to lighten the burden of another

The second day is much like the first. Erskine comes around to collect the first day’s notes and seems too stressed and busy to chat for much time. He pretty much tells Steve that his work looked good, so far, and to keep it up. He thanks Steve and bustles away.

After breakfast, Peggy works with the recruits again, drills them right into the ground. It’s a harsh training regimen, but it has to be done, their skills need to be polished. She’s doesn’t let anyone try to slack off, despite the way some of them try to get around her orders. If they get a little lazy, she does the exercises in front of them, not breaking eye contact until they do it better, or try a little harder.

If a recruit tries to make it harder for another, she does the same for him quickly and helps the one being harassed. She doesn’t tolerate it at all. Steve really likes that about her. She’s very caring under the cold act. She wants them to be better, and work harder, but not at the expense of the others.

All in all, the day passes smoothly, and he’s able to get all his work done. He helps Peggy out with the paperwork she can have someone else do and helps her do a few tasks around the base she needs to finish up.

Helping out Erskine is… less fun.

“It’s, um…” Steve rubs his tired eyes. “Three AM?” he says, as a question, but really just to point out what a fucking horrible hour it was. An MP woke him up and said Erskine needed him five minutes ago and Steve’s still not quite up and at ‘em. It was pitch black out, not even the moon was up to the task, and the base was quiet as a grave because everybody was fucking asleep.

Erskine looks a little wired, frazzled, and too awake to be tired, and stares back at him from what seems like a mound of papers.

“Oh,” he says as if the words finally connected.

“No, it’s fine,” Steve says, trying to be assuring, motioning vaguely, and then he rubs his face as he yawns. After that, the hour hits him again and he groans into his palms, then gently smacks his cheeks to sort of wake him up better. “Okay, first off- I brought my notes from yesterday, figured I might as well if I was going to see you, so--” he put the packet on a free spot on the desk with Erskine’s name on it. “That being, whaddya need? What’s- why am I here? At 3 AM.”

“I’m having-- issues,” Erskine said vaguely, motioning to his masses of papers. “These need to be sorted. Organized properly. So they can be submitted tomorrow at six-thirty.”

There were… so many papers in the pile. It was a massive, massive thing, the pile of papers. Three and a half hours to sort them all.

“And you also need to not look at any of them,” Erskine said. “Because they contain somewhat sensitive information.”

“Oh, so then I’m the worst person you could as to do this because I have an edict memory,” Steve said, putting one hand on his hip and using the other to motion. “There is no way I can both organize these and not look at them and remember every word on those papers.”

Erskine looked down at the papers. “Listen,” he said, sounding a little desperate now. “Just- pretend you can’t read and please help me.”

Steve, illiterate under direct orders apparently, got down and sat with crossed legs. “Is there way- to sort of figure out how these are supposed to go?”

“Some of them are numbered?” Erskine offers hesitantly.

“You are killin’ me here, pal,” Steve said and started rummaging, seeing if he could find any patterns to the madness. Some of them did have numbers, but some of them also had identifying markers he may be able to use. “Alright, let’s see what we can do with this. Do you have folders for me to put any groups into?”

“I’ll get them,” Erskine said quickly, and pushed himself off the floor to a file cabinet and pull out a handful of vanilla folders, offering them. Steve took them and set them beside him and started matching some papers in small groups.

“Okay, this may be manageable between the two of us,” Steve said. “If we don’t stop for a second.”

“You can group the colored pages together,” Erskine said. “They’re color coded for some of the specifications for the machinery needed.”

Steve took in a slight breath. “Doc, I’m colorblind,” he said, and Erskine rubbed his face, muttering in German. “Why did you even ask me to help, oh my god, you have really gotten yourself up shit creek without a paddle. Listen- you handle the colors, I’ll try to puzzle piece the rest of this together.”

Two hours in and after a grueling sorting session, more than a little stressed, Steve was starting to kind of get an idea of what needed to go together so slowly but surely he was being surrounded by half-packed vanilla folders and the pile was a third the size it used to be. Erskine, having done all he could with color-sorting, began looking through each vanilla folder and reorganizing the packets within to be in the proper order if they weren’t already.

“You know,” Erskine starts after a while. “For someone who’s a bit of a ‘hot-head’ you’ve been very little trouble so far.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve said, peering at some numbers and comparing some equations he couldn’t read. “Haven’t gotten angry at anything yet. Give it time.”

Erskine huffs a small laugh. “Not even waking you at an ungodly hour to help me sort this?”

Steve looked up at him, confused. “That’s not something to be mad about,” he said. “Hey- maybe if you were kinda rude about it and didn’t give a hand as well, I might be a little peeved, but still. I wouldn’t start a ruckus over it. I’d be content to just- fume quietly here. You’re the boss, I gotta work with you, how you-- do things, the stuff you assign me or foster off onto me, no matter how ya do it.”

Erskine hummed. “So- what gave you that black eye I saw at the fair?”

“Ah, jeez, well,” he sighed. “After- I had tried to enlist earlier that day, failed, of course, that’s why I was so-- that’s why I was gonna try again and decided now to, but anyway I didn’t have much else to do after, so I went-- went to see a movie, some cartoons, get my mind off it. The- previews were footage from the frontlines, you know, the kinda propaganda films, showin’ what happenin’, askin’ for support, enlistment, collecting scrap. You know--- uh-- ‘Overseas, our brave boys are showing the Axis powers that the price freedom is never too high. Together with Allied forces, we’ll face any threat, no matter the size,’” he quoted, trying to mimic the announcer’s voice. “That, you know.”

“Sure,” Erskine agreed, watching him.

“And some- excuse my language here, but some asshole was causing a scene, yellin’ at the screen to just ‘start the film already, who cares, get on with it.’ He was makin’ people upset- you look around you see people shooting daggers at the guy, some people looked really upset about it- probably have somebody overseas, maybe lost somebody overseas. So I yell at him to shut the hell up, nobody wanted to hear it. And, well, long story short of that, he wasn’t too keen to let it go. Bucky pulled me out of a fight in the back alley a few minutes later, saved my hide. That’s how I got the black eye.”

“Ah. Hm! You get into fights like that often?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Steve admitted. “I don’t go looking for fights, but… I find ‘em anyway. There’s always some guy who’s got a smart mouth and mean streak. You know- terrorizing stray cats, harassing ladies who don’t want their attention, makin’ fun of some person or other, pushing someone else around. I just-- can’t stand to the sidelines when I see stuff like that, not when I can do something.”

Erskine is well and truly staring at him.

“What- I got ink on my face or something?” Steve wiped at his cheeks, checked his hand. No ink.

“No, no, just… you attempted to enlist quite a few times. You seem-- from what you say, you don’t want to just stand around when you can do something yourself. Did you want to go overseas and--- kill Nazis?”

“Well. No. I don’t want to kill anybody. I know I would have to, I would learn to-- to do what was necessary,but-- I just-- I just don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from. I don’t know. Maybe that sounds stupid. They just- so many other people are fighting, I thought I could be one of them.”

Erskine looked… conflicted, maybe. “I had- hoped to have at least twelve candidates,” he said at last. “When we met, I was searching for one more, but none of the men who came through were-- what I was looking for. I initially approached you to see if perhaps you might be interested and see if you were within my-- parameters. Would you-- would you be interested in that? It may be- a little late to join the line-up if you will, but… I think you would make an excellent candidate.”

That was something else to think about that Steve wasn’t sure if he really wanted to. Too bad he had to reply. He thought about it. Signing up for this mystery project. Genetically engineered super-soldier. Theoretically- increased strength, endurance. A place on the front, to go into battle with those skills. By the sound of it, what Steve’s read and heard, he’d become- he’d get the body he’d never had. One that wasn’t ill and small, and weak. Something about that was oh so tempting. 

He thought about it before, but it was a hypothetical, to think on why the men acted so unkind to each other. How the chance to be something great could blind even good men, good soldiers.

But now it was so much more real. And it made something twist in his stomach. It made him think of- it made him think of things he hadn’t in a long while.

“You know, I lied on those enlistment forms a few times,” he said slowly. “And I lied some more after. The doctor who did the examination would always ask how my parents died. Well, my ma died of TB. It was- she fought hard, but she- she still passed. I miss her every day. My father though. I always said- he fought in the Great War, he died of mustard gas. I never met him, I’d say. It wasn’t true. I met him. He got gassed, yeah, came back with a wicked cough, but- he lived. He came back. I wished he hadn’t. 

“When he came back, he came back mean. What he saw, what he went through, he just-- he buried it all in a bottle. He came back and he drank and drank and drank, and he got meaner and meaner and meaner. He hit my ma, pretty bad, sometimes. Give her a split lip, bloodied nose, black eyes. Hit me a few times, didn’t like me much, didn’t like that I was a cripple, thought I was a waste of money, he didn’t like that I was smarter than he was, got things quicker than he did, better grades than he ever did, but my ma, she always- always at least tried to get in his way, stop him from taking out all that anger on me.

“Eventually he just drank himself into his grave. I was just relieved. My ma grieved more than I ever did, but she was relieved too, even if she never said it. It’s just-- war messes people up. And I- I have a temper like he did. I get into fights I could avoid and just don’t. Don’t think those things through. What if I go to war, I see things, I kill people, and I try burying it all in a bottle too if I make it back? I don’t want to-- lash out like he did. I don’t want to go back when it’s all over and lash out when Bucky’s around, he’s the only family I’ve got, the only person who would stick around to get lashed out at, do something really stupid when I’m drunk, start picking fights I don’t need to, hurt somebody, turn into a bitter alcoholic like he did. 

“I don’t think I would. I like to think I’d be better than that, better than him. But I bet he didn’t think he’d get so bitter and mean either.

“This- this experiment? It’ll make people stronger, faster, probably fix everything wrong with me, by the sound of it. But. If I go home with that stuff in my system- if I end up like my old man…” Steve’s lips twisted into a grimace. “I don’t know.” Steve sighed. “Maybe I’m overthinking it.” He rubbed his face. “This- this project makes me nervous to think about. It’s such… it’s such a big thing, isn’t it?”

“That, at least, is a mutual feeling,” Erskine allowed.

“I think-- it’s a nice offer, to be considered. Maybe I could do some good. I could- I could go fight, make a difference. Maybe I get some proper training, have this new strength, maybe I turn the tides of war. But… I don’t know. Something tells me that going to fight will-- change me. I feel like- I feel like I’m helping like this, doing what I’m doing now.” He motioned to the papers, the lab around him. “Maybe somebody else can be the first super-soldier, can be that person to make a difference on the front. You need someone who can-- deal with doing what’s necessary and seeing what the war creates again and again and can keep their head. I’m not sure if that’s me.”

He looks thoughtful, considering Steve’s words. “Very well,” Erskine said. “Though, I will say you would have been the first on my list. I’ll just say this: it’s a standing offer. If you change your mind, just tell me.”

Steve nodded, trying to focus more on matching all these documents. 

He tried not to think about it too hard.

He went through papers. He had accidentally learned some interesting things, memorized chemical formulas he had no idea the meaning of, looked at so much random math that just didn’t fucking click that his head was still swimming with a jumble of numbers, and he was actually drinking coffee, which was bitter and burnt tasting, still, but he was drinking it even though he didn’t like the taste of it just to keep his focus.

They had just twenty minutes to spare by the time the massive pile was in the folders. Steve shifted and went about double-checking the files as well, putting them all in stacks once he was certain they were accurate.

When all was said and done, they had three piles that came up to Steve’s hip when standing. 

“If you knock these over, I’m quitting,” Steve said, and Erskine laughed. They moved them into safer storage, into several milk crates, specifically grouped with like files. All sorted and packed nicely for whoever was coming to pick them up.

They sat on workbenches in Erskine wild lab with too much to look at, too many test tubes, too many chemicals, too much of everything and just took a moment in silence. There were more and more papers cluttering the free space, but at least Steve didn’t have to touch those. A minute after they sat, several MP’s and a few guys in uniforms came to collect these, and then they left with their new cargo, simple as that.

Steve rubs his face again and groans into his hands. Erskine huffs a laugh. 

“Okay, please don’t do this regularly,” Steve starts. “But also- I supposed it coulda been worse. Once I figured out the difference between those- the ones, what were they- the E7’s and the W9-7’s, then it wasn’t so bad. Just-- pattern finding,” Steve said. “Matching signatures. Some papers had imprints from others, from writing- that's how I did the math notes quickly, hard to miss that. When you got matching numbers.”

“You did very well,” Erskine says. “Thank you for that. It saved me the trouble of having to explain why they weren’t ready yet and then the struggle of figuring it all out myself.”

“Happy to help,” Steve replied. “How’d you get ‘em all mixed up like that?”

“I’m not a particularly well-organized person,” Erskine answered and Steve laughed. 

“Let’s-- let's go get breakfast,” Steve said. “I’m hungry. And-- I gotta go help Agent Carter with her-- with the soldiers. The notes.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Erskine agreed, getting up, and grabbing the file Steve put down hours earlier.

After they got to the mess hall and grabbed some food, they discussed Steve’s notes as they ate.

“You’ve done remarkably,” Erskine assures as he looks through the papers. “Accurate examinations of the physical performances of the men, their interactions, their actions, and personality profiles. I’m glad you took my recommendations to heart.”

“It seemed like you knew what you wanted,” Steve said. “And this project is important, so I ought to do a good job about it.” He paused. “I did want to ask why there was an extra set of papers, but you kinda told me earlier. You expected another person to be part of the group. I had initially assumed they were in case I lost a page."

“Well, that’s a good use for them,” Erskine allowed. 

“Peggy’s been doing a great job following the outline she was given, to test the candidates,” Steve mentions. “And speak of the devil-” Steve said, as Peggy sat down beside them. “Peggy, you wanna hear about how Erskine sent an MP to get me up at 3 AM to help him sort through about eight square feet of paperwork?”

She examines him. “In fact, I’d rather not,” she says.

“I drank coffee,” he stresses.

“Now I pity you,” she says. She slides her tea to him. “Here.” 

“You are a goddess among men,” he says, and drinks from it. It’s perfect, hot and sweet and soothing.

“On the other hand, without you snoring-”

“Hey,” he protests.

“I did get a lovely few more hours of peaceful sleep-” she went on.

“C’mon, I’m not that bad and you’re ten feet away from me when we sleep,” he tried.

“Could have fooled me, it sounds like it’s right in my ear,” she continued.

Steve groaned, looked up at the ceiling.

“Will you be functional enough for your observations today?” Peggy asks.

“Well, you brought me tea,” he says like it was going to give him back those hours of lost sleep with the simple act of being there. She laughed.

“Well, good,” she said. “We have a full day today, though you might be able to catch up on a bit of sleep as I take them for a run around the base. You’ll meet with another assistant in a Jeep at the halfway point, so until we arrive, you have a bit of free time on your hands.”

Steve considered it. “I’m pretty fond of naps,” he allowed, and she hummed in amusement, chuckling, and sipped from his mug of tea. He allowed it simply because she brought it, so it was hers first. 

Erskine puts a hand under his chin and looks at them. He looks a little amused, a little mischievous.

“Sorry, did we forget about you, doctor?” Peggy teases.

“You did, it was quite rude,” he agrees. “Steven was an enormous help getting those papers in order. I’m impressed. It was… quite the mess I made myself. Thank you for letting me borrow him so late.”

“Please, I was happy to let him go. You haven’t heard his snoring--”

“C’mon,” Steve says, exasperated. “Are you ever gonna let it go?”

“No,” she says. “Never, absolutely not.”

After morning exercises, they start on the run- a long run, really, miles and miles around the base, and Steve rides to the halfway point with another assistant that knew how to drive and waited there, filling out what happened during the morning routines. The guy parks under a bit of shade and pulls out a slim novel, reading a bit. Steve he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. Not quite able to take a nap, but enjoying the time he has to doze freely. His stomach is a bit upset, maybe from the coffee, who knows, but he can deal with that. By the time that Steve can hear the recruits, just out of his right ear, he’s groggy and ready to leave. The sun is hot as hell and he’d really rather be inside and he’s still tired as shit.

Steve looks back, grabs his clipboard, and holds it at the ready, rubbing his eyes to wake up a bit more.

Peggy has another drill sergeant with her today, someone Steve hasn’t met, and he stops the unit, letting them momentarily catch their breath. He announces that whoever gets the flag down off the pole had a free ride back with Agent Carter's assistant. 

They jump on the chance, sweaty men climbing over each other to get up the pole. Steve grimaces at the display. Not only is it… impulsive, but they also are dragging each other down with their efforts. One of them starts to get fairly high, Hodge, Steve notices, and they let him, but he slips back down as well. 

Steve glances at the pole, debates if it was even possible as it was… and he notices the base of the pole, with a simple pin system holding it up. The drill sergeant didn’t say anything about climbing up the pole, so it was a valid way to go about it.

Not one of them notices this and when the drill sergeant calls them back, Peggy scoffs loudly. 

“I hope the sun was merely idling your perception because that was a pathetic display,” she says and pulls the pin out of the flagpole, wiggling the L-shaped piece of metal out next. The pole falls to the ground with a clang and she grabs the flag off it. Steve marks it down, hopelessly in love, in all honesty. Sharp, intelligent, perceptive.

Steve curses under his breath and tears his gaze away.

“I’ll need to make sure the sun doesn’t idle you so much you forget which way is up and which way is down, you have five minutes to catch your breath,” she announces. “Stay in position!”

Peggy marches over in a huff, folding the flag. 

“Well, what’s the mid-way report?” Steve asks, ready for notes as she drops the flag in the backseat.

“Have someone get that flag cleaned up, and as for what I’m feeling: disappointment,” she replies shortly, and then gives him an actual briefing of the men, short and to the point. He’d take the second segment of notes when they get back to base. Nothing too exciting, nobody lagging too far behind, all kept a fairly level head and good focus. But the display at the flagpole, she mentions, should be noted.

“Oh, trust me,” Steve agreed. “Colonel Phillips put it in the notes as well, hoped someone would actually make it up there. But you’re the only one who actually displayed any bit of quick thinking and situational analysis. I think that's the better deal of it.”

She hummed, agreeing.

“I noticed the pin too, thought it was ridiculous that they didn’t, because they have better eyes than I do.”

“Quite right,” she said. “I’ll be sure to mention that even my assistant figured out the trick before they did.”

“If they go to beat me up because of that, will you defend my honor?”

She laughed and left, leaving a dust trail behind them. The soldier next to him sits back, watching the soldiers continue their run, Peggy running alongside to keep an eye on them. “You got it bad.”

“I don’t need to hear anything from you.”

“Just saying.”

“Just saying you need to shut your goddamn trap,” Steve scowls.

The man laughs and starts the engine.

Steve sits there for a while, silently fuming, but soon enough his irritation evens out and he sighs, relenting. “So, you know how the system works around here, been here longer, what tips can you give me?”

The man hums, squinting his eyes a bit. “Alright, well, let's see,” the man says, considering. “I mean, if you wanna memorize all the file names and stuff, I can give you a few packets, they’ve got-- debrief papers and stuff, but-”

“Yeah, actually, if you could do that I’d appreciate it,” Steve said. “I’ve done some- secretary work before, but not here. I need to know what I’m doing to do it right.”

“I hear ya, I hear ya. Yeah, I’ll drop ‘em off at your barracks after I’m off, I suppose,” he agreed. “If you wanna be the best secretary in this who fuckin’ division, who am I to stop ya. Whatever bullshit I find, I’ll give to you, whatever.”

And he does, and Steve spends all his free time reviewing the pages front to back, and back to front, memorizing every line with relative ease. He makes damn well sure he can do anything with paperwork, not just what they’re having him do to help Peggy and Erskine. In fact, after looking over those files, seeing the security clearances, he’s pretty sure he can order a pound of chocolate to his room with just ten files. It would take about a week to get there, plus a bit of work, but he’d get it for free. He keeps that information to himself.

On the fourth day, the men get a bit of a break. They only do exercises in the morning and have the afternoon off, more or less. They still have some duties to do, but it’s mostly chores and handiwork around the base. Erskine grabs Steve from Peggy and has him help sort through the papers cluttering his desk, reorganize his schedule for the next few days, take and make a few calls on his behalf as he worked, and make a note of the things Erskine said he wanted to get done within the next few days as he rambled on about this math and that circuit, and those chemicals. Steve tacked the list to the corkboard next to the door to the lab, and Erskine was surprised to see it all listed out nicely, even sorted by importance. 

“Well, you were talkin’, I was listenin’,” Steve said. “Also, the guy you wanted me to reschedule the meeting with, the guy from New York City about rerouting electricity to the testing site-- he said he can’t do 1830 tomorrow, but could make 1900 the day after, and when I checked your schedule, I saw no conflicting events, so I marked him down for it.”

“Oh, excellent,” Erskine said.

“I got those all put down in your little schedule book,” he added. “So you don’t forget.”

“Good, because I would if someone wasn’t here to remind me,” Erskine sighed. “There’s-- a packet sent down from management, could you…”

“I’ll look through it and find where your signature is needed,” Steve said and went to do that.

“I’ll need some of the papers on my desk attached to some of them, they said,” Erskine said. “I can’t recall which ones.”

“I’ll figure it out right after this,” Steve says and starts working again. Clearly- the packet was about human experimentation trials for Project Rebirth, so Steve had to attach the consent forms and a few other files signed by the candidates. Erskine had them spread far and wide around his lab. Steve legitimately found one folded up and used as a bookmark for some chemistry reference book. Steve replaced it with a ruler, as he didn’t have anything else on hand. Honestly- it seemed if he was working for Erskine long-term he should invest in a better filing system and some rulers.

“Whoever this spy was that was supposed to be helping you, he did a shitty job getting your stuff in order,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips. “Should have seen it a mile away--- is this the stuff he was working on for you?”

“Well-” Erskine looked. “Yes, I think so.”

“He did a terrible job,” Steve said. “He has terrible handwriting, and he didn’t even sign this stuff in the right place or get you to sign in the right place, they’re not organized properly, all the pages are out of order or missing attachments, your schedule looked like a mess--” Steve huffed. “Christ, you should have fired this guy before you even figured it out.”

“As much as I don’t want to defend this man, I didn’t make it easy for him,” Erskine said.

“Nah, it’s one thing to have a disorganized employer, or- whatever,” Steve says. “I’ve had those before. I worked at an art shop, remember? The owner mixed his tax forms in with piles of newspapers and he lost pens like they fell off the edge of the world so I always had to grab one from the displays, he would order supplies and forget when they were coming in, and forget to order something else- you can deal with a mess if you figure out how people are messy, like you turn papers into bookmarks, and pile papers on your desk, and you put papers you consider important, or ‘deal with it later’ in your desk drawers, but only the top two, this is just-- not doing his job right and not paying attention. I’m gonna-- I’m gonna fix these and get new ones so we can do ‘em right.”

“Probably for the best,” Erskine admitted and Steve immediately started doing that.

“Cause, like-” Steve huffed as he went through things and shuffled papers. “The owner would forget shipment dates, but he’d always have the stuff come in within three days so it narrowed some things down, and at least when he forgot to order supplies, he had the numbers of his suppliers out so I could place orders for him. Don’t tell anybody, but he’d let me forge his signature for some things as long as it didn’t affect him in the long run so he could be checking the finances and doing the-- whatever he was always up to in his office. You can adapt to messy, messy has patterns. This guy didn’t even try and you can tell. See like-- what is this? He stapled a random paper to this B88 submission form! What was he trying to do, submit a chemical formula as a medical expense? Like what- this is beyond frustrating to look at. At this point I’m wondering if it’s a deliberate form of sabotage and--” he paused. 

Erskine looked over, and Steve stared at the papers in his hands.

“Oh, shit,” he said. He rummaged through the papers and peered at them.

He went back to the other submitted files that were correct, done by this guy, the ones that he considered correct, and examined them, opening several file cabinets just to read and check the files for accuracy.

“I’m… pretty sure it was deliberate,” he said at last. “Because-- these B88 forms are correct. But that one was wrong. This one’s dated-- about two months ago, and that one was just under a month. I think-- he might have been sabotaging your paperwork to slow down what you’re working on.”

“...Oh,” Erskine said. “I’m going to call Phillips down to check on this.”

Phillips was not happy to hear it as Steve pointed out the inconsistencies and misfiled paperwork. 

“And just how do you know what’s right and wrong with all this?” he asked critically.

“I… read all the manuals,” Steve said. “That explained how all the filing systems worked and the use of all the forms and how to-- make it all work?”

“You read them? Cover to cover?”

“I mean-- yes- the basic ones, I still have-- the advanced ones, for-- paperwork that’s above my level But also- these are just stupidly done, so that even if I hadn’t learned the filing system, if I just read what was on the papers I’d be able to tell. This form is for clearing medical expenses, and you’re supposed to attach medical paperwork or a requisition form for medical equipment/supplies, and he just attached chemical formula lists that are unrelated. It doesn’t make any sense. And these are all signed incorrectly,” Steve went on, motioning to the pile he made so far. “But if you look, he’s done it right in the past, he’s filled out these NDA’s correctly, and this B88 is fine, but not all of this,” Steve motioned again. “So it has to be deliberate. I think it should be checked out, at the very least.”

Phillips put his hands on his hips and huffed. 

Peggy walked in and immediately asked “What’s all the fuss? I was supposed to have my assistant back half an hour ago!”

“Your boy just found out that your spy was sabotaging paperwork going back three weeks,” Phillips replied.

Peggy stopped, and then mimicked his stance, looking at the piles Steve had been making. “So is that why the techs have been so slow getting back to us on materials? I remember a kerfuffle over some missing papers, but...”

“It might be,” Phillips agreed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Damn it, that’s annoying,” Peggy huffed. “That’ll take ages to sort through and correct.”

“The good news is you got yourself an assistant who knows what the hell he’s doing. He can fix some of it, find out what’s messed up here, and then get new forms in the works. I don’t expect this to be corrected overnight, but if he can just flush out the messed up stuff here we can get a couple of other reliable secretaries on getting it all worked out correctly. You, son, are gonna have a long night.”

“Oh, god,” Steve sighed and rubbed his face. “Alright. Well…”

“Get yourself a pot of coffee, kid,” Phillips said. “The good stuff that admin is hoarding, not the swill in the mess hall.”

“He doesn’t like coffee,” Peggy said. “I’ll make us some tea.”

“Us,” Steve repeated. 

“I’ll help,” she said. “I’ll bring what I’m working on here and give you a hand so this gets resolved faster.”

“Oh- thank you,” he said, and she left quickly. 

It did take hours to go through. Erskine’s lab had them scattered about, in every cabinet, every pile. They had to sort through them all, check the date and accuracy, and set them into a pile if they were incorrect. Steve then had to go through them to sort through what they needed to get the other workers to get rolling. He had to list what they needed, what the purpose of the form was, and attach notes to the wrong files to be sent around…

Point was, it was 2 AM when they had Erskine’s lab cleared, and Peggy’s files double-checked. Steve and Peggy were just sitting on the floor with stacks of papers to be sent around, exhausted.

“I noticed when he did something wrong and had him fix it, but I don’t think I connected it to anything like this, I just thought he was a tad careless,” she said. 

“Took me a minute too and I had it all laid out for me, don’t feel bad,” he said. “So, ah-- where’s this guy now anyway? Got him in a cell?”

“No, she shot him,” Erskine said, far too casually.

“Oh!” Steve said. 

“Through the window of a moving car; he was trying to get away with a box of sensitive documents after we discovered him. He crashed into a tree,” he then elaborated.

“Oh…” Steve repeated and looked at Peggy, who didn't look at all ashamed or embarrassed. She just looked- sharp and hardened. Like she was expecting him to say something.

“I did what was necessary,” she said. 

“I don’t doubt it,” he assures. “Puts a new light into ‘I would be allowed to contain or restrain you in any way possible,’ though.”

She quirks her lips and rolls her eyes.

“I mostly thought you’d break my face on the ground,” he said honestly. 

“Not that that would be hard,” she said, more honest than she clearly meant to be. “Sorry- is that too much?”

“Nah,” he said. “I mean, it would be overkill, look at me, and then you- you’re built like a boxer, and- if I’m honest- if you punched me hard enough it would probably kill me, but your job seems tough, you gotta-- hone skills you’ll use. I get it.”

She gave him a bit of a smile.

“But please don’t hit me, I’m serious, I’m a terrible fighter,” he insisted, putting his hands up. “You’ll hurt me worse than you think you will.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “I don’t think I’ll have to, first of all. We both know I can well and truly take you down any way I need to. But you bring up another point, so how about this- I can show you how to defend yourself better when we have a bit of spare time.”

Steve blinked. “Really?”

“Why not? It’s an important skill, you know,” she pointed out.

“Oh, I know. Yeah, sure. I’m up for it,” he agreed. “Not today, though, it’s-- 2:17,” he said, checking his watch. “I’m tired, let’s turn in while we can.”

“Yes,” Erskine said dryly, and they looked over at him, sitting on the bench and watching them, chin propped on his hand, like he was watching a particularly interesting yet exasperating television series. “It’s quite late, it would be a very good idea to get out of my lab.”

Steve laughed and pulled himself off the floor, offering a hand to Peggy, who took it. Admittedly, he couldn’t very well pull her up, but she let him sort of try, give her a bit of a hand. 

The fifth day, he wakes up feeling terrible and exhausted, but Peggy makes some amazing black tea, nice and caffeinated, which is a blessing.

There’s a lot of weapons practice and some obstacle courses planned for that day. A lot of interesting interactions. Steve watches the weapon practice and figures out how to load, fire, disassemble, and clean the weapons in use through observation. Peggy offers a lot of useful tips and tricks with weapon maintenance and firing accuracy, but half of the group ignores her words and gets poor marks for the target practice. 

It started drizzling a bit after weapons practice, and started well and truly pouring when they went to do some drills on an obstacle course with their weapons, to get used to the experience. Steve, luckily, was able to stand off to the side under cover or with a large umbrella so his papers didn’t get soaked.

Steve made a note when Hodge broke the post under the barbed wire crawl to trip up the guy with glasses behind him, who then struggled to figure out what to do. Hodge laughed, as did three others. Peggy told the soldier to back up a bit and go through the same side as Hodge.

Steve makes a note to have the post repaired or replaced. And then makes a note of ‘deliberately damaging military property’ on the man’s file.

They continue with drills and exercises. Erskine borrows Steve again, and somehow he’s ruined his whole lab.

“You’re a mad man,” Steve says. “How,” he motions to the new mess of papers. “How did you do this? I was here not even twelve hours ago and it was fine!”

“Well- the first trial is coming up very soon!” Erskine defends himself. “There has been a lot of-- of detail work. Lots of communication with the-- the scientists and engineers up at the lab we’ve been building to suit the requirements of the technology needed-”

“I’m going to build you an organizational system even you can’t fuck up,” Steve says, pointing at him harshly, and it’s a threat. 

Erskine mutters to himself in German, and motions vaguely to the lab and turns around to play with his chemicals and looks at papers as Steve fixes his mess and sends files on their way, and makes a few more calls. Once things seem more settled and organized, Steve goes around and collects a few shallow paper storage bins. He makes quick tags he tapes to the front of them and then shifts around some things on the desk that Erskine always dumps papers on haphazardly.

“Okay,” he says, loudly, firmly, and points to his baskets. “You put your papers in the bin that has a corresponding label. You got something on the candidates, whether it be for your underlings, medical, whatever, it goes there, you got random notes, equations, little circuits, chemical formulas, put ‘em in the next one, and so on. They’re really broad subjects, but it’ll make it easier for me, easier for you, easier for your lab assistants, and easier for literally everybody involved. I even put these all where you always dump your papers. Please, use them.”

“I’ll make an attempt,” Erskine says, which isn’t a promise, but it’s definitely a start.

“I even made you a basket for if you’re too busy to sort, like you need to drop a paper and get to something else quickly so nothing catches fire. So at least it’s an orderly pile, and not a mass of papers. I’m really trying to work with you here.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Good,” Steve says. “And your protection detail is all finalized for the trip up to Brooklyn for the trial, up to and including transport.”

“Oh, excellent.”

“And of course, since ‘the last guy was a spy,’ I am not privy to knowing your route, nor what soldiers get assigned to protect you,” he added. “That’s been sent to the head of security, Agent Carter, and Colonel Phillips to finalize, so you'll have to ask them about that.”

“Ah, yes,” Erskine allowed and sighed. “I feel like-- restricting your access makes this all less efficient. I feel like-- at this point at least, we all know you’re not any kind of plant. With the intensive interviews, all the verification processes, and all the-- frivolities. I wish we could just- let this whole spy thing go and let you do your work. I was never worried about- well, that’s-- almost true, there was only one moment I wasn't so sure.”

Steve blinked.

“When your friend came to get you,” Erskine elaborated. “I thought he was just a soldier who had-- maybe seen you earlier and knew you were trouble, maybe saw something suspicious.”

“Well,” Steve said. “I’m… sorry if it made you nervous? I can see how that would be worrying, but really, I just sort of ditched him to go-- try to enlist. He and his dates were watching Howard Stark’s flying car,” he explained. “They were distracted, and nobody was paying me any attention anyway, so I just--- walked away.”

“Yes, I remember you saying the girl wasn’t interested in you.”

“Which was and is true,” Steve insists. “Bucky-” Steve sighs, a tad frustrated. “He means well, he does, and I appreciate it, but he always drags me into blind double dates, and he’s always tellin’ theses girls ‘my friend’s a stand-up guy, real kind, real-’ whatever have you, and he’s- well- a good looking guy, trustworthy face, so they think- he’s a looker, he probably has friends just as nice looking, and then I show up, and I’m scrawny and pale and all my clothes are too big ‘cause I’m a damn twig and most of ‘em are hand-me-downs, and they just kinda-- close off, and I got my own issues with the dates he picks for me--” he motions, frustrated, because he can’t really elaborate on that with someone he’s known all of two or so weeks. “And-- then Bucky’s got two dates and I’m tagging along like the fourth wheel on a tricycle.”

Erskine snorts.

“He’s too damn charming for his own good,” Steve says in a huff. “He could charm the scales off a snake, is what he could do, I swear. And me- I stick my whole foot in my mouth when I talk to ladies sometimes, ‘cause I just-- I don’t know. Some of the longest conversations I have had with a woman have been with Agent Carter, and in these conversations, I have explained that the fact that I snore is helpful to her ‘cause she’ll always know if I’m in the room with her, which would be concerning out of context, and I’ve asked her not to kill me at least twice, which isn’t exactly-- y’know, a normal kind of conversation topic. I’m not-- especially charismatic, and she’s all--” Steve motioned vaguely, frustrated. “Strong, beautiful, and hard-working, and always knows what to say and do, and always looks put together and pretty even when she’s covered in dirt and grime and gun oil. How’s she even do that?”

Erskine is watching him with his head propped up on his chin in fascination.

“I… appreciate that,” Peggy says behind him.

“Fuck!” Steve says loudly, startling badly and flinching away from her voice, and he slips on a pencil, and though he doesn’t exactly slam into the ground, he definitely had a-- rough but somewhat controlled fall. Meaning that he hit his arm first and dislocated his fucked up elbow before his back hit the ground.

He stared up at the ceiling, half-dazed, half mortified and Peggy appeared above him. 

“You can just-- you can just shoot me now, thanks,” he says and puts his good hand over his face. 

“Just when I’ve started getting used to your awful snoring?” she asks.

“Please,” he asks, and his voice cracks, and she laughs. “Just- save me the embarrassment.”

He hears her shift. “You’re too useful to me at the moment,” she says, much closer now. She’s probably crouching. “Maybe later.”

“You have an open slot at 1830 tomorrow, after your meeting with Colonel Phillips,” he says and she laughs again. “Just take me out back and put me out of my misery.”

“Hold on- why is your arm bent that way-” Erskine starts, and his bench scrapes on the ground as he gets up.

“I just dislocated it, don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“Here, I can fix that,” Peggy says, and he doesn’t even have time to remove the hand over his eyes before she grabs his arm and- sort of pulled and twists and it clicks back into place. 

“Ah-” he yelps and then sits up mostly out of instinct. He lets out a breath. “Thanks,” he said. “Thank you.” He notices Erskine hovering now, he must have come over to try to help, but Peggy had it covered.

“Any time,” she assures. 

“I don’t know if you want to promise that,” he warns honestly. “At least once a month I sort of roll over in my sleep and pop it out of its socket, I have to wake up my friend to fix it for me. He can do it in his sleep now, which is a sight.”

“Well, I don’t want you to wait till morning,” she says. “The MP wouldn’t let you leave to go to medical.”

“That… admittedly, seems like an oversight?” he says. 

“If you have a medical emergency at all just wake me up,” she says. “I can deal with it better than they can anyway.”

“That’s--that is actually reassuring,” he allows. “Thanks.”

“Now come on, we have some paperwork to do, the last day of assessment is tomorrow. We ought to be ready for it, hm?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, of course.”

The seventh day proceeds normally. So far, Hodge does the best out of the men physically, but he’s kind of an asshole, and he has a small posse of assholes following along. They’re rude, and they keep trying to trip each other up to prove themselves the best up to and including breaking equipment. As Steve continues his notes, he finds time and time again that Peggy does the best out of all of them physically and personality-wise. Sure, she says snappy things to get them moving, but really, it’s to make them really try to do their best. They only respond to her when she’s challenging them. He’s watched her try every trick in the book; gentle encouragement, a firm hand, orders, and many other subtle tricks, but they all, somehow, only respond to her when she’s being snippy and challenging their ability.

“My grandmother has more life in her, God rest her soul,” she barks and Steve blows out a low breath, incredulous.

She then finds William’s technique and ability lacking, and snaps at his poor positioning, and then, when he fails to comply, snaps again that clearly he needs a demonstration. She announces to the group that because so many of them struggle with this basic exercise, she’ll extend the exercise and show them how it’s supposed to be done because it’s clear that sound doesn’t travel well through thick skulls. She drops and starts doing push-ups in front of the group, making it look effortless as she goes up and down. Her form is perfect, and her pacing is excellent. She then, bored, switches to doing one-handed pushups. It doesn’t even phase her.

“Oooooh, my god,” Steve breaths out quietly, eye twitching as he pointedly avoids watching her. She could totally snap him like a twig. It wouldn’t even be hard. She’s just- she’s just --

After about twenty, she goes back to two hands. “Rogers?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, coming to attention.

“Over here,” she says, and he walks over to stand close by. “How much do you weigh?” 

“Uh,” he says, and lies. “Hundred ten pounds.”

“That’ll do. On my back.”

“...Excuse me?” he says, surprised and horribly confused.

“If I’m doing an exercise, I need to put effort in. Make this an effort for me, if you please.”

Steve looks around, at the men watching the whole interaction, stupefied, and back to her. She stays still, on a downstroke, and Steve carefully sits cross-legged on her back, holding his clipboard close. She goes into movement, strong muscles going up and down as Steve rides it out in shock. Holy shit.

“I’m gonna get seasick if you keep this up,” he remarks, shocked, and she huffs amused. She pauses on an upstroke to examine the recruits and looks at Williams again, who had put a knee on the ground to ease the weight. “Do you want me to come over there and put my boot on your back to make sure you’re actually putting in effort and not trying to find some smart loophole, Private Williams?”

“Sir, no, sir!” he says, alarmed, and brings up his legs to actually do the workout.

The recruits look resentful, bitter eyes and clenched jaws, but they’re doing what she’s telling them to, finally. “Thirty more and we switch to jumping jacks,” she announces and goes back to doing one-handed push-ups again.

“Holy shit,” this time he says it out loud, and he feels himself get red. He almost feels like he’s gonna pass out. Peggy chuckles, like it’s the best thing she’s ever heard, almost falters, but doesn’t. She switches arms after fifteen total, does another fifteen and tells Steve she’s done with him, they’re moving on to jumping jacks.

“Thank you, Private Rogers,” she says, and Steve nods, blushing, to go back to where he was standing and furiously trying to hide his red face behind scribbling over the clipboard. She doesn’t do jumping jacks with the men, just walks around them correcting their stances.

Phillips and Erskine walk up next to Steve, Erskine looking over Steve’s shoulder. “Good day so far, then, ja?”

“Yeah. Not half bad,” Steve agrees.

Philips peers at him and turns to Erskine. “When I heard you brought a ninety-pound asthmatic onto my army base, I thought he’d be helpful to you, like a gerbil.”

Steve lets out a long sigh, annoyed all the way to his core, and tries to ignore the man.

“I was kinda impressed by the-- paperwork sabotage thing, but…” Phillips shrugged like he didn’t hear Steve. “How’s the rest going?”

“Private Rogers has been an immeasurable help,” Erskine said calmly. “Not only with the reviews we requested, but the related files and forms regarding the subjects and the project. Apparently yesterday a recruit of yours broke part of the-- whatever the wire thing that they crawl under is called, and he’s already sent forms for that to be repaired or replaced to where it needs to go. Carter says he’s taken over a portion of her work as well, to help out, and she seems pleased with his work.”

“Good, good, then you have a soldier in mind, yet?” Phillips asks.

“I am not certain,” Erskine said, watching the soldiers. “I’m not as satisfied as you are with the results.”

Phillips looks over at him. “...Do you know how long it took to set up this project?

“Ja, I know,” Erskine sighs like it’s a conversation they’ve had a hundred times.

“All the groveling I had to do in front of Senator What’s-His-Name’s committees?” Phillips went on.

“Senator Brant,” Steve offered. They looked at him like they weren’t sure how he knew that. “His signature is on some of the papers we went through when we found out about the sabotage. I have an edict memory, guys. This isn’t news. Nobody ever listens to me,” he concludes, frustrated, making a dismissive motion with it. ‘Whatever. Carry on.”

Phillips shook his head. “Your boy here is a damn liability with that, though.”

“Ah,” Erskine waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not worried about him. Now, I am well aware of your efforts, Colonel, but that doesn’t change my opinions.”

“Just throw me a bone. Hodge passed every test we gave him. He’s big, he’s fast, he obeys orders. He’s a soldier.”

Steve frowns a bit, considering the man in question as he goes about jumping jacks. He’s certainly doing them right, at least. Trying to push past how much of an asshole the guy is, his physical state is pretty good. He’s strong, pretty quick, has good form, solid body. He listens to orders, for the most part. He doesn’t like Peggy, he gets away with disobeying her by breaking rules before she makes them. She tells him to run, he bolts away so he can’t hear the next order. “I don’t know about that last bit,” Steve says, and Phillips looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “He’s been real passive-aggressive about following orders from Agent Carter,” he said. “When they were practicing crawling under barbed wire with rifles, he was making trouble for the guys behind him, not only kicking mud their way, but also kicking one of the posts until it broke and dropped the section, and he only stopped when she called him out on it. And he’s done stuff like that consistently. If it’s not a rule yet, he can’t break it, if it’s not an order yet, he can’t disobey it. If he doesn’t respect his superiors, just like he doesn't respect her, he’ll be a liability.”

“He is a bully,” Erskine jumps in. “As I have said, I am looking at the qualities beyond the physical. None of them have shown what I am looking for.”

“You don’t win wars with niceness doctor,” Phillips replies, looking around Erskine and walking over to the truck beside them. He grabs something and then shows what’s in his hand to the pair and he pulls a pin. “You win wars-- with guts.”

Steve has a moment to think ‘that’s a fucking grenade’ before Phillips throws it and announces it to the world. 

The grenade bounces over the ground, men scattering like flies and Steve’s breath stalls in his throat clipboard falling from his hands, and when he sees Peggy dart to it with a ‘oh for christ's sake,’ he moves, only for Erskine to grab his arm and keep him in place. Her body curls over it, shouting for everyone to get back and Steve has a literal heart attack, eyes wide.

After a minute of nothing, someone says ‘dummy grenade’ out loud. Carter looks around and sits up, realization coming over her features and already set on glaring at all the soldiers that scattered. “Was this supposed to be a test?” she asks at Erskine and Phillips. Phillips looks horribly disappointed, and Erskine looks concerned, specifically at Philips.

Steve’s knees feel weak and he braces himself, putting a hand on one knee as his other goes to his chest. “Fuckin’ christ,” he wheezes.

Peggy finally stands, stepping over to put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“No, because you scared the shit out of me!” he replied, swatting at her ineffectively. He wheezes again. “I almost had a goddamn heart attack!”

Peggy, the asshole, laughs at him.

Steve grabs her uniform shoulder and just holds it, pretending he’s keeping himself up. Peggy lets him, rubbing his back. “Your last words were gonna be ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ and I woulda had it put on your headstone,” he says to the ground, and she snorts. “God, the paperwork for that.”

Erskine picks up and hands Steve his clipboard and pen. It still takes a few minutes for Steve to calm down, still, his heart beating and breath uneasy. He had to sit down on the bumper of a jeep for a moment. Peggy was just-- she got up ready to go, like she hadn’t just jumped on a grenade thinking it was live. She yelled at the soldiers for a minute or so and ordered them to lap the base until she said stop. Steve couldn’t, of course, very well observe that exercise so he was forced to stay behind.

His lungs whistled, and he coughed into his fist. 

“Aw, don’t tell me I broke your gerbil,” Phillips said to Erskine, who was carefully hovering over him.

Steve glared. Wheezed.

“He’s fine,” Erskine said, for Steve. “You startled him.”

“Aw, so more like a skittish rabbit?”

“Fuck you,” Steve managed to get out, and Phillips' eyebrows rose.

“Still got some fight in him though- can’t even breathe right and tellin’ me off. I see why you like him. Well- I’ll leave you to this. I’ll see you in a few hours, for our discussion.”

“Of course,” Erskine said, and watched as Phillips marched away. “You get used to him,” he assured, and Steve gave him a side-eye. “I’m serious. He-- grows on you.”

Steve scoffed, tried to take in a deeper breath, coughed a few times, but managed it. His lungs had that prickly feeling, but the tightness was easing.

“That was quite the test,” Erskine allowed. “You tried to go after the grenade.”

“Better-” he got out. “Me-- ‘n her.”

“Hm. Still,” Erskine said. And rubbed his back carefully. “If you sit up straighter you’ll improve your airflow.”

Steve rolled his shoulders, considering, and tried to straighten some, leaning more against the jeep. It was… somewhat easier, but difficult to tell.

“I think you and Carter are cute together,” Erskine said casually, and Steve sputtered, which did not help his breathing whatsoever. Erskine laughed, like an asshole.

“I’m not- we’re-” Steve said, coughing between words to try to clear his throat. Erskine’s bemused eyes caught his and he stuttered into a stop, feeling his face get red. 

“You called her nothing short of beautiful just last night,” he reminded Steve. “And she is-- she would have very well made it clear she wasn’t interested, having heard that. There have been men asking, of course. A beautiful woman in a base full of soldiers? Some of them have thrown themselves at her feet. They say those things in her presence, perhaps not even to her, and she has shut them down before they get any further. A charming engineer I know well was speaking of her to his coworker when she overheard and she told him to look elsewhere for companionship. He of course wasn’t the first. But so far, you are the only one she’s allowed. Do you think that, perhaps, might mean something? Hm?”

“She wouldn’t like-- a guy like me,” he dismissed, glad that his breath is catching for this. It’s still a little harsh, but the tightness is easing better now, with a moment to sit and better posture. “Look at me. I don’t have a single appealing trait. I’m not tall, I’m not all that good looking, average at best, bad health, bad heart, bad back, bad lungs. I snore, which she sure as hell has made clear she doesn’t like. The only thing that could make up for that is money, which I don’t have.”

“She’s not-- so superficial, you realize,” Erskine said, with a tad of warning in his tone.

He sighs. “Yeah, I know, but that just leaves my personality and-” he sucks breath through his teeth. “If she likes me for my personality, she’s got real-- unique taste.”

Erskine snorts.

“If she likes me for my personality I’m just-- I’m mostly concerned about her. What- a little angry Irish guy who sticks his foot in his mouth more often than not, swears too much, fights too much, lies on government forms, gets into trouble, impulsive at the best of times, and an idiot at worst? That’s her type? I dunno, pal, I’m thinking she’s got better taste than that, t’be honest.”

Erskine huffs, shakes his head, amused. “We’ll see,” he says, smiling brightly.

Steve huffed, shook his head. “I guess,” he allowed doubtfully.

After more training, they go to dinner. Steve was focused on putting more details into his final report, so focused that as he walks back to his room, without Peggy because she had to head to the ladies room and she trusted him not to vanish or go somewhere else, was surprised when the clipboard was plucked out of his hands. He blinked, startled, and saw Hodge, Williams, and Murphy smirking down at him. Hodge has the chart in his hand.

“Alright, real funny. Give it here. You know these notes are for the eyes of Doctor Erskine and Colonel Phillips only,” he says, holding his hand out, the other on his hip.

“Sure, but, these notes are on me and my friends here, so… I think I’ll just take a little look,” Hodge says.

“Give ‘em back.”

“I think-” Hodge says. “Well, you’re the one taking all these notes, and you sure don’t seem to like me, so what’s to say you haven’t been messing with the results, huh? Why don’t I see what you’ve been saying, huh?”

“Oh sure, you can blame me for pointing out all your shitty behavior,” Steve says. “Or you can just take fucking responsibility for being an asshole. If I write down that you’re insulting your fellow soldiers and deliberately making their exercises harder for them and encouraging your henchmen here to break army property, then I’m the asshole, huh? Those ‘results’ are the result of you just being a dickhead-”

“Fuck you, you scrawny little bitch-” Hodge shoves him and Steve stumbles, lands on his ass, and he immediately scrambles up to his feet, dodges a swing, and slams his fist into Hodge’s face before he can stop it. He goes back reeling, throwing the clipboard up as he stumbles and trips over Murphy’s foot, landing on his back.

Steve catches the clipboard, fumbling, and isn’t surprised when Williams punched him in face. 

It hurts, yeah, and so does the ground, when he hits it, but it’s not anything new, so when he manages to push himself up a bit, seeing Williams coming at him again, hand out to grab, he just leans back, gets a leg up, and drives his boot right into his nuts before the man can stop him. Williams goes down with a strangled moan and pinched eyes, grabbing at his bits, and Steve uses a table to push himself up and start running. He’s about to turn the corner when he runs right into Peggy, who catches him by the elbows. She looks down at him, bewildered, he blinks up at her, still a little stunned, and then her eyes narrow and she looks down the hall, where the three men are pulling themselves together.

They spot her and freeze. 

“What-” she asks darkly. “-did you do to my assistant?”

“Oh, fuck,” one of them mutters. 

“Fuck, fuck, run-” another says, and they bolt.

“Come back here right now!” Peggy shouts loudly enough that it echos, and runs after. 

“Hodge has a weak left side, Williams is left-handed, and Murphey’s the worst runner!” Steve calls after her. 

“On it!” she replies and vanishes around the corner after them.

Steve lets out a breath and leans against the wall, his heart beating like mad. He swipes at his face and looks at his bloody hand with a sigh. Erskine and Phillips peak out from behind a corner and Steve has a moment to wonder how long they’ve been there before the blood dripping from his nose becomes a priority and he pinches it shut, despite the pain. He tries to clean his face up better and pulls out a handkerchief to try to help.

“Not too bad for a ninety-pound asthmatic,” Phillips said. “Took out two of ‘em, for a bit at least. Son, go check in at the med bay.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve allows, looking at the bloodied cloth. 

“Why-” Erskine hesitates as they look at him. “The information you gave Agent Carter, what was the purpose of it?”

“Uh, well, she made it pretty clear she was gonna- beat the hell out of ‘em,” Steve said, to nods. “I figure- three on one isn’t good odds, but she could do it if she knew their weak points or fighting styles. Williams swings with his left instead of his right. She should know that.”

“Interesting,” Erskine said, thoughtfully, and considered Steve. 

“Sorry this happened,” Phillips says honestly, even if he doesn’t express much emotion. “Soldiers are meatheads, but- injuring a fellow soldier is something else. Well… you’re a soldier on paper, at least.”

Well. Steve clears his throat, straightens slightly. “Do you want me to draw up infraction reports, sir?”

“Hmm- no. Carter will deal with them, and I’ll give them a punishment to keep them busy for a long time. If you want to file a complaint, I’ll put it on top of my pile, priority, and see what I can do while keeping them here long enough to finish the trials.”

“I’ll pass,” Steve said. “I’ll make a note in their personal files, and mark it in my observation notes, though,” he offers, reasonably.

“There ya go, good man.” Phillips patted his shoulder. “Go get your face checked.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steve later hears that Peggy caught up to them in the courtyard after they barreled through a group of soldiers on a run, being drilled on stamina. Peggy apparently drop-kicked Murphey as soon as he slowed up, being the worst runner, she pinned his head to the ground with one hand and told him to stay there on the ground or she was breaking his face on it. He was smart, and stayed there, face down in the dirt, hands over his head protectively.

She then beat the hell out of Hodge and Williams in a two versus one. From what Steve hears later, it was fucking incredible to see. She was like a machine, so fast and brutal that they didn’t stand any kind of chance. It scared the hell out of a group of recruits going to work on the obstacle course with their drill sergeant. They both had black eyes and bruises and broken noses when Peggy dragged them over to where Steve was getting checked out in the medbay. She made them apologize, and they did, mumbling and embarrassed. Murphy was alright, shaken a bit, but just covered in dirt and had a cut on his chin.

“Thank you for apologizing,” Steve managed, not sure what to do past that. “Don’t do it again.”

“Now, go report to Colonel Phillips,” she said and shoved the three towards the door. “You can see a medic after.”

The end of the day comes fast and Steve finally fills out the last page. Someone drops off Steve’s mail, finally, and he’s pleased that a letter from Bucky has finally arrived. He leaves Peggy’s last page in the drawer at first, with the rest of her file, but when a guide comes to take him and the last folder to Erskine and Phillips, he brings the file along too.

The room Steve is led to is behind two guarded doors and Phillips and Erskine are arguing over the last six days of data and notes. Peggy is sitting and reading the notes quietly as they do so, nodding slightly on occasion to confirm what he's written. Steve hands over the last file and sticks back. He was told that he was here to get questioned about the recruits and give his personal input. 

“None of these soldiers is the right option,” Erskine argues. “If I give the serum to any of these men, the result might be as disastrous as Schmitt.” 

“This project is the result of years of experiments and government funding, we can’t afford to push back the trial stages any longer. One of these soldiers is going to be the first genetically enhanced soldier and we have to figure out which of these men make the cut!”

“The personality profiles-”

“Cannot outweigh the physical ones! Listen, Abraham, we need a good soldier, so we’ll look at these damn files and we will pick a good soldier.”

Steve makes a sudden realization. He clears his throat and their angry attention switches to him. “There is… one person who satisfies both the physical requirements and personality profile,” he says slowly.

“If you say it’s you after trying to go after that grenade or getting your ass kicked in the hall, I’m going to have to kick your ass out of this room,” Phillips says flatly.

“No, no, not me,” Steve says hastily. “Agent Carter satisfies every guideline put down by both of you.” At their surprised look, and Peggy’s shocked expression, Steve fumbles and brandishes the seven-day profile. “There was an extra file in the packet you have me, and I took the liberty of filling it out with Agent Carter's results as I went along. I didn't turn them in, as it wasn’t… what you asked of me, but I’ve brought them today. Now seems as good a time as any to give ‘em.”

“You-” Peggy says, still reeling.

 Phillips grabs the papers and opens the file, glancing at them, then at Erskine. They both look at Peggy, who stares right back, still looking surprised. 

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Phillips says carefully. “You’re absolutely right. Carter is possibly the best soldier anyone could ask for. She was the one that jumped on that grenade without a second thought. She’s already trained in hand to hand and can handle any gun given to her. She’s strong, tough, knows how to handle a fight, is an excellent spy, and knows how to follow orders. She’s everything I could ever ask for in a soldier.”

“Mein Gott. The answer was right in front of our noses,” Erskine says, staring at her.

“Well, I’m--” Peggy tries to fumble. “Doctor, you stressed that the personality profile was critical for this project, I don’t want you to choose me simply because you know me. I don’t want you to have a biased decision on something this important.”

“That’s the thing, Agent Carter,” Erskine says. “You do fit the personality profile I am looking for, far better than these soldiers. You are a respectful, level-headed person who is loyal, strives to help others and do the right thing. You kept those soldiers in line remarkably well, without abusing your position of power despite them baiting you constantly, and made sure that they were never in harm's way, from themselves or each other. I know you to be a compassionate person, even if you must make difficult decisions and do difficult things, and you can keep your composure through nearly anything.”

Peggy sits there, speechless.

“And, well, you are known to protect those in need, those weaker than you,” he also elaborated, glancing at Steve.

“I’m gonna beat you with this clipboard,” Steve retorted indignant, holding it up threateningly. Erskine puts his hands up in surrender.

Phillips frowns. “The senators would never accept a female subject.”

“Ah, yes, but this is the testing stage. If it works, they can have all the male soldiers they want, enhanced like Agent Carter will be,” Erskine says. “We can emphasize that this is a trial, that they wouldn’t lose any of their soldiers this way if something goes wrong or it doesn’t work. After this, we will have the clearance to be as picky as we want with soldiers in the future. As long as we have proof that this will work, we will have the funding we need.”

Phillips nods. “I can word it that way, yeah.” 

“I don’t particularly like that phrasing,” Peggy says narrowly. “In case my opinion was allowed to be heard.”

“I agree with you,” Phillips says honestly. “But this is about convincing senators and higher-ups. It doesn’t have to be fully true to get them to work with us. If this works, you’ll be a hell of an asset.” He frowns. “How sure of this are you, Doc? She’s the best of the best, I can’t afford to lose her now.”

“I am certain that it will work,” Erskine said. “I have every confidence, all of the tests and experiments, all of my data- it all says this will be successful. If… you accept, that is” Erskine says, to Carter.

“I…” She looks at Steve, who tries to be encouraging, and then at them, considering. “After you actually review those notes, if you still feel the same way, I accept. I’ll let you review all the files and discuss these yourselves. You can inform me of your decision after.”

Steve smiles, and Peggy motions for him to get a move on as she stands.

They walk back to their room quietly. It’s dark out, and the lights are bright along the halls. “You submitted a profile for me,” she says.

Steve shrugs as he nods. “Well. I had the extra pages and you were right there. Besides, when it comes down to it, you’re the best fit for everything they had on their lists. I figured you deserve the chance, and well I had the file with me so I just… It seemed like what Erskine wanted was really important, so I gave him what he asked for, really.”

“This is… I don't even have words for this. I never expected…”

“Well, I mean--,” Steve said. “You can’t argue with the facts, right? Colonel Phillips knows you’re a great agent, that you’re skilled, reliable, and know how to handle yourself. And Erskine knows you pretty well too, how you’re just-- you’re a good person. You’re level-headed, smart, resourceful, and you care about people. You’re the perfect candidate for this. It’s not just that all those soldiers are-- don’t meet the personality profile.”

“They made arses of themselves,” Peggy said frankly. “Repeatedly.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “But, you know, you… care. You really do. You wanted those men to be their best. You wanted to make sure they’d make it out there. You never let them- walk over you, never let them get away with shitty behavior, tried to help and encourage the guys getting picked on. You gave them all the help they needed, you tried to push them in the right directions, it’s just that they didn’t want to listen, they thought they knew best, somehow. I think if you had more time you could whip them into shape. You’re a- you’re competent, you give all the respect you’re given. So- that's why I-- I suggested you. I’m not-- not biased, or I’m not trying to be.”

She sighed. “I appreciate that. I just… don’t want to be the only option just because I’m there. I’m not looking for handouts, I just… want people to see me and my skills and take them as they are. I don’t want to be denied something because I’m a woman, or be given special permissions just because I am.”

“I know that feeling,” Steve agreed. “So… We’re going up to Brooklyn tomorrow anyway, whether or not they choose you, and- let's be honest, I’m pretty sure they will- should we pack for an overnight trip? I wasn’t told how long we would be there after the test.”

“It’s overnight at the very least,” she said. “Unless further complications arise. Pack for two days, we can always get our uniforms washed.”

Packing didn’t take long, just a pair of clothes or two and a few things to do on the trip and in their spare time. Steve left his bag next to his bed and then went along with filling out the candidate forms for Peggy; the medical disclosure forms, consent forms, NDA’s, so on and so forth, just passing them to her desk as he got them all finalized for her to sign. If she was chosen. Which, well, he didn’t have much doubt in his mind,

She was a bit distracted, deep in thought, just sitting at the table in their room. Steve bit his lip and wondered how he could help her relax. The whole thing was sprung on her pretty quick, and it was an experiment, they wouldn’t fully know the results until it happened. Erskine seems confident, but that’s hardly settling when you don’t know what he’s confident about. And they still didn’t really know if she was selected.

He could probably put on a pot of tea-- no, no, no fluids before a major procedure. Steve knew that, his mother used to rant to herself about stupid patients that didn’t follow the simplest instructions. So he would have to actually keep Peggy from eating or drinking before then.

There was a knock at the door and they both looked over as Erskine stepped in with a polite wave. 

“I assume you’ve made a decision?” Peggy asks.

“Indeed,” Erskine said. “Private Rogers files were all very comprehensive, and our opinion remains the same.” He sat across from her. “We still believe you are the best choice, so- congratulations.”

He places a bottle and two glasses on the table, and Steve narrows his eyes as he pours. 

“Peach schnapps, from my hometown, Augsburg,” he says, invitingly. 

“Do you miss it?” Peggy asks him, taking the glass, and Steve stands up. 

“Yes. But- well, it’s not exactly home, any longer. So many people forget that the first country that the Nazi’s invaded was their own. You know, after the last war the-- my people struggled. They-- they felt weak. They felt small. And then Hitler comes along with the marching and the big show and the flags and the-- and the…” Erskine motions, and then sighs. “Well.”

“Yes,” she muses. 

“But enough of the past- we look to the future. Whatever happens tomorrow, just promise me you’ll stay true to yourself, ja?”

“Of course,” she says, holding the glass out to him. “To tomorrow,” she says, and Steve is over there snatching the glass from her fingertips before they see him moving.

“No, nope,” he says. “No food or water before any kind of procedure.”

“Ah,” Erskine says, hitting his forehead with his palm. “Of course, what am I doing? You have a procedure tomorrow. No fluids. He’s right, you shouldn’t.”

She sighs. “Alright, we’ll drink after, then,” she compromises.

“What? No, I don’t have a procedure tomorrow. Drink it after? Drink it now!” He holds it out to Steve, an offer. Steve looks at the drink and shrugs, clinking their glasses together, throwing back the glass and ignoring the burn. It tastes amazing, sweet and fruity, and even the burn of it down his throat just feels warm instead of prickly. It’s probably the highest quality drink he’s had in his life. It’s not poorly brewed beer, or cheaply made moonshine, it’s good, and it tastes great. 

“Mm,” he says, closing his eyes as he licks his lips, savoring the flavor. He glances at Peggy, and she’s watching him closely, eyes flicking to his lips and neck, then up at his eyes in a way that is almost… It's almost familiar. It’s like the look some guys in bars give him before asking to dance or step out for a little bit, the look they’d give him before asking ‘you want a drink, darlin’?’ But it’s not a look he’s ever gotten from a woman.

And he sits at the table with them before he can overthink about what Erskine said earlier. “Don’t let me have too much of this, I’m a lightweight,” he warns, even though he offers his glass to be filled again. Erskine obliges.

“I couldn’t tell,” Peggy said breezily, looking him up and down. 

“Ha, ha,” he said, dry as the desert. “Very funny.”

“And you lied about being a hundred ten pounds earlier. I could tell.”

Erskine snorts, and then tries to cover his amusement, but does so badly, so Steve eyes him and then pulls his glass in. 

“Tell me about Augsburg,” Steve says. “They make fantastic schnapps, clearly.”

Erskine does- talking about the university there, the local city goddess, Cisa, the architecture he always admired, like the cathedral they had there, the synagogue he went to on occasion, trips on the railway, the breweries he went to with classmates. He makes it sound like a lovely place.

“I hope you can go back someday, without all--” Steve motions. “This shit hanging over our heads.”

He sighs. “I do too,” he says.

“Maybe I can convince you to send over another bottle of this,” Steve holds up his empty glass, and Erskine laughs. “I’ve had some butterscotch schnapps before, but it was too sweet, it just tasted like nothing but candy.”

“It does,” Peggy agrees. “It’s better if you mix it with a bit of something else, like vodka.”

“The vodka they had there was terrible. It might have just been shitty homemade moonshine they put in a vodka bottle, to be honest,” Steve said, shaking his head, it was a dive bar for queers, they didn’t get top-shelf anything, it was a miracle that the schnapps wasn’t too shitty. And the sweetness made making out with the guy who had been smoking and tasted like ash in the back alley a little less terrible. Then the guy had liked the flavor so much that he went back inside to buy the bottle and bring it, and Steve, to his place and spent probably something like ten minutes drinking it out of Steve’s navel as he ran rough hands over Steve’s sides and legs, then the kissing had been excellent. The rough scrape of the guy’s stubble against his navel, and his soft lips, his hot breath… He was working himself up and reminded him to stop. “I’d rather drink my candy than ruin it trying to make it what it ain’t,” he says simply.

There was a peaceful kind of quiet for a moment.

“Do you really think the serum will be successful this time?” Peggy asked.

Erskine took a breath. “Everything says so, and I’ve been- I’ve triple-checked everything, gone over every detail and formula twice as many times. I- I had experience with this kind of thing before, as you recall,” he pointed out, and she nodded. To Steve’s inquisitive look, he explains. “When I lived- when I was still in Germany, Hitler, he-- he hears of me, my work and he finds me. And he says, "You." He says, "You will make us strong." Well, I am not interested,” he told Steve frankly.

“I wouldn’t be either,” Steve said. “What, did the fact that you’re a smart guy mean more to him than the fact that you’re Jewish?”

“The value of a person towards a cause is something that can make men see past color, creed, religion, and nationality,” Erskine says. “But- well, as I said, I’m not interested! So he sends the head of HYDRA, his research division. A brilliant scientist by the name of Johann Schmidt. Now, Schmidt is a member of the inner circle, and he’s ambitious. He and Hitler share a passion for occult power and Teutonic myth. Hitler uses his fantasies to inspire his followers. But for Schmidt, it is not fantasy. For him, it is real. He has become convinced that there is a great power hidden in the earth, left here by the Gods, waiting to be seized by a superior man. So when he hears about my formula and what it can do, he cannot resist,” he makes an almost helpless frustrated motion. “Schmidt must become that superior man.”

Steve considers that, looks into his glass. “Did it make him stronger?”

“Ja, but, there were other effects. The serum was not ready. But more importantly, the man. The serum amplifies everything that is inside. So, good becomes great. Bad becomes worse. He was-- a man who craved power over everything else, over all loyalties, all reason. And…” He looked into the air, thinking of what must have happened those years ago, looking concerned and worried, honestly. “It did not turn out well for him, and he lives with that, in fact- what I hear of it, is that he had embraced it. HYDRA is just as much a threat to the world as the Nazi’s are.”

“Christ,” Steve muttered. “Sounds like it’s gonna be a long war,” he says grimly. 

“Hopefully this will turn the tide in our favor,” Erskine says, and shrugs. 

“I imagine if it does,” Peggy says. “Phillips will be having me run missions overseas, while his army takes the front lines. I may be a good soldier, but I was trained to be an agent first and foremost. Nobody would approve of a woman on the battlefield.”

“Hm,” Steve says in reply. “Well, I guess I’ll have all your paperwork ready for you when you get back from each mission, and a hot cup of tea.”

“Hm!” she says, thoughtful and liking the idea. “It would be a welcome alternative from what I’ve had.”

“What- a bunch of stuff to get done and a cold cup of coffee?” he asked, and she laughed. 

“Essentially,” she agreed, teasing. 

“You can tell me all about the guys you beat up, or--” Steve finished his third glass, and stared out the dark windows. “--what have you.”

She props her chin upon her hand and glances at him. “How did you know I shouldn’t have fluids?”

“Oh, my ma was a nurse, remember?” he explained. “She used to complain about people who wouldn’t listen to the doctor’s orders,” he furthered. “Just me sittin’ at the kitchen table sketching something or other as she rants and raves about people who don’t even bother to listen to her. Couldn’t tell her a thing before she got her daily frustrations out of her system. She got real animated, sometimes. It’s actually-- it’s kinda funny. At one point, she was so frustrated about this one issue that she just came over to me, put her hands on my shoulders, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, “Steven, if you ever ignore advice from a nurse, any medical professional, in fact, any advice from anyone who very clearly knows better than you, I will come after you and personally put you in the ground,” and well, I am still alive today and I have lived by that advice for twenty years. I was six at the time.”

Peggy snorted. “Well, I can see why you’re nice to have around,” she said. 

“You think I’m nice?” he asks slyly, putting a hand under his chin, batting his eyelashes at her a little.

“Oh, hush,” she scolds gently, making him laugh. “I take it back, you’re troublesome. Nothing but trouble.”

“Little ol’ me?” he asks, feigning offense, putting a hand over his heart innocently.

“I’m sure of it. You may look little and innocent, but you’ve got that look in your eye. You’re made for trouble.”

“Well…” he says, still pretending to be offended. “I don’t know where you got that idea,” he says, crossing his arms and acting a little huffy, looking away, and then shooting her a little grin.

“You told me you lied several of your prior enlistment forms,” Erskine said.

“Sh!” he says, pointing at Erskine.

“Illegally,” he added.

“Shhh!” Steve repeats, putting his other hand up and bringing a finger to his lips, still pointing at the doctor harshly with the other. “C’mon, doc, I’m tryin’ to be an upstanding citizen,” he says, spreading his hands out. “My reputation. You can’t let all these guys know the details of my sordid past,” he says, dramatically.

“Oh-ho?” Peggy says, raising an eyebrow.

“Tell ya what-” he says. “Lookin’ like this?” He motioned at himself. “People get a certain idea of me in their mind, and I can use that to appeal to the people I need to. I come to a job interview like this, and they think I’m a boy scout who’s never had unholy thoughts in his life, I’m a perfect hire they don’t gotta worry about, even if the night before I was drunk as hell, kissed someone I didn’t know, threw a rotten egg at a cop, and stole a pie cooling on a window on my way home. Long story short, Mrs. O’Malley never found out that it was me that took her superb cherry rhubarb pie,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter, because she’s a horrid witch that throws her beer bottles at kids playing stickball in the streets.” And he leaned back in his seat, self-satisfied. “Great baker, shitty person. I don’t feel bad.”

Peggy looked delighted. Erskine was staring off into space like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “A cop? An egg?” he repeats.

“Splattered right across his forehead, dripped into his eyes, it was a picture-perfect throw, nailed him from something like fifty, sixty feet away, and I booked it while he couldn’t see. He was, uh, trying to book a prostitute. Someone I knew, sort of a friend. She lives in the same apartment building as me. She saw I was good at art one time and asked me to help her with her make-up. Taught me how it works, of course. I didn’t know a damn thing about--” he motioned uselessly. “Blush, or mascara, or lipstick. Eyeliner. All that. So as he was cussing up a storm, I motioned for her to come on, and we split up to throw him off the trail a few blocks later. Anyway. 

“If people look at me and think I’ve never had a drop of liquor in my life, that’s their problem,” he says, reasonably. “And if people look at me and think I’m just a naive kid, that’s also their problem. If their assumptions of me work out in my favor, that’s just a bonus. Granted, this,” he motions to his face. “Doesn’t get a lot of attention from women, in my experience, but that doesn’t mean I’ve gotten nothing. Sometimes people think I’ve got a pretty face. Met a person or two in art school who liked the looks of me.”

“It’s not a half-bad face,” Peggy allows.

“See?” he says, to Erskine, motioning to Peggy. “That’s all I need to work with.” Erskine sighs and rubs his face.

Steve glances at his cup.  “I have had-” Steve says, reaching out to pour himself another glass. “Maybe a little too much of this, but it’s delicious.”

“You’re making me rather jealous,” Peggy comments.

“I’ll save you some,” he promises. “Pack it in my suitcase just for you, for after.”

“Hm,” she allows. “So, would you say alcohol makes you chatty?”

He considers, thinking about it. “Maybe,” he allowed. “To people I like, at least,” he said. “Can’t imagine I’d be talking to ears off some of Bucky’s pals from the docks, they rub me the wrong way sometimes.”

“Good to know,” she said.

“Have I been talking too much? Don’t wanna step on your toes if you have something,” he offers.

“You’ll know if I want to talk,” she says. “Don’t worry about me. I’m pretty curious about you, really. You seem to have a lot of interesting stories.”

“Well,” he said. “What if I’m curious about you?”

“Then ask away,” she says.

“How ‘bout the basics?” he said reasonably. “Fair’s fair. Where are you from? Got any friends you wanna talk about? Your parents?”

“Alright,” she allowed. “I was born in Hempstead, England. It’s part of London. I don’t have many close friends I’ve kept in contact with, other than my good friend Mabel. I went to high school with her. We used to get into a lot of trouble together, she’s a lot of fun and such a gossip. We also went to the same University, she majored in English. And as for my parents, my mother came from some old money, and my father was a doctor. He used to do house-calls, specifically. He met my mother when my grandfather twisted his ankle and dislocated his shoulder falling out of a tree.”

“Aw,” he says. “That’s kinda cute. You know what- I’ve never had a gossip as a friend. All the people I know wouldn’t tell some secrets to save their souls. What’s that like?”

“Actually a lot of fun. You get to know everyone’s dirty secrets,” Peggy says, conspiring. “It’s something that’s fun when it’s harmless. This person has been stealing petunias from her neighbors garden, this man is always stingy with his church donations, and the like. It does get to be a bit much, sometimes. Sometimes there are secrets you don’t want any business in, or didn’t want or need to know. Things like, ‘this woman is having an affair, and now everybody gets to know about it.’”

“Hm,” Steve says, grimacing. “Yeah, I can see how that would get to be a pain.”

“She’s lovely, but her gossip isn’t always the same,” Peggy says, and shrugs.

“How ‘bout you, doc?” Steve asked. “We know where you’re from, and stuff, but have you got any friends around here? Or back home?”

Erskine frowns, staring at the table. “Well,” he sighs. “Not so many friends back home, anymore,” he said honestly. “But I do think Colonel Phillips is a close friend of mine, by now.”

Steve grimaces, doubtfully, to which he receives an eye roll, and knocks back the rest of his drink. 

“He’s not that bad,” Erskine insists. “He’s got-- a soft center.”

Steve glances at Peggy, who also looks doubtful, and they both look at Erskine, who throws up his hands, casts his eyes to the sky, mutters in German, nothing but pure exasperation, and sits back with a sigh. “Yes, because clearly, I am such a masterful liar,” he says to them, flatly. 

“Well,” Steve offers to Peggy.

“You’ve never heard him lie,” she retorts.

He considers that, and looks to Erskine. “Alright, I’ll bite. Tell me two true things and a lie and let me figure it out.”

Erskine narrows his eyes and brings his glass to his lips. He seems to come to a conclusion and nods to himself. Steve watches closely. “Alright. Well. I’m a terrible fighter, I can’t even fire a gun, Agent Carter can do, ah-- approximately fifty one-armed push-ups, and my favorite color is orange.”

“Yeah, no, you’re a terrible liar,” Steve agrees.

“What-- how do you suppose that? You haven’t even called my bluff,” Erskine insists.

“You took too long deciding on a number of pushups she can do,” Steve says. “And you glanced up at the ceiling when you did it, not like you were trying to remember, but like you were trying to pick a random number that sounded plausible. And she did fifteen with me on her back with no issue at all. I’ve seen her arms. I’m guessing she can do about… Maybe forty or so with me on her back, which means she can definitely push way over fifty without.”

“Well,” Erskine says huffily. 

“How many one-armed push-ups can you actually do?” Steve asks Peggy.

She doesn’t answer for a minute. “Last count was one hundred and three, but I’m working to one-fifty” she says, and Steve leans forward and puts his head in his free hand. He thinks of that, and her arms, and-- god, she’s a damn machine, she doesn’t even need this serum to be fucking incredible.

“I wish for nothing more--,” he starts. “Then having been there to see you beat the shit out of Hodge and Williams. I’ve seen you fight, and I’ve heard just incredible things. Heard you scared the absolute hell out of a squad of recruits. They fear you. I understand and admire that.”

“If he finds out that I was approved for this, he might be stupid enough to go after you again,” she notes. “If he does, I’ll make sure you’re in the audience.”

“Wow, a rigged boxing match, just for me?” he teases, inexplicably pleased. To be able to watch, with front row seats, as she very efficiently and thoroughly beat up the assholes who have been bullying their fellow soldiers, or even just the assholes who stole Steve’s notes and punched him in the face, was doing very interesting things to him. He imagines her in full boxer uniform, hands wrapped and a tight shirt on, and thinks of her slamming her fist square into Hodge’s face, just for him. He wonders what the hell that says about him.

“Do you want to find out how many standard push-ups I can do with you sitting on my back?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, immediately, standing without a second thought. Erskine laughed.

The answer was a hundred and twenty-six. She counted out loud, Steve countered by saying a random assortment of numbers to try to trip her up, which made her sputter and start to laugh.

Sometime during the night, Erskine left with well wishes and the advice to get some sleep, though Steve was a little too tipsy to recall when. The hour was late and getting later, so he decided to go to bed before he could make a fool of himself.

“They say what a man does when he’s drunk says a lot about him,” Peggy says.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” he says, as coherently as he can. “I am perfectly respectable and reasonable in all forms of sobriety,” he finishes. “And, on that note, I am-- going to bed. Before I prove myself wrong.”

He clumsily collapsed into his bed, groaning in relief as pressure was taken off his feet and the alcohol in his stomach made his aches and pains dim.

She went about her business, going to brush her teeth and clean up, and she came out to get settled. Steve vaguely watched and got a stupid idea.

“You know, we said you shouldn’t drink anything before--” he motions clumsily. “But,” he says. He knows this is a dumb thing to say, but has a stomach full of liquor, and Erskine’s words running through his mind. That doesn’t mean he’s full stupid yet, though. “If you are a- amenable,” he adds, diplomatically. “Only if you like,” he further clarifies, and she looks at him with interest and a raised eyebrow. “Doesn’t mean you can’t have a taste,” he says and taps his lips twice with his index finger, grins, and puts his head on his pillow, closing his eyes.

He’s not really expecting that smooth one-liner to work, he’s drunk, not a moron. He’s expecting a laugh or a snide reply. Instead, there’s a brief quiet and then footsteps. His bed creeks as she puts some weight on it.

Should he play dead? Now he’s nervous. Drunk and nervous is a terrible combination. Please don't kill me, he thinks.

“You,” she says. “Are very cheeky. I’m not sure if I respect that or am exasperated by it.”

“Could be both,” he offers, not opening his eyes. “Not everything is-- one or the other.”

“I’ll say this much, I’m not having a taste of that schnapps tonight.”

“Like I said,” he repeats. “Only if you like.” And he falls asleep.