apartments
combined.

Everything had its place: the neatly-tucked in sheets with the additional blanket turned down at the
foot of the bed; the wardrobe at a jaunty angle in the corner of the room; the circular table with its
two wooden chairs and a perfectly-centred crochet doily. The only anomaly was the battered
suitcase that had been placed on the ottoman (the ottoman itself was positioned at the end of the
bed, evenly spaced between the two bedposts).

“Your room is just next door,” Michael told Bucky, waving his hand vaguely in the direction
beyond the bathroom.

“We get a room each?” Steve asked, a little breathlessly.

“Well of course,” Michael replied lightly. “Goodness knows we have more than enough space. The
bathroom is shared by these two rooms — we thought you might like that — but if not then just
say the word and we’ll move you to other rooms with separate bathrooms.”

“This is great,” Bucky said sincerely. “Thank you.”

“No problem at all.” He beamed, waving off their gratitude, before addressing Bucky, “Did you
need me to show you to your room?”

“I think I’ll manage.”

Michael grinned. “Jolly good. I’ll leave you to get settled then, unpack and such.

‘Drinks before dinner will be at five o’clock in the drawing room; I'll come and collect you just
before to show you down,” Michael continued. “Mr. Doobin will send someone up with lunch in
an hour or so. Afterwards, feel free to explore the house and gardens, should you wish, but there's
no pressure - we have plenty of time for all of that once you're settled in.” He paused thoughtfully.
“And I think that’s everything. Unless you have any questions?”

“Er…”

Michael peered into each of their faces before dramatically placing a hand to his chest. “Oh dear,
I’m awfully sorry,” he said, with good humour. “The one thing Peggy said to me was not to
overwhelm you — I can be a bit formidable when I’m hosting — and I’m afraid I’ve gone and
done exactly that, haven’t I?”

Bucky grinned. “Nah, you’ve been great. It’s us city kids with no class that are the real problem.”

“Not at all,” Michael assured him. “Right, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted with your rooms.
Just give us a shout if you need anything.”

Michael moved to leave but paused in the doorway. “Peggy and I are exceptionally glad that you’re
here, you know,” he said with genuine warmth. “Coming all this way; leaving everything you
know behind. We appreciate that our lifestyle can be… difficult, and the people — well, you’ve
met our mother.”

And Fred, Steve silently thought. Aloud, he only said, “It’s worth it.”

“Take us as we are, warts and all?”

“You bet.”

Michael left, calling over his shoulder that he’ll meet them just before five o’clock as he
disappeared. Bucky waited until the sound of Michael’s retreating feet had faded before closing the
door firmly and turning to Steve. He expelled his breath noisily.

“D’ya get the feeling we might be a little—”

“Out of our depth?” Steve finished.

Bucky gave him a wry grin. “Just a bit.”

Steve found solace in Bucky sharing his feelings of apprehension. “Michael and Peggy are happy
we’re here, though,” he said brightly. He paused before adding, “And, er, Freddy will be across the
way, so…”

“‘You gave Michael your nude drawings in exchange for a pair of gloves’,” Bucky repeated in an
insultingly high-pitched tone before dryly asking, “Seriously, Steve?”

Steve’s stomach writhed with humiliation before it was tampered down by defensiveness. “What?
I’d said that we’d heard about him and he was looking all skeptical and… and— it was the first
thing I could think of, alright?!”

“You couldn’t think for just one moment longer to recall that he and Michael went to the same
school? Or that they played on the Lacrosse team together? Or, I don’t know, that Michael had just
told us that it had taken him two hours to cross London the other day?”

“I panicked,” Steve moaned. “You know I’m not good at talking to… well, anybody!”

Bucky cuffed him with brotherly affection around the back of the neck. “You’re a real sap
sometimes, d’ya know that?”

“Only sometimes? I’ll take it.”

Lunch had come and gone. Steve had nosed around his room, unpacked his suitcase, and then
nagged at Bucky until the latter had done the same. Bucky’s room was nearly a replica of his,
except the colour scheme favoured blue and the furniture was in sandalwood. His room sat in the
corner of the house, its dual-aspect windows overlooking the same lawns as in Steve’s room as
well as the walled rose garden to the east.

Steve could hear Bucky snoring faintly from the adjacent room. He lay on his own four-poster
bed, staring at the overhead canopy. He knew it would be a good idea to sleep so that he was
refreshed for this evening when he would have to meet Lord Carter and mind his manners in front
of Lady Carter. No matter how hard he tried to empty his mind, even out his breathing and relax
his body, sleep wouldn’t come. Perhaps it was due to the nap he had taken on the train, or maybe
the excitement at being so close to his British friends again.

The rain started once more, pattering lightly against the windows and mingling pleasantly with the
far-off melody of the piano.

Resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon, Steve climbed out of the bed. He
wandered over the window and looked out at the lawns. The drizzle of rain had turned the picture
into a stark contrast of colours and he could now make out a decrepit stone gazebo, tucked away
into the corner of the property. Steve admired the way the wildflowers, grass and weeds had grown
up around it, obscuring the crumbling stone and even pushing through the cracks.

All at once he was desperate to see the building up close.

Retrieving his shoes from under the bed, he slipped them on and took his mac out of the wardrobe,
slinging it over his arm. He considered waking Bucky but almost immediately disregarded the
thought; art and architecture weren’t high on Bucky’s list of priorities and Steve wanted to take his
time in exploring the structure.

Once outside his room, he attempted to follow the same route that Michael had led them down but
twice found himself facing dead ends. The endless corridors that all looked the same reminded
Steve of the RMS Queen Mary and he was just starting to feel the first pangs of frustration when he
spotted a door that, had it not been left ever so slightly ajar, would have blended into the white
panelled wall. Steve pulled the door open and found a rickety, narrow staircase that descended to
the lower floor, lit by a single, bare bulb that hummed with electricity.

Thankful that he was finally making progress towards the garden, Steve climbed down the stairs
that ended in a small landing with a second door. He reached for the handle and pulled the door
inwards to reveal the drawing room where Peggy was having her piano lesson. Horrified, he
quickly closed it again before he could be spotted, but stopped short of slamming it shut— lest the
sound alerted anyone to his presence.

Steve may not have known much about high society but even he could guess that bursting into the
drawing room uninvited would be a big faux pas. He would have turned and silently fled back up to
his room (it was the smart thing to do, though no one had ever accused Steve of being particularly
smart) if he hadn’t caught the sound of his and Bucky’s names.

Moving with caution, he peered through the crack in the door. The drawing room seemed overly
bright after the gloom of the staircase. Large, sash bay windows allowed light to stream into the
room and the walls were papered with delicate florals on an ivory background whilst the furniture
was all upholstered in lighter hues than the rest of the house. Steve had an obscured view of Peggy
at the piano with a man, whom he assumed was Mr. Ackerman, standing over her. Silhouetted
against the windows, Lady Carter perched on a plushly cushioned window seat, watching as her
daughter played a traditional tune that was vaguely recognisable to Steve’s school years.

The clink and rattle of glasses cut through the sound of the piano. Steve peered further around the
gap in the door and saw that Michael and Fred were on the other side, barely two feet away, with
their backs to him as they poured drinks from a bureau. He shrunk backwards.

“—really quite pleasant, you know,” Michael was saying.

Fred gave a scoff of denial. “Oh, please; it might not have been so bad if they weren’t so…
American.”

Steve felt an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach.

“Well, all right, they’re a tad coarse but there’s nothing wrong with that — they’re real people,
Freddy; not like the swots and toffs that we usually meet.”

“‘Swots and toffs’,” Fred repeated with a sneer. “I think you mean your friends and family — and
you, too, when you’re not entertaining charity cases and pretending to be a champion of the lower
classes.”

There was a pause.

When Michael spoke again, it was quietly and there was genuine hurt in his tone, “You can be
awfully mean sometimes.”

“I just don’t understand why Peg had to invite them here, of all places. I mean, they hardly fit in.”

“My goodness!” Michael exclaimed, his usual playfulness returning. “You’re not jealous of them,
are you?”

“Jealous? Of them?!” Fred sniffed. “Do be serious, Michael.”

“Don’t worry,” Michael reassured him coyly, “You’ll always be our favourite.”

The two men moved away and, from what Steve could see, appeared to leave the drawing room.
Now was the time to leave, Steve thought to himself, and yet he still remained rooted to the spot.
Up until this point, all of his interactions with these people had been part of a show as they
attempted to impress, soothe, intimidate or diminish him and Bucky. There was something oddly
thrilling about watching them as their most authentic selves, carrying out their normal dynamic that
was years in the making.

Steve suddenly realised that the room was quiet. Peggy, it appeared, had come to the end of her
song and was being critiqued by the piano teacher.

“…relatively note-perfect,” Mr. Ackerman was saying, “but that posture!”

Lady Carter gave a long, loud sigh. She rose from the window seat and walked towards the piano.
“Yes, you’re quite right, Kenneth. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told her.”

“Who will care if she plays well when she slumps like a common strumpet?”

Steve frowned, watching the exchange occur over Peggy’s head as though she wasn’t sitting
between them.

“It’s exactly the same in her etiquette class; slouching around the room with no sense of elegance
or finesse.”

“It’s lucky she has a pretty face — it might just distract the audience at the recital. Although,” he
paused dramatically, “it will be in profile and with such a strong jaw…”

As she faced away from him, Steve couldn’t read Peggy’s expression but the terse set of her
shoulders was unmistakable.

“She should be…”

Steve watched as Kenneth reached forwards and ran long-fingered hands up her arms before
gripping her shoulders and wrenching Peggy back into the correct position.

“Exactly so!”

Peggy’s head snapped towards Kenneth and Steve could see the angry, red flush creeping up her
neck. She opened her mouth, possibly to give Kenneth a well-deserved acid-tongued retort but
(perhaps luckily, for Peggy) was interrupted by the chiming of the carriage clock.

“Good gracious, is that the time already?” Kenneth asked.

“It would appear so. May I interest you in another cup of tea before you leave?” Lady Carter asked.
“Or perhaps a Sherry?”

“You’re too kind,” Kenneth simpered, as he began to gather his sheaf of sheet music into a leather
satchel. “But I must be off. I’m meeting an acquaintance for lunch at The Savoy.”

“Oh, you must try the suprêmes de volailles Jeanette,” Lady Carter said, in perfectly-accented
French. “It simply is divine.”

“Yes, but have you tried the pêche Melba?” Kenneth asked as he was swept out of the room by
Lady Carter. “One bite and you will…”

Their voices faded away and Peggy was left, forgotten and alone, at the piano.

“Goodbye. Thank you for the lesson. My sincerest apologies for being such a strong-jawed
disappointment — much worse than being a snivelling toad,” Peggy muttered to herself, just loud
enough for Steve to hear.

Steve couldn’t help himself — he gave a great snort of laughter.

Peggy spun around on the piano bench, glaring into the corner of the room. Steve clapped a hand
over his mouth, mortified at having been caught eavesdropping (he’d had grand notions of
somehow slipping into the room unseen and acting as though he’d entered via the main door).

Peggy’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s there? Michael, if you’ve been spying I’ll—”

“No, no; it’s me.”

Steve pulled the door inwards and stepped into the drawing room, looking contrite. Peggy’s mouth
popped open in surprise and she was frowning at him in confusion.

“What’re you doing on the servant’s stairs?”

“Er…” Steve could feel heat prickling uncomfortably up his neck before he stumbled through an
explanation about getting lost, finding the stairs and then realising his mistake. He refrained from
admitting to how long he’d been on the stairs, watching them all. Steve released a large sigh. “Jeez,
I’m really ballsing this up, aren’t I?”

“Oh, Steve.” Peggy was biting down on a smile, her eyes glittering with mirth, whilst the tilt of her
head told him that she sympathised with his predicament. “You haven’t changed one bit, have
you?”

Steve scratched the back of his neck, chuckled and shrugged.

“D’you mind if I come in?”

“Not at all.” Peggy slid along the piano bench and patted the empty space beside her.

Steve carefully closed the door to the servant’s stair (his mind still reeling that they had staircases
just for servants) and walked towards Peggy, navigating his way round chaise lounges, side tables
and delicate, spindly chairs. He dropped down onto the bench beside Peggy, folded his mackintosh
into his lap, and spun himself around so that they were facing the same way.

“How long were you trapped on the stairs for?” Peggy asked. Her fingers plucked at the keys
absent-mindedly so that discordant notes echoed out of the instrument.

“Long enough,” Steve replied. His eyes were fixed on her hands. “You play beautifully.”

She ‘hmm’-ed noncommittally, neither agreeing or disagreeing. Steve could tell that Lady Carter
and Mr. Ackerman had struck a nerve. He wanted to say something consoling but everything in his
head sounded flat and not quite sincere enough — perhaps a good thing, as some of the sentences
contained a few choice words for Peggy’s mother and piano teacher.

“Do you play?” Peggy asked.

“Nah, never had the ear for it,” Steve said. “My mama would sometimes though.”

A sudden lump rose in his throat. It had been six months but the loss of his mother was still a
healing wound — every so often it would tear open unexpectedly.

“I was so sorry to hear about your mother,” Peggy said, her quiet voice filled with sincere sadness.
“She was such a lovely woman.”

“One of the best,” Steve agreed, his tone thick with emotion.

“She would be so incredibly proud of you.”

Steve could only nod. Peggy struck the same note a few times before a sudden, beatific smile
cracked across her face. She spun off of the stool and dashed across the drawing room with a hasty,
“Wait here.”

Steve took the opportunity to scrub his sleeve across his suddenly misty eyes.

Peggy stopped before a bookcase filled with leather-bound hardbacks. Raising up onto her tiptoes,
she reached above her head and felt blindly along the top shelf before finally pulling down a tiny,
golden key. With a triumphant grin, she crossed to a writing desk and with a faint click unlocked
one of its drawers. Finally, she returned to Steve, clutching a dog-eared music book between her
hands.

“Michael bought this for me, second-hand, during a trip into town.”

Steve would later learn that ‘town’ meant Central London. The blue jacketed music book showed a
pencil drawing of a blonde girl, looking coyly over her bare shoulder as the word Guilty blazoned
above her. ‘Slow Foxtrot’ had been pencilled into the top right-hand corner and, as Steve didn’t
recognise the cursive, he assumed that it had been written by a previous owner.

Reseating herself at the piano, Peggy opened the book and placed it on the music shelf before
beginning to play. A melodious jazz number, much unlike the traditional tunes that she had been
playing for her mother and Mr. Ackerman, flowed from the instrument. Steve had a sneaking
suspicion he knew why the book had been locked away.

The song was bright and cheerful with the faintest trace of melancholy. Peggy played well, her
fingers gliding across the silky keys, but it was her face that transfixed Steve; she looked relaxed,
confident and content. He found himself staring at her, drinking in the way her eyes skimmed from
left to right as she read the music, the faint crease in her brow as she concentrated, the way her lips
parted ever so slightly. Steve committed every tiny detail to memory.

“Margaret, that is quite enough.”

The moment was broken. The acerbic tone of Lady Carter bit through the drawing room. Peggy
abruptly stopped playing and a guilty, ringing silence filled the void which left Steve feeling bereft.
Lady Carter stood behind them, looking furious and formidable.

“Bring it to me,” she instructed.

Peggy sighed with disappointment; everything that Steve had admired whilst watching her play had
been stripped away the moment Lady Carter entered the room. Peggy looked frustrated and
defeated. Reluctantly, she took the music book off of the shelf and walked to her mother with it,
placing the music score into Lady Carter’s expectant hand.

“What have I told you about playing this nonsense?”

Peggy didn’t answer. She had adopted a look of penance (arms behind her back, head bowed, eyes
fixed on the floor) but Steve had a sneaking suspicion that it was frustration, as opposed to
contrition, that stayed her tongue.
 “Get yourself ready to leave; we have your final dress fitting at Madame Isobel’s in an hour.”

“Yes, Mother,” Peggy mumbled before darting past her. She flashed Steve a brief smile of farewell
before leaving the drawing room.

Steve realised, too late, that he was left alone with Lady Carter. He felt the temperature in the room
drop a few degrees. There was a prolonged, uncomfortable silence as Lady Carter stared at him
icily with pursed lips.

Finally, Steve couldn’t take it any longer. He mumbled, “I guess I’ll be going back to my room,
then.”

“I think that is the wisest decision you’ve made today, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve awkwardly unfolded himself from under the piano and made his way towards the exit,
silently hoping that he could get to his room as directly as possible without making any further
mistakes today.

“Oh, and Mr. Rogers,” Lady Carter added stonily when Steve had reached the door. He paused,
looking back at her. Her expression, again, was fathomless. “I believe it would be prudent of you to
refrain from spending any more time alone with Margaret.”

Suddenly, Steve felt as though he had been caught doing something shameful but didn't know why.
A red-hot brick of humiliation dropped into his belly. He gave a quick, singular nod before darting
from the drawing room and leaving Lady Carter behind.

Chapter End Notes

BACKGROUND INFORMATION
— The Battersea Park railway crash was a real event that occurred on the 2nd April
1937 when two passenger trains crashed due to a fault, resulting in the death of ten
people and injury of eighty.
— The exterior for the Carter’s family home has been inspired by Eastbury Manor in
Barking, London whilst the interior has been inspired by Stokesay Court in Shropshire
- the filming location for Wright’s 2007 adaptation of Atonement.
— Goldie’s Gym and Bucky as the YMCA Welterweight champion comes from the
tie-in comic book ‘Captain America: First Vengeance’
— ‘Guilty’ by Richard A. Whiting and Harry Akst with lyrics by Gun Kahn was first
written in 1931 and has been performed over the years by many artists, including Al
Bowlly (1931), Ruth Etting (1931), Whiting’s daughter Margaret (1946) and Billie
Holiday (1955).
— Madame Isobel was a top fashion designer for the aristocracy in London during the
1930s who travelled extensively to advertise British couture. She designed many of
the gowns worn by socialites in 1937 for the coronation of King George VI.

CHARACTER INFORMATION
— Fred Wells, Peggy’s fiancé from Agent Carter S2, playing the role of childhood
friend, Fred Wells
— Kenneth, the sleazy director from Agent Carter S2, playing the role of Kenneth
Ackerman
 Part I: Six
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter Six

Over the following two weeks that Steve and Bucky stayed with the Carters, they came to learn
that a routine was to be followed every evening. Lord Harrison Carter, weary from a day at his
offices in Parliament, would return home at precisely half-past four every evening and immediately
retreat to the library, firmly closing the door behind him to smoke in solitude.

When the carriage clock in the entrance hall trilled the arrival of five o’clock, Lord Carter would
emerge in a cloud of tobacco spiced with patchouli and clove, to be greeted by his wife holding a
tumbler of whiskey over ice. The pair would then shut themselves away in their suite on the first
floor of the house to discuss the affairs of the day and prepare for dinner.

This, the Americans learnt, was when the Carter children truly embraced their freedom.

On that first night, Steve and Bucky were collected, as promised, by Michael and brought down
into the drawing room. Relieved to learn that Lady Carter would not be present, and still unsure of
exactly what he had done wrong earlier that afternoon, Steve felt himself relax for the present. He
had given Bucky a quick rundown of the exchange once the latter had woken from his nap, and
although Bucky had given him a look of knowing exasperation, his response had been less than
forthcoming in either advice or encouragement (“She’s rich; we’re not. Bound to rub her up the
wrong way.”).

As they entered, Fred approached Michael with a glass in each hand; a vibrantly red drink with a
curl of orange peel draped over the rim. Michael took the proffered glass and sipped, humming
appreciatively. “Just the ticket.”

Turning to Steve and Bucky, he asked, “D’you chaps drink cocktails back home?”

“Course,” Bucky lied smoothly, “All the time.”

“Freddy makes a mean Negroni.” Michael turned back towards his friend. “You don’t mind, old
boy…?”

Fred’s sour expression suggested that he did mind but he sauntered back towards the drinks bureau
and began preparing more, slamming the liquor bottles down a little heavier each time. Luckily, his
poor manners were soon concealed by the arrival of Peggy; she blew into the room, looking
harried, and firmly closed the door behind her.

“Pour me one of those, will you?”

Fred spun away from the bureau, looking thoroughly disgruntled. “Am I to be the new personal
bartender of the Carter’s?” he asked caustically. “Shall I serve you on the terrace and wear an
apron?”

“If you like,” she replied, airily. Then, to Fred’s continuing scowl, “Oh, lighten up, Freddy.”

Fred scoffed but pulled out a third glass and decanted the drink into all three.
“Are you sure that’s a wise decision?” Michael asked his sister.

“Oh, don’t you start; I’ve just about had enough for one day,” she retorted. “Besides, his Lord and
Ladyship are safely tucked away in their rooms.”

“Well, all right then.” Michael turned to Bucky and Steve. “Father doesn’t approve of Peggy
drinking anything harder than wine; and even then it’s a one-glass limit with dinner.”

“How come?” Bucky asked, taking the glass of Negroni from Fred.

“Unladylike.”

“As if anyone need tell me how to be a lady.” Peggy flipped her hair over her shoulder and grinned
wickedly at them all.

Michael raised his glass into the air. “A toast, I should think. To childhood friendship, the greatest
of them all.”

A muscle jumped in Fred’s jaw.

They toasted together and Steve nearly choked on his sip of Negroni; the bitter liquid hit the back
of his throat and drew tears to his eyes. Bucky gave him a somewhat subtle thump on the back but
Steve caught the triumphant look in Fred’s eyes. Cocktails were a rare luxury at home — liquor
was expensive whereas beer was cheap — and Steve hadn’t quite prepared himself for how strong
the drink was going to be.

Yet another faux pas. Steve hoped no one was keeping a tally.

Michael, who didn’t appear to have noticed that anything was amiss, turned to his sister. “How
about a song?”

“I’m not sure. She’s already caught me at it once today.”

“Oh come along, darling; you said so yourself that they’re safely locked away upstairs. Besides,”
he added flatteringly, “You play so beautifully.”

Peggy scowled at him. “I know exactly what you’re doing, you know.”

Michael grinned broadly. “Is it working?”

She matched his grin before rushing towards the piano. Dumping herself onto the stool, she took a
long pull of her Negroni before slamming the glass down onto the top of the instrument's polished
surface.

“What’ll it be, chaps?”

“Such a lady,” Michael muttered.

“How about that one Michael likes?” Fred suggested.

“Ooh, yes; go on — a bit of Minnie.”

Spinning around, Peggy tucked herself neatly under the piano and began to play. Her feet pumped
at the pedals whilst her fingers glided across the silky keys. A lively jazz number erupted from the
instrument, bringing to Steve’s mind the memory of comically dancing ghosts and a beautiful dame
who learns that home is the safest place of all.
When Peggy reached the refrain, Michael joined her in a bright tenor.

“Hidee hidee hidee hi,” he scatted confidently. “Hodee hodee hodee ho! C’mon boys, don’t be shy!
Heedee heedee heedee he!”

Before long, his infectious enthusiasm enveloped them all until everyone in the room was hidee-
hidee-hidee-hi-ing along with Peggy’s playing — even Steve (who couldn’t hold a tune) and
Bucky (who had sworn after choir to never sing again).

As the hour between arriving in the drawing room and being called for dinner wore on, and his
drink was systematically replenished, Steve found himself feeling equal parts light-headed and
weak-stomached. The sandwiches at lunch felt like a distant memory and he was just wondering
when dinner would be served when the carriage clock in the hall began its faint tune.

Michael’s eyes bulged comically and he rushed up from where he’d been sprawled on the chaise
lounge, nearly slopping his half-finished cocktail down himself.

“Gracious, is that the time? Best drink up, Peg; the Old Man will be down in a mo’.”

Peggy, who had ceased playing the piano some time ago and was now flicking through a rack of
vinyls by the record player, quickly downed the rest of her drink and passed the empty glass to
Fred. It was whipped so quickly out of sight, and in such a practised move, that suggested this was
a regular occurrence.

Peggy smoothed down her dress and curls. “How do I look?”

Her cheeks were flushed and eyes a little bright but otherwise she was steady in both speech and
step.

“Perfect,” Fred assured her with a charming smile.

Steve felt a curious hollowing occur in his chest. It was almost the same as when he’d stand by and
watch Bucky get picked first for every team sport they’d played as children.

Peggy gave Fred a swift smile and moved to sit demurely on the chaise longue beside Michael.
Fred changed the record in the player to something more sombre and the general merriment from
mere moments ago leaked out of the room. A pair of footfalls could be heard from the hall outside,
getting closer.

“Here they come,” Michael murmured.

A hush fell over them all as they waited, looking in anticipation at the door to the drawing room.
Steve suddenly felt as though he were an actor in a play, standing at centre stage and awaiting the
rise of the curtain. And worse, he had forgotten all of his lines.

Dinner, like most things in the Carter household, was served with a certain amount of grandeur that
all but Steve and Bucky took for granted. During the aperitif (yet another cocktail that Steve
pretended to stomach), Mr. Doobin arrived in the drawing room to announce that dinner was
served. He led the way into an elegant, high-ceilinged dining room. An oval table stood centrally
beneath the soft, rosy glow of a crystal chandelier. Narrow patio doors that stretched from floor to
ceiling overlooked the brick terrace, balustrade and gardens beyond. Dusk had fallen and the
shadows of the trees were already creeping towards the house.

Lord and Lady Carter settled themselves into the seats at either end of the table. Beside Lord
Carter, Fred pulled out the neighbouring chair and gestured for Peggy to be seated.

“Always a gentleman,” Lady Carter said approvingly, casting a rare, warm smile in his direction.

With a great show of modesty, Fred waved away her praise but the grin creeping across his face
betrayed his supposed nonchalance. A carefully neutral expression painted itself across Bucky’s
face as he turned to catch Steve’s eye. For any outsider, his look was pure indifference but for
Steve it was a look that spoke volumes; one that had gotten him into trouble on more than one
occasion. He had to turn away, smothering a laugh with difficulty.

Michael took the seat beside Lady Carter and Fred nestled himself between the Carter children.
This left the seats on the other side of the table free for Steve and Bucky. Steve cast one look at the
chair beside Lady Carter and scurried around the table with a faint twinge of guilt. Dropping into
the space beside Lord Carter and opposite Peggy, Steve left the remaining seat beside the
matriarch of the family for Bucky. Shooting him a bemused look, Bucky fell into the last
remaining seat, apparently completely at ease.

Once everyone was seated, a babble of chatter broke forth around the table. Lady Carter engaged
her son and Fred in a conversation, not-so-discreetly turning towards them so that Bucky and Steve
were excluded from the conversation.

“How are the plans for your birthday celebrations coming along?” Lord Carter asked his daughter,
slipping the linen handkerchief out from under a row of cutlery and tucking it into the collar of his
shirt.

“Very well,” Peggy answered. She began to outline some of the finer details (invitee attendance,
wine selection, order of events) whilst her father intoned a dry ‘hmm’ every now and then. Steve
found their exchange fascinating; Peggy, whom he had always found to be brimming with life,
became reserved, quiet and even perhaps dull in her father’s company. For his part, Lord Carter
gave Steve the impression that his attention was always half in the office that he left behind each
weekday.

Whilst the conversations flowed around him, Steve took a moment to study his place setting: a
dinner plate, serving plate and shallow bowl were stacked on top of each other in the centre whilst
an array of cutlery was lined up on each side in uniform precision. A third plate was placed in the
top corner of his place setting with a curved knife whilst a short spoon and fork lay at the top,
pointing in opposite directions. Steve tried to guess, but there was no indication of which cutlery to
use when. Back home, if more than one course was being served (a luxury reserved for special
occasions) then cutlery was licked clean and reused.

Steve inclined his head towards Bucky and murmured, “Why are there so many spoons?”

“It’s how rich folk prove they’re rich,” Bucky intoned, careful not to be overheard by anyone but
Steve. “Just — I don’t know — start from the outside and make your way in.”

Steve straightened up. Start from the outside, that seemed simple enough. At least, he thought with
relief, if I do anything wrong Bucky will be right there beside me doing it too.

A young woman with a good-natured face, wearing a floor-length black dress, starched pinafore
and cap, entered with a silver tureen. She followed Mr. Doobin around the table; as he placed a
warm bread roll onto the plate with the curved knife, she ladeled soup into the bowl on the top of
the stack.

They were nearly finished when Lady Carter sharply asked, “Mr. Doobin, who set this table?”

Mr. Doobin finished placing a bread roll down before answering, measuredly, “That would be
Miss Bowden, my lady.”

Lady Carter turned cold, unforgiving eyes onto the unfortunate Miss Bowden. “Do you know how
to correctly lay a table, Miss Bowden?”

“Yes’m.” Miss Bowden seemed to hesitate before adding, “Fork t’one side; knives and spoons on
t’otha.” She seemed to grow in confidence as she continued listing, “Dinner plate, side plate and
bowl, stacked on top.”

Lady Carter stared at Miss Bowden in stony disapproval. The room was silent with the rest of the
diners staring down at their plates, uncomfortable and embarrassed. The only person who seemed
unaffected by this exchange was Lord Carter; he was holding a wine bottle at arms length and
squinting at the label. The silence stretched on until Miss Bowden broke it, asking the table at
large, “Well I mean… that is right, ain’t it?”

Peggy gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yes, Miss Bowden, that is correct.”

It would have been comical, watching Miss Bowden’s face go from utter confusion to unspoken
relief, if Steve’s insides weren’t squirming so uncomfortably.

“A correctly laid table,” Lady Carter began in icy tones, “should be exactly even on both sides of
the table. Why you chose to set three places on one side and only two—”

“But…”

Lady Carter arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow at being interrupted. A flush was creeping up
Miss Bowden’s neck but Steve admired her bravery in forging on.

“I... I only meant t’say that, well, that there’s seven of you, ain’t there? It ain’t seem right wastin’
another lot of… of dinner things. You gotta understand that, don’t cha?”

“I don’t have to understand anything,” Lady Carter answered coldly.

“Mother, is this really necessary?” Peggy asked quietly. “No harm has been done.”

“When I require your opinion, Margaret, I will ask for it,” Lady Carter snapped. “Customs are
customs for a reason; when they are not adhered to, consequences will follow.” She turned to the
butler. “Mr. Dobin, I am disappointed in you — since when have you allowed your staff to work in
such a sloppy manner or answer back? I trust that you will do a more satisfactory job in handling
this matter.”

“Yes, my lady,” Mr. Doobin intoned, cowed. He turned to Miss Bowden. “Back to the kitchen
now, please.”

Miss Bowden lifted the tureen of soup up and opened her mouth to speak but Mr. Doobin cut in
before she could. “Back to the kitchen, Miss Bowden.”

She nodded, abashed, and murmured, “Yes, Mr. Doobin, sir.”

Miss Bowden left quietly, carrying the tureen of soup with her. Steve had the impression she would
have fled from the room if she had been able to. There was a prolonged moment of silence before
Mr. Doobin resumed placing bread rolls on each plate.

Lady Carter turned to her daughter. “You will not question me in front of the staff again.”

Peggy’s lips pursed but said nothing.

“Do you understand me, Margaret?”

“Yes, Mother,” Peggy bit out. “I understand you perfectly.”

Lord Carter suddenly placed the wine bottle that he had been studying on the table. He gestured to
it breezily, as though none of the past drama had occurred and called, “Yes, Mr. Doobin, the 1916
Vigneau will do nicely.”

Mr. Doobin, perhaps thankful for the shift in attention, immediately took the bottle of wine and
began to move around the table, filling each of their glasses. Fred leant back in his chair, draping
one arm across the top of Peggy’s as he did so, and announced, “I heard a great story a few days
ago…”

As pompous as Steve found him, he couldn’t deny that Fred was skillful in turning on the charm
when it was necessary. By the time the next maid silently entered the drawing room to resume
ladelling out the soup, Fred was midstory and the atmosphere within the room was much lighter
than it had been mere moments before.

It was between the soup course and the main meal that Lord Carter turned towards Steve and
Bucky.

“Steven and James, isn’t it?” Lord Carter asked. “Or is it… Bucky?”

Bucky gave a chuckle. “It’s short for ‘Buchanan’, my middle name. It somehow stuck with the
kids on our block. I don’t mind it, though; we’ve got a kid down the street called ‘Milky’ because
he once cried when someone made him drop his milkshake at the diner about twelve years ago.”

“And your family, do they call you Bucky?”

“N’aw, they don’t. Actually, they call me Jimmy — apart from Ma; she still calls me James. And
my Pop, but that’s usually when I’m in trouble.”

“Same as our Peg, here,” Michael said. “There are few people in this world who can get away with
calling her Margaret. Heaven forbid if anyone was to try Marge,” he said with an exaggerated
shudder.

“How are you enjoying your stay?” Lord Carter asked.

“It’s been swell so far,” Bucky answered, turning on the Brooklyn charm so that even Steve didn’t
know if he was being insincere or not. “We can’t thank you enough for bringing us out here.”

Lord Carter waved his thanks away easily. “It’s our pleasure.”

“Michael and Peggy say you work in the government?” Bucky asked.
“Yes, the Home Office. Terribly dull work that I enjoy immensely,” Lord Carter said dryly.

“Careful,” Michael warned solemnly, “He’ll positively bore the life out of you if you don’t change
the subject.”

“He’s correct, of course. Unfortunately I have never managed to instil any interest in politics in my
son,” Lord Carter informed them. “He’d rather drive flashy cars and daydream about becoming a
spy than complete any real work. Luckily, God saw to sending us Fred here; he enjoys the tedious
life of the office almost as much as I do, don’t you Fred?”

“Absolutely.” Fred flashed another of his ingratiating smiles.

Steve tried to read whether there was any sting to Lord Carter’s words; his tone was always so
measured that it was often impossible to tell. He glanced at Michael, who didn’t appear to be
taking any offence, but was that simply a mask of indifference? Or did he agree with his father’s
assertion that he was a flashy daydreamer?

Lord Carter turned back towards the two men from Brooklyn. “And what do you do, if I may ask?”

“I followed my old man into the Brooklyn Navy Yard as a Docker,” Bucky answered. “Just
lugging around heavy loads, really.”

“He’s being modest,” Steve cut in. “He’s one of the youngest union reps and recently negotiated a
pay increase for almost fifty men and they’re thinking of training him up in construction.”

“That’s quite impressive,” Lord Carter said.

“It’s nothing,” Bucky said. “Steve, here, is the one who’s going places. Did you know he’s an
artist-in-training at the National Academy of Design in the city? It’s a pretty small school
compared to others; they’re selective about who they let in and you can only apply if you’ve been
elected by one of your peers.”

Steve flushed at the unconcealed pride in Bucky’s tone. Michael and Peggy beamed at him.

“You must be very good, Steve, to have been nominated like that,” Peggy said kindly. Steve
smiled at her shyly in response, pleasure coursing through him at her compliment.

“The academy is funding for Steve to study abroad next year.”

“That’s wonderful, chap.”

Steve felt himself turn a few shades darker at Michael’s enthusiasm.

“And how do you support yourself through art school?” Lord Carter, ever the pragmatist, asked.

“I also work evenings and weekends at Goldie’s Gym. It doesn’t pay much but then, as it's only
me, I don’t need much.”

Lord Carter nodded thoughtfully. “And what of your father, Steven? Is he also an artist?”

“No, I never met him; truth be told,” Steve said, before realising how that might sound. He
hastened to add, “He died in 1918 before I was born: mustard gas.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lord Carter said, and he sounded genuine. “A terrible way to go. You
must be very proud of him.
“I am,” Steve agreed, nodding. “From what I’ve been told, he was a pretty great guy. I’ve got his
war portrait and an old compass of his; keep them both on the mantelpiece next to the last photo
taken of my mama before she got sick.” Already anticipating the questions, he forged on, “She was
a nurse on a TB ward. Got hit; couldn’t shake it.”

“It must be tough, having lost both parents so young,” Lord Carter said.

“I won’t lie and say it’s been easy,” Steve answered honestly, “but Bucky and his family have
taken great care of me.”

“Did you ever think about following in your father’s footsteps?” Lord Carter asked, “Becoming a
soldier?”

Steve thumped himself on his thin chest (a little too hard, if truth be told, but he held in the wince
of pain that wanted to escape). “I’m not really built to be a soldier — asthma, dodgy ticker, the list
goes on…” Steve said candidly. “Although, if things keep going on as they are in Europe, we
might need all the soldiers we can get; even the little guys like me.”

Lord Carter’s eyebrows rose. “You think there will be war in Europe then?”

Steve shrugged and sighed heavily. “I’m not much into politics, like yourself, but even I can see
that some treaties are being broken.”

“And is that the general view of your fellow countrymen?” Lord Carter asked with interest, leaning
forward in his seat.

“Not entirely,” Steve admitted. He winced apologetically. “The general consensus seems to be that
Europe should sort out its own affairs; we ‘already helped out once’, so to speak.”

“Hmm.”

“But I don’t abide by that,” Steve continued. He became aware that he had an audience; the rest of
the conversations around the table had ceased and only his voice filled the dining room. “The
Nazi’s are bullies, plain and simple, and Hilter’s the biggest bully of them all. In my experience,
the only way to beat a bully is to stand up to them and tell them squarely that you ain’t gonna take
any of their hassle.”

There was silence in the room. Steve felt as though he had rather impressed his hosts, until—

“Good gracious,” Fred exclaimed. “I do hope you won’t make those sorts of remarks in front of the
ambassador this week.”

“Am…ambassador?” Steve stammered, deflating in his chair.

Peggy gave Steve a smile full of sympathetic apology. “Baron von Schmidt is a member of the
NSDAP, he’s been working in London with Father to discuss the ongoing relations with the British
and German governments. Father thought that inviting him to my birthday would show that the
government was ‘extending the hand of friendship’.”

If Steve hadn’t been feeling so particularly wretched in that moment then he may have noticed the
way Peggy’s lips twisted with distaste around her fathers words, or the way Michael’s hand
tightened into a fist on the table and then, after a look of warning from Fred, slowly relaxed.

Steve began to stammer out an apology but, after failing to get the right words out, trailed off.
Humiliation gnawed at his insides; he wished the people around the table would stop looking at
him. He chanced a glance upwards and saw that Lady Carter was wearing a faintly triumphant
expression.

“How about this weather, hm?” Michael loudly asked with over-the-top cheeriness. “Raining one
moment, sunshine the next…”

Bucky and Peggy, quickly catching on, joined the conversation and added in their opinions until
long after the conversation should have been exhausted. Steve, although grateful, could only stare
down at his plate as he felt the tips of his ears glowing hotly. He resolved to stay silent until the
dinner was over and, as no one invited him to join in any further conversation, believed that this
was the first move that he had made all day that was met with any semblance of approval.

Once the dessert plates had been cleared, Mr. Doobin brought out a round of digestifs — amber-
coloured cognac for the men, a sherry for Lady Carter and water for Peggy (it appeared that
Michael hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that Lord Carter allowed Peggy one glass of wine
with her meal). A comfortable lethargy settled into the room as the diners chatted amongst
themselves, full and sleepy from the dinner and alcohol — even Steve had felt a sliver of relaxation
as the evening wore on. The knots in his stomach loosened with each sip of cognac; the burn of the
alcohol chasing away his embarrassment.

Fred pushed his chair back and rose, holding his cognac glass aloft. “Now that we all have a glass
and seeing as we are amongst family and, er, friends, I think a toast is in order.”

“Oh Fred.” Lady Carter gave a tinkling laugh that both surprised and grated on Steve.

“I want to start by thanking our hosts for this splendid evening,” he began with a simpering smile,
“You have always been kind to me and it has been wonderful over the years to know that I am
always welcome at the Carter’s; which is why, one day and God willing, I look forward to
becoming an official member of the family.”

He smiled down at Peggy in a way that left very little room for interpretation. Steve felt the colour
drain from his face.

“To family,” Fred concluded.

“To family.”

The echo reverberated through Steve’s skull; his lips felt numb as he managed the barest mumble
in response. Michael downed his drink in one whilst Steve barely felt the glass touch his lips
before he was lowering it again. From across the table, Peggy’s eyes met his for the briefest of
moments before flicking away.

It was late.

For the most part, the house was silent and still. Steve sat in the window seat of his bedroom, a
lone figure against the night. His legs were pulled up and crossed over each other, an inch of bare
ankle poking out of the candy stripe pyjamas bottoms.

On a nearby table, discarded pages showed half-formed drawings: the imagined inner-workings of
an automobile engine, fingers gently caressing ivory and black keys, the curve of a dimpled cheek
lifted in a smile. A stub of pencil, whittled so far down that it was almost impossible to use, rested
on the topmost piece of paper.

Steve had stopped drawing a while ago. The night had settled around him and although he easily
could have lent across to turn the lamp on, he had preferred not to. It was peaceful, sitting in the
silence and the dark. The window was cracked open a few inches, allowing a breeze to caress his
face, and he could hear the far off hooting of an owl (a sound he had never heard in person
before).

A pair of voices, faint at first but then getting louder as they drew closer, broke the silence. Steve
craned his neck to peer downwards, pressing his face against the cold windowpane to get a good
look. Michael and Peggy, arm in arm, rounded the side of the building. Their feet crunched on the
gravel as they stopped at the lavender border, looking out over the dark lawns. A match flared in
Michael’s hand, momentarily casting his face into planes of brilliant orange and deep shadow. The
acrid smell of burning tobacco followed, drifting up into Steve’s room.

Ever so carefully, Steve unstuck himself from the window and, feeling daring, inched it a little
further open. For the second time in as many hours, he found himself eavesdropping on the
Carter’s. It was a terrible habit, he knew, and one that he didn’t partake in back home. All day,
however, he had felt one step behind everyone else — except, perhaps, Bucky (who took it all in
stride anyway) — aside from when he had secretly listened in on their conversations.

He shifted backwards (with a flare of guilt) so that they wouldn’t see his pale face in the window if
they were to look back at his room, and strained his ears to catch what they were saying.

“...been so mortally embarrassed.” Peggy’s voice, quiet though it was, floated to Steve’s window in
the still night air. “She was awful — truly awful. I dread to think what James and Steve must have
thought.”

“I know,” Michael said soothingly. A stream of smoke unfurled from his lips in a blue haze.

Peggy watched her brother, expectantly. Finally, with a bite of impatience, she asked, “Is that all
you can say? ‘You know’?”

“What would you like me to say, Peg? We both know exactly what mother is like. Did you
honestly expect her to be civil because we have guests? She hardly approves of them, either.”

“I feel wretched.”

“Imagine how Molly feels,” Michael murmured.

Peggy gave a low groan. “Oh, Michael,” she eventually said. “Do you think it was a mistake
bringing Steve and James here? I thought…” she mouthed wordlessly for a moment, struggling to
order her thoughts. “I don’t know what I thought. I just… I wanted…”

“I know,” Michael repeated, heavily. “I wanted it to be different too. We’ve brought our two dear
friends directly into the lion’s den and we’ve done so with a welcoming smile.”

There was a self-deprecating bitterness to his tone that chilled Steve.

The siblings lapsed into a contemplative silence. Michael took another drag of his cigarette. The
smell of the smoke was starting to make Steve feel nauseous and he was considering moving away
from the window when Michael spoke again, stilling him.

“You’re not really thinking of marrying Freddy, are you?”

All thoughts of leaving the window fled Steve’s mind; his breath held as he waited for Peggy’s
reply. It didn’t come. He eased himself closer, the cold window panes pressing up against him as
he stared down at the brother and sister.

Peggy was stalling. She picked at an imaginary thread on her dress.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted, so quietly that if Steve hadn’t been holding his breath he may
have missed it. “Would it really be so bad?”

Michael made a noise that Steve couldn’t interpret; somewhere between a scoff and an
exclamation.

“It would keep him in the family,” she continued. “Keep him close.”

“Is that really what you want?” Michael asked.

Peggy didn’t reply; the two siblings stared at each other in silence but something profound seemed
to pass between them, something that Steve had no hope of ever interpreting. Finally, Michael
sighed noisily and wrapped a brotherly arm of affection around his little sister’s shoulders. He
pulled her in close and planted a kiss to the top of her head. She rested her head on his shoulder and
they stayed that way for a while, silent and motionless as they looked out over the grounds. The
cigarette continued to smoulder, forgotten, between Michael’s fingers.

It was Peggy who pulled away first. She briskly ran her palms up and down her bare arms. “How
much longer are you going to be? It’s positively Baltic out here.”

“Go on in, if you want. I won’t be a mo’.”

“All right.”

Peggy turned and walked back the way they had come, disappearing around the corner of the
building. Michael remained, taking the last few drags of his cigarette. He flicked it to the ground
where it glowed hotly for a moment until he stamped it out, grinding the sole of his shoe against
the stub. He blew the last of the smoke out through his lips and it continued to curl away through
the night air long after Michael had disappeared in the same direction as Peggy.

The grounds were still and silent again. Steve relaxed back into the window seat, contemplating
the conversation he had just listened to. It interested him that Michael was not keen on his closest
friend marrying his sister — especially as Lord and Lady Carter appeared to approve of the match.
Peggy’s response had also interested him: most of the girls back home spoke of marriage with
misty-eyed excitement whereas Peggy had sounded almost resigned to the idea of marrying Fred;
hardly the blushing bride-to-be.

Steve turned his head towards the door to his suite. Footsteps were treading carefully along the
corridor outside. There was the lightest knock on one of the other guests’ doors, a pause and then
the murmur of voices. Steve knew that it couldn’t be Bucky; his snores were already penetrating
through the walls from the room next door. That left Fred’s room across the corridor. A door
clicked shut, cutting the voices off, and Steve turned towards the window once more.

Someone, perhaps Mr. Doobin, was turning the lights off downstairs. The long strips of golden
light that stretched across the lawns were winking out as someone moved methodically from room
to room, switching off each light in turn, until the grounds were plunged into blackness.

A carriage clock chimed out twelve strokes for midnight. Then quarter past. Half past. Quarter to.
 There was the creak of hinges that Steve recognised as belonging to the oak front door. Curious, he
craned his neck to look down into the grounds once more. A lone figure stepped out onto the
gravel drive, wearing a travelling coat and carrying a carpet bag. They looked ethereal in the glow
of the moonlight. They turned back to take one last look at the house and locked eyes with Steve. It
must have surprised them, to see his pale face staring out of the gloom of the house, but they didn’t
show it. Tears glittered on their face.

They turned away, feet crunching on gravel as, dismissed and disgraced, Molly Bowden began the
long journey home.

Chapter End Notes

BACKGROUND INFORMATION
— ‘Minnie the Moocher’ (1931) by Cab Calloway and His Orchestra featured Betty
Boop in the 1932 cartoon of the same name by Fleisher Studios and released by
Paramount Pictures.
CHARACTER INFORMATION
— Molly Bowden, Peggy’s neighbour who is kicked out of the Griffin in Agent Carter
S1, playing the role of Molly Bowden

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