A new day dawned at the SSR's underground base. Peggy had already left on her mission to find Steve and bring him to Howard Stark, who had some new equipment he wanted Steve to test. I leaned casually against a nearby table, glancing at the array of gadgets and shields spread out before me. Steve had taken a particular liking to shields, and there was no shortage of designs for him to choose from.

My gaze drifted downward, catching on a plain, rounded metal shield tucked beneath the table. Unlike the others, it wasn't flashy or intricate, but there was something about its simplicity that drew me in. It felt symbolic like it was destined to become a part of something far greater—something that could one day define the legacy of Captain America.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Howard Stark's voice broke through my thoughts, pulling my attention away from the shield. I looked up to see him strolling over, his signature smug grin firmly in place. "Designed and made them myself," he added, puffing up with pride. His tone all but demanded acknowledgement of his brilliance.

"Mister Stark—" I started, but he cut me off with a raised hand and an even wider grin.

"Please, call me Howard," he interrupted smoothly, clearly enjoying the moment. His smirk spoke volumes—he was laying on the charm as if expecting me to be dazzled by it.

"Howard," I said, raising a brow, "you've known me long enough to realize this—" I gestured between the two of us with a flick of my finger—"is never going to happen." My bluntness didn't faze him in the slightest. If anything, it only seemed to fuel his amusement.

"I like a woman who's upfront," he quipped with a chuckle, leaning against the table as if he owned the world.

I scoffed softly at his relentless attempts to flirt. Men like Howard always tried their luck, but to me, it was nothing new. Over the centuries, women had been treated like objects of desire, sometimes even revered as goddesses. But I knew better—we weren't objects or mere muses. We were fierce, strong, and independent. Gods in our own right.

"Go find Captain Rogers, Howard," I said with a light chuckle, shaking my head at his persistence. Howard simply laughed in response, clearly amused by his own antics, and sauntered off to attend to something else.

Once he was gone, my eyes instinctively returned to the shield beneath the table. There was something about it I couldn't shake—a pull I couldn't ignore. It wasn't just a shield; it was a symbol waiting to be wielded.

"Agent Reverdin," a soldier approached from the side, his sudden appearance catching my attention. "Colonel Phillips wishes to speak with you," he informed me briskly. As the words left his mouth, my brow furrowed slightly in thought. What could be so urgent? Then it hit me—last night's events. The mugging. The woman I'd saved.

Though my instincts buzzed with curiosity, I didn't question the order. Straightening up, I pushed myself away from the table and made my way toward the nearby metal staircase. My boots clicked sharply against the steps as I ascended, the metallic clang echoing in the cavernous base. At the top of the stairs was the Colonel's temporary office—a nondescript room that still managed to radiate authority.

Reaching the door, I took a moment to compose myself before raising my fist and knocking firmly. The sound reverberated through the space, sharp and deliberate. From inside, I heard the faint shuffle of papers and movement.

"Come in," the Colonel's commanding voice resonated through the door, firm and unmistakable. It carried the weight of authority, leaving no room for hesitation. I grasped the doorknob, twisting it smoothly, and stepped inside.

The room was simple yet exuded an air of importance. Colonel Phillips stood behind his desk, his piercing gaze already fixed on me as though he had been anticipating my arrival.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" I asked, moving with purpose until I stood directly in front of his desk. He straightened from his casual lean against the edge, his expression hard and unreadable.

"It seems she's been trailing us," Phillips announced, his tone laced with suspicion. My eyebrows knitted together in confusion at his statement. "The Golden Lady," he clarified, his voice firm. At the mention of her, my expression smoothed, understanding dawning.

"She's in England?" I asked, arching a curious brow. Deception had always been second nature to me—something honed long before my time in the army, refined over centuries. Lying was as effortless as breathing.

"There's a police report," Phillips began, holding up a sheet of paper with a sharp motion. "A woman gave a statement about what happened during her mugging—claims this 'Golden Lady' stopped it before she got hurt." His eyes scanned the report, and I followed his gaze briefly, watching him read the account with measured interest.

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" I asked, arching a brow at his less-than-enthusiastic demeanour.

"Stopping one measly mugging doesn't change a damn thing," Phillips declared, his tone dismissive as he dropped the report onto his desk without a second glance. Phillips was a good man at heart—dedicated, loyal, and the kind of leader who would throw himself into the fire to protect his country without a second thought. That unwavering devotion was something I respected deeply, even admired. But for all his strengths, Phillips was undeniably a man of his era—pragmatic to a fault and often caught in the rigid ways of old-school thinking.

He didn't see the importance of the little things, the smaller victories that could inspire hope in people. To him, winning the war was about grand strategies, massive offensives, and taking down Hydra's entire operation. The idea that one act of heroism, like stopping a mugging, could ripple out and make a difference. He saw the world in black and white, and anything that didn't immediately tip the scales felt insignificant to him.

"Sir, if she were here to cause harm, don't you think she would've acted by now?" I pointed out, my tone measured but firm, delivering the obvious truth. Phillips' eyes narrowed as he locked onto mine, scrutinizing every inch of my expression as though he could unearth some hidden motive or flaw in my reasoning.

His intense gaze bore into me, sharp and unrelenting, but I didn't falter under the weight of it. Instead, I met his stare with steady confidence, refusing to break eye contact or let him think, even for a moment, that I doubted my own words.

"You have no idea what she might do," he said, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between us. His gaze lifted from mine, his expression unreadable but resolute. "We don't know who or what she is. Until we do, I'm classifying her as a threat to the SSR—and potentially in league with Hydra."

His words were firm, his tone unwavering, leaving no room for negotiation. It was clear his mind was made up. To him, she wasn't a possible ally or a force for good. She was a danger, an unknown variable that could compromise everything he stood to protect. 

"Dismissed, Reverdin," he said firmly, his attention already shifting back to the paperwork scattered across his desk. He picked up a sheet, his focus intent, dismissing me from his mind as thoroughly as he had dismissed me from the room.

I inhaled deeply through my nostrils, letting the breath fill my lungs before releasing it in a quiet exhale. Turning on my heel, I strode to the door, my fingers tightening briefly around the cool metal knob before pulling it closed behind me. The click of the latch resonated faintly, sealing him away in his solitude.

Descending the metal staircase, the faint hum of conversation reached my ears—Steve and Howard, their voices distinct as they exchanged words somewhere below. Each step brought their discussion into sharper clarity.

"What's it made of?" Steve's voice cut through the air, clear and focused, as I rounded the corner. My gaze fell on him, standing there with the rounded shield in his hands—the one that had drawn my attention earlier.

"Vibranium," Howard replied with a note of pride, gesturing toward the shield as Steve turned it over in his hands, inspecting every inch of its craftsmanship. "It's stronger than steel and a third the weight," Howard continued, his tone rich with the satisfaction of a man presenting his finest work.

I approached the table I had been leaning on earlier, crossing my arms over my blazer as I watched the scene unfold. Howard's words flowed easily, his enthusiasm evident. "It's completely vibration absorbent," he added, his voice tinged with excitement as he described the unique properties of the metal.

Steve's hands tightened on the shield, his grip steady, his expression one of quiet reverence. It was clear that the shield had captured his attention entirely, as though it resonated with something deep within him.

"How come it's not standard issue?" Steve asked, his tone curious as he continued to study the shield in his hands.

"That's the rarest metal on Earth," Howard replied with a hint of regret. "What you're holding there—that's all we've got." His words hung in the air, emphasizing the unique nature of the shield.

Before the conversation could go further, Peggy's sharp voice echoed from the side, drawing all eyes to her. "You quite finished, Mister Stark?" Her tone was cutting, and I turned my head to see her approaching, her stride confident, hips swaying slightly with each step. But her expression betrayed her—a mixture of anger, hurt, and something deeper that simmered just beneath the surface.

"I'm sure the Captain has some unfinished business," she added, her voice laced with a biting edge. The snide remark was unmistakable, the kind of tone Peggy reserved for situations where her patience had worn thin, especially when it came to matters involving Steve.

"What do you think?" Steve asked, turning toward Peggy as she closed the distance between them. She stopped just a few inches away, her sharp gaze fixed on him. Without a word, she reached for a handgun from the nearby table. Peggy raised the firearm, aiming directly at Steve. His reflexes kicked in as he quickly ducked behind the shield. The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the room as she fired four shots. Each bullet struck the shield, creating a resonating hum as the vibrations spread through the metal.

Leaning against the table, I remained where I was, unfazed by the commotion, watching the scene unfold. The crushed bullets clattered to the floor, harmless and spent. I bit back a chuckle as Steve peeked cautiously over the top of the shield, his expression a mixture of surprise and relief.

"Yes," Peggy said coolly, lowering the gun and placing it back on the table. "I think it works." Her tone was calm, yet it carried a sense of finality. With that, she turned and strode past them, her head held high and her steps purposeful. Howard and Steve remained frozen, their stunned expressions following her retreating figure.

Pushing myself upright, I casually followed in her wake, the faintest smirk tugging at my lips as I left the two men behind, still trying to process what had just happened.

"We do love a dangerous woman," I quipped to the boys, flashing them a grin before turning to catch up with Peggy. My steps fell in line with hers as I came to walk beside her. She glanced at me briefly, her expression guarded but telling.

"What happened?" I asked, my tone calm but curious. Her silence only made me press further. "I know that look, Peggy. Spill it—what's going on?"

She sighed, her pace remaining brisk, though her voice carried a trace of vulnerability. "I saw him kissing a woman. All his talk about wanting to be a soldier, and now he's just like the rest of them," she muttered, bitterness lacing her words. It was clear Steve's actions had cut deeper than she cared to admit.

I tilted my head, considering her words carefully. "Peggy, you and I both know that kiss probably meant nothing," I said gently, hoping to soothe her frayed emotions. "Steve's not the kind of man to take something like that lightly. You know that better than anyone."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she absorbed my words, but the tension in her shoulders didn't ease. "He had the audacity to suggest Stark and I were an item," Peggy said, her tone sharp and defensive, though it was clear she was deflecting something deeper.

I scrunched my nose in mock disgust, my tone dripping with dramatic revulsion. "What a truly horrid thought," I declared, completely sincere. "I mean, really, Peggy, Stark? That's like saying me and the Colonel are a pair."

Peggy froze mid-step, her head snapping toward me with an expression that hovered between shock and mild horror. I stopped too, realizing what I'd just said. "Okay, yeah," I admitted, cringing at the mental image. "Definitely the wrong example."

Her lips quirked upward despite herself, a soft laugh escaping as the tension eased. "I'll see you later," she said warmly, her smile genuine now, the earlier edge in her tone gone.

I returned the smile with a nod, watching as she walked away. My humour was a bit unconventional, sure, but it usually did the trick.

"Agent Reverdin," a soldier called, stepping up beside me. I turned to face him, arching a brow in curiosity. "Sergeant Barnes is looking for you," he informed me before giving a quick nod and heading off.

Through the open door, I spotted James standing there, dressed sharply in his uniform, just as he had been the day we first met. This was their final few nights in England before deployment, and the weight of that realization settled over me like a cloud. Taking a steadying breath, I ran my hands down the length of my brown pencil skirt, smoothing out the faint creases as I made my way toward him.

The moment our eyes met, his face lit up with a wide, boyish grin—so effortlessly charming and full of warmth. It was a look that made it clear he was genuinely happy to see me.

"Agent," he greeted me with a small, lopsided smile as I stopped in front of him.

"Sergeant," I replied evenly, tilting my head slightly. "Did you need something?" I asked, genuinely curious about why he wanted to see me.

"Actually, I did," he began, though I could see the subtle hints of nerves creeping into his expression. He quickly masked it, standing a little straighter. "I was wondering if, before I leave, you'd like to go dancing one last time?" His tone was casual, but his eyes held a flicker of vulnerability. I was momentarily surprised at the invitation—it wasn't exactly what I expected.

"What happened to the guy who hated people staring?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or the one who couldn't stop trying to charm Agent Carter?" I folded my arms across my chest, giving him a pointed look. It was clear he was deflecting from his rejection by Peggy, and now, here he was, trying his luck with me.

His lips curved into a teasing smirk. "We've already slept together. It's just a dance. Or are you afraid you'll step on my toes?" he quipped, his tone light but confident.

I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. I thought it over for a moment. It was harmless—a dance with a fellow soldier before he shipped off.

"One dance," I finally said, my voice firm but calm. "Tonight at the Stork Club. Pick me up at eight sharp."

His expression brightened, and he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement before I turned on my heel and walked away. Despite myself, I felt an unfamiliar excitement bubbling up. It was rare, but maybe tonight would be different.

*******