foot of wall street

Better Late Than Never

Steggy Positivity Week | Day 1: Agent Carter Timeline

Peggy has a very important appointment to keep.

Normally, Peggy would consider patience to be one of her strong suits. But as she waits at the door to the phone company that hides the SSR, she can’t help tapping her foot and glancing anxiously between the street and the clock on the wall. As the minute hand tips perilously close to the half-past mark, the door finally swings open and Peggy sighs in relief.

“You’re a lifesaver.

“I know, I know. You’d be lost with me,” Angie says breezily, holding out a large bag. “You can pay me back by telling me every single detail later.”

Peggy chuckles. “Of course.”

“I mean it, English. Every detail.”

“Every detail, I promise. I’ll see you later.”

She waves Angie goodbye, then heads back downstairs with the bag. She doesn’t have much time left - maybe twenty minutes, if she pushes it - but she thinks it will be enough.

One of the few advantage of the being practically the only woman working at the SSR - actually the only advantage - is that she has the ladies’ room all to herself. So she can throw her things around and not worry about anyone else coming in as she kicks off her shoes and strips off the blouse and skirt she’s been working in all day.

It would be preferable, of course, to do this at home, in her apartment, but when a case requires she stayed late she will be damned if she’s seen to be leaving any earlier than the other agents.

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An I For An I


 As soon as James Buchanan (“Bucky” he’ll insist if he hears someone call him James. That is unless that someone happens to be his mother. Then of course he will answer because his mother terrifies him) Barnes set foot inside the hole in the wall bar east of 22nd street, he should’ve known he had a target on his back and a bounty on his head. The problem was that he was already far past drunk. On later recollection, he’ll wonder how he was even still standing at this point, much less walking from bar to bar.

Out with friends to celebrate the completion of three weeks worth of midterm exams at Brown, all that was currently on their minds was drowning themselves in as much top shelf liquor as they could get their hands on. Three weeks worth of exams had meant, at least in Bucky’s case, that it had been nearly two months since he’d last gotten drunk, and as far as he was concerned that was two months too long.

This dire need to forget the past three weeks of stress had him blissfully unaware of the neighborhood they’d just stumbled into. Had he been paying attention, he’d’ve possibly managed to recognize the imaginary boundary line— like one might recognize the Great Wall of China. Maybe. But alas, he was not so lucky. Due to his extreme care so far throughout school, none of his friends knew anything about what his family really did, and he’d like to keep it that way. No one needed to know that both of his parents were the leaders of an underground crime syndicate closely related to he mob. This meant that once he realized where his friends had led him— and had silently cursed himself out for his stupidity, the only thing on his mind was getting his friends to finish up their so they could move on without drawing too much attention to themselves.

He was aware that his presence would’ve been noted as soon as he walked in the door, but he hoped as long as they didn’t cause too much trouble, it could be considered a one time thing, and let slide. This was the optimistic part of him, hoping this. He could perhaps, manage to get his friends out unscathed, and then deal with whatever repercussions himself, whether that meant getting the shit beat out of him in the back alley, or something worse. As long as his friends remained unaware. That was all he cared about. It wasn’t their fault that they’d decided to hang out with him, try as he might to keep his distance in the beginning. Such a thing was nearly impossible with his roommate, in the close quarters of the Brown dorms, and that had been the snowball that started it all. Soon he actually had friends, a luxury not even every cent of his parents countless wealth could buy.

That had always been a rule of his parents’, never get too close to people, because having close relations in their world, usually meant death or nearly fatal injury. That in fact had happened to him, a few years previously. His very life had been used as a bargaining chip for his parents. He’d been abducted by a rival of his parent’s and held hostage for a month. His father had finally cracked under the pressure and paid the insane amount of money, that the ransom had asked for. His mother had been always been a cold woman, and had refused for the longest time to pay anything for his return. Bucky had yet to forgive her for that, and he doubted he ever would. He’d been held in a cell in the basement of an old warehouse and tortured for information for three weeks, until his father had come through, but by then it was too late and the extent of the torture that’d been done had resulted in doctor’s having to completely remove his left arm, and have it replaced with a top of the line experimental prosthetic, that felt and moved like a human arm.

Until university, he’d done his best to follow that rule. With his parents connections, he had never needed an education past high school to get a good job, but he had insisted on it. Begged his parents to let him apply to Brown, and not use their connections to ensure his acceptance, there or anywhere else he chose to apply.

He  notices the bulky looking bouncer making his way towards him and his friends from the other side, and tries to hurry his friends along. They do take notice of his change of attitude, and stand up to pay for their drinks before leaving.

Bucky ushers them toward the door, offering to cover the tab this time, telling them to go and that he’ll catch up in a little bit. His friends say their quick goodbyes, none of them too concerned with their friend’s actions at the moment because they’re so drunk.

The bouncer had notified the owner of the bar, of Bucky’s presence, and was told to take him out back and teach him a lesson.

Lapse In Judgement | Harley&Eddie.

Edward stood, unmoving, shoulders rising and falling with every heavy breath he inhaled and then exhaled. Two bodies whose faces were completely ruined - there was no chance of an open casket funeral for either of them. Of course, with the way they had just treated him, he thought it unlikely either man had anyone who would care to see them live another day.

He held the crowbar loosely at his side, green eyes still focused on the beautiful work he had just done. Eddie had only ever killed one other person, and the feeling then was much more satisfactory than the feeling he had now. No, this - this - was something much different. He sucked in the cold air through his teeth, an uneasiness suddenly washing over him.

This was not in an enclosed area. This was in the middle of an alley. This was not on private property. This was in public. Someone could have easily turned in his direction and saw what a beautiful mess he had made. And, although, the light there flickered, someone - anyone - could have caught a glimpse of his face. And that wasn’t sitting well with him.

He had to think of something, and he had to come up with it quickly. He did his best to drag one body, and the other, near the dumpster that sat near the end of the alley. He considered dumping them there; leaving them for the trash crew to find in the morning, but if the police were called - if they were involved in any way - they would surely find his prints somewhere. He cursed himself under his breath. How stupid could he truly be? Everything would have been fine if he had just left them where they were and made off with the crowbar.

That would have been easier to hide…

It was in moments like these that Edward found himself overwhelmed and overworked - or, at least, that was what he was going to blame his sheer ignorance on. He rubbed his hands together, blood - wet and sticky - against his palms. Not good. Not good in the least. There was nowhere nearby to wash it off - why didn’t he just wear gloves like he originally intended?

It was only then that it occurred to him - he had a way out. He had help. He reached into his pocket, careful not to get any of their disgraceful claret on the outside of his pants, and pulled out the small note that he had been carrying around for over two weeks. It was crumbled, and the writing was beginning to fade, but it was still legible.

Quickly, he found his phone - having placed it within his jacket pocket upon realizing he was indeed being followed - and began dialing the numbers. He tapped the tip of his foot against the brick wall before him, impatient, eyes darting to the street every few seconds. Paranoia had definitely set in.