Author's notes at the end.

Chapter Six: Eris at Evening

London, 1970

She woke before daybreak, when the pale light seeped through the window. A red morning, laying a faint rose shadow across the bedspread. The last of her dreams slipped away, leaving memory in its wake – a particular morning in the Ardennes, frigid and wet, but with a dawn that broke red and glorious and breathtaking. She had stood watching the sky shift and deepen and fade by turns, her throat closing at the sight of so much bloody beauty. As the glory began to fade, she became aware of Colonel Phillips beside her, hunched against the cold. Peggy had turned to him, blinking away the icy tears in her eyes, something inane on her lips about the colors of the clouds. Phillips had kept his eyes on the sky and before she could speak, said in an aggrieved tone, "Well, thank God that's finally over. Now we can get some work done. Come on, Lt Carter. We've got a war to win."

Now, in her narrow spinster's bed, Peggy smiled against the pillow and rolled over, burrowing back under the covers. A horn blared in the street below, fading away into the faint noise of traffic and passing voices. Too faint. The road repair at the end of the lane was tardy – she could hear the newsseller at the corner. Peggy stretched, reached for the bedside clock, and as her fingers closed on it, the thought came back to her – holiday. Whitsun. No, the new one – Spring Bank Holiday.

The BNF would be on minimal staffing, with all the clerks on their day off, and half the secretaries. Dr Henrys was away, and had been, and no one would be calling for him.

She rolled upright anyway, still clinging to the clock, and was halfway to her feet before the flush of warmth swept over her. The clock went tumbling to the floor in a jangling crash. Her skin prickled under the thin nightgown, crawling as though a handful of ants swarmed over her.

"Christ," she muttered. "Bloody hell." She sat there, head hanging, nails digging into the mattress, before giving up and going to the kitchen and the icebox.

Leaning over the sink, a fistful of ice clutched to the nape of her neck, she thought of spending the day in her flat, or worse, at the coffee house, and felt the pool of despair wash against her. Enough. What will they do, find you redundant?

With the buses on the half-day schedule, there was no profit from rushing about. A wash-up would help with the heat. She wrapped the ice in a napkin and went to draw a bath. Wash. A cuppa. Then into the office, where surely she could find something to make herself useful.

One thing after another. As a mantra, it had pulled her through any number of horrors.

It was nearly ten before she turned down Euston Street and found herself again marveling at the perfect horror of the so-called architecture of the British Non-Ferrous Metals Research Association. No matter how long she worked there, she was not going to find that attractive. Won't be a problem much longer dear, will it? The horrid thing would have to offend someone else daily. Against expectations, she found the front door open and a skeleton staff shuffling about. She nodded to the door guard and took the stairs to her office. Halfway there, she passed Lorrie Black's desk, only to have the secretary come out from behind it and call after her, in the execrable new style, "Ms Carter!"

Reluctantly, Peggy turned. And here was Miss Black actually bustling down the hall, pity she didn't attack filing the way she followed up on gossip. "Oh, Ms Carter. So glad I caught you. There are some gentlemen here, conducting interviews. If I saw you, you're to go down to the conference room in Euston 100." Lorrie thrust out a slip of paper. "Here. They gave a particular time."

Peggy took it, smiling without intent at Lorrie, who had barely a brain in her bottle-gold head but a delightful way with the telephone and the research assistants. "Any idea what they were about?"

"The list was of the older research directors and their secretaries – perhaps…" Lorrie's voice dropped, "Perhaps it's a redundancy review…we all thought it was so very unfair, that you weren't going to go with us to Wantage."

"Yes, well, I'm certain they had their reasons." The paper said 10:15, Flight Lieutenant Vanderson. Military, and RAF, not Navy. Interesting. "I'll just put my coat in my office, shall I, and then pop down and see what they'd like to chat about."

"Shall I make a cup? I've just put the kettle in…"

Peggy smiled. "That's so kind, dear. I'm sure they'll have something downstairs."

"Of course," and that was all Lorrie had thought to say. Peggy watched her tap her way back down the hall, before opening Dr Henrys' office and dropping her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk. Henrys was still gone, his son's wedding not scheduled until Wednesday.

Downstairs, they were expecting her, and they did not offer her tea. She sat upright in her chair, her hands folded in her lap. The young man – the Air Officer – behind the desk flipped through the folder on the desk before him, glancing up at her from time to time. Peggy kept her temper through a series of inane questions about the types of work she did for Dr Henrys, and what hours she kept, and if he were in the habit of working late, and how often she had to tidy Dr Henrys' desk. When Flt Lt Vanderson began tapping his pen on his teeth, she decided she'd had enough.

"Young man, I would like to speak to your supervisor."

"Sorry?" The expression on his face was befuddled.

"I would like," she said through gritted teeth, "to speak to your supervisor. Or his supervisor."

"No, I'm afraid not, that's not possible at this time-"

"Or to someone who has either reviewed my file prior to beginning an investigative interview, or, failing that, has the skill to intimidate me into a nervous betrayal of intent. In short, someone not you."

"I – Miss Carter, I beg your pardon…"

"You are unqualified to interview me at the depths which are required for a security breach of the magnitude which has occurred. Either you will fail to adequately investigate all possible avenues of information leaks, or you will yourself compromise the very programs you are intent on attempting to protect. Most likely both."

"Security - Miss Carter, I don't know…"

She took a deep breath and let it out again. "As I said, you are not qualified. Get me someone who is."

The puppy had the nerve to try to stare her down. Peggy glared back.

Twenty minutes later, she was ushered into an empty office on the second floor. An older man – wisps of white hair, skin gone soft around the eyes and wrists – stood behind the desk, looking out over Euston. The door shut behind her. Peggy stood.

"Miss Carter. You're making today's work very difficult for my men."

"My apologies, sir. I didn't realize they were working, with the holiday and all."

In silhouette, against the bright window, she could not tell if he was smiling, but she thought he might be. "The new regulations are confusing to us all. Please, Miss Carter, have a seat."

She smoothed her skirt as she settled. The man remained at the window. Warmth crept up her torso, flooding over her face and down again. Clenching her jaw against the bio-glandular cellular process, Peggy waited it out, knowing the sweat would plaster her linen shirt to her body. She said, "You have the advantage of me."

"You're sweating, Miss Carter. Nervous?"

She leaned back into the chair. "Not in the least."

"You sure? You don't look very comfortable."

"I'm going through the change of life. Many days are like this. Uncomfortable does not mean nervous."

He did not even have the grace to look abashed. "They said you were the cool, unflappable sort. Perfectly punctual, always on time, sensible and polite. Quite competent."

"Did they."

"Quite. I'm at a loss as to why your name ended up on the redundancy list."

"If it were relevant, I might be inclined to speculate."

"Mmm. Be that as it may, there is obviously no reason to consider leaving you on the redundancy list. You are free to return to your duties. A formal notice will be sent to you later in the month."

She remained seated. "And the security breach?"

He turned away from the window, but not in surprise. "Pardon?"

"You are not conducting interviews on a nominal holiday, without notice, with ad-hoc staff, and without approval from the board or the Ministry, in order to confirm a redundancy list."

"They did say you were sharp."

"They evidently say many things."

"That they do." He came around the edge of the desk, settled one hip against it. "In this case, I believe they were correct. Miss Carter, I apologize for Flt Lt Vanderson – he should not have drawn your case file. Pure random chance."

"Was it now."

"Yes."

She leaned back in the chair, crossed her arms. "What of the security breach?"

He did not lie to her. "Not your concern."

"I think that it is."

"Miss Carter, we have men whose particular task it is to investigate these things. Trained men –"

"Trained children, judging by the staff you've brought here today. Which nursery did you nick them from? I swear I have nylons older than half of them."

"We have the situation well under control…"

"Like hell you do. And if you think I'll just sit here and watch you muck about until the projects that men spent lives and fortunes protecting slip away, you've another thought coming. And don't give me that nonsense about the atomic projects," she went on, as he opened his mouth to say…something. "Bright and brash and yes, very much in everyone's minds, but that's not the only thing that's ever been researched here." There was a box in the basement below Euston 85, with the metallurgy data from Project Rebirth. Samples and diagrams and a photograph of the scars a service pistol had made on a vibranium disk.

Something shifted on his face. Yes. "Nuclear power is the most significant weapon in the world today. This on-going Cold War will be won by-"

"In my experience, sir, wars are won by soldiers as much as by weapons, and by discipline in hand with innovation." God. She was shaking. And sweating. A trickle ran down her nose. She swiped angrily at the dampness.

He considered her.

"They said that you were ice – cool and unflappable. Nothing could make you sweat. Not blind night drops into occupied France, not deep cover operations in the Sinai, not parliamentary sub-committee hearings where you had a deeply regrettable habit of 'not ever really reading the things I typed, sir'." He mimicked a falsetto voice for the last.

"I don't, actually."

"They say you have a near-perfect photographic memory."

"Training, not inborn." Training, and the effects of terror.

"You left the Defense Ministry."

"I was sacked, along with a full quarter of the female staff."

"Far more left on their own. Went back to family, homes, children."

"Well, yes. Many. Wonderful for them."

"There were many young soldiers looking for work. And wives. Even the Americans." He waited a beat, and if he was disappointed when she did not react, it never reached his face. "And years later, here you are, a spinster, working as staff, at a level clearly below your abilities. On projects which, while no longer atomic in focus, remain vital to national defense."

They had, she realized, shifted to the main focus of the interview. "I have spent a great deal of my life dedicated to the defense of England." Nearly all of it, if one counted sleepless nights and night terrors. "I heard a General say, once, that there was no end to the good one could do, if one did not care who got the credit."

That brought a smile. "I was actually there when Patton made that statement. Not the sort of sentiment I had grown to expect from him." He touched the file on the desk. "You may have read in the papers that Ethel Gee was released this month, along with her compatriot, Houghton."

Peggy blinked. "I – yes, I had."

"Love is a powerful motivator, for so many things."

She stared at him. For a long moment, she did not comprehend what he meant to imply. Then she was out of her chair, on her feet and advancing on him. "You bastard. How dare you imply – betray my country, for a lover! And with who? There is – there is-" she slashed the air with one hand, pointing at the decades behind her. "There was one, one, thirty years gone, and he would never have asked me, and I would never have agreed, and your staff are bumbling fools if this is the theory they constructed! Fools! I weep for England, if this is the protection we have now!"

The expression on his face never changed. Abruptly, she turned away and strode to the window, shoving it open and leaning out into the breeze.

When she had her breath back under control, she spoke over her shoulder. "It is a secretary you suspect. One of the women."

"Yes."

"Because you haven't had any success, tracing financial irregularities. So it must be some other motivation."

"Yes. I myself doubted love, but blackmail remains a possibility. A single woman, a spinster…there was some discussion of possibilities. Other agencies were more emphatic in their suppositions. I am afraid that the quality of British spycraft is not at its height."

"Obviously." She turned around, leaned on the windowsill. "Still, why this clumsy attempt to flush out your spy?"

"As I said, there are several agencies, with competing agendas and timelines. We have the opportunity, with the planned move to Wantage, to cut away rotten and suspect wood. Careful carving will leave the main structure intact."

"So the redundancy list."

"Yes."

"Which…does not include your suspect."

"Sharp," he said. "It does include two suspects, but three others remain on staff. An oversight, difficult to rectify, and of little note when the move to Wantage was further delayed. But now that schedule is in jeopardy. We risk bringing the traitor with us, but have not enough evidence to act openly. A delay may permit some… opportune career shifts. After retirement, a civil servant is not privy to many secrets, and the problem resolves itself, to the satisfaction of some."

Peggy frowned, ran through the list of senior staff, mentally tabbing those on the verge of being pensioned off, against those on the redundancy list.

"What do you need of me?"

A genuine smile. "Nothing so dangerous as dropping out of an aircraft in the dead of night. Only take a position of lesser note, in a different section. Perform the duties there assigned. And watch."

"Who?"

"Miss Carter, did I know that, you and I would not be talking." A tap at the door. He raised his voice. "One moment." To Peggy, he passed a note. "This is the office, and the department head." She took the paper, and with the department name put faces and personalities on to the people she would greet and befriend and, if all went well, eventually betray. "I will be in touch."

She nodded, wishing for a damp handkerchief. "You, sir? Or Flt Lt Vanderson?"

Again that genuine smile. "I would not want to risk further damage to the Lieutenant."

She made her way back to Dr Henrys' office without intersecting Lorrie. At her desk, she did not sit, but began emptying the drawers of her personal effects.

From under the pencil tray in the center drawer, she took a letter, post-marked America.

The pages slid from the envelope readily, but unfolded reluctantly, stiff from so long unread.

Lexington, Kentucky

July 1969

Dear Peggy,

I wanted to thank you for your lovely letter. The last few weeks have been very difficult to deal with, and made much better by the kind remembrances of Chessie's old friends and servicemates. Such a long career he had, and so many changes in the years we'd been married. When he first joined the army, it was as a lieutenant of cavalry, can you believe? And now we will send men to the moon. Such an amazing century…

Chessie told me so many stories of the places he went, of the people he served with, and yet I could note when the story could not be told in full. Most of the stories he told of you and Captain Rogers were like that. I find myself thinking over those untold tales, and praying for some assurance that the gaps are filled over with success and all manner of good things.

I hope you will forgive me for this aimless sort of prying – I understand that there are things which may not be spoken of, even so many years later. But at the end of my days with Chessie, I have found my grief to be sopped away by the memories of many years together, of his long and successful career, and with the love of our children and grandchildren surrounding me. I wish such joy and peace to every one of my acquaintance, and most of all to those who have been such excellent friends to myself and Chessie.

With much love,

Mrs. Sarah Phillips

Peggy ran her fingers along the edges of the pages, feeling the weight of the words out of match with the heft of the yellowed pages.

Steve was gone, and Phillips and the Commandos. She had not spoken with Howard Stark in more than a decade. The woman who had been Captain Carter was no more. The world they had fought to save…was no more.

She let the pages fold back over each other, hiding the words away. "Morning is over," she said, to Sarah, to the yellowed pages, to the empty room. "Time to get to work."

[end]

Title: Learning Lilith, Claiming Kali - Chapter Six: Eris at Evening

Summary: Biological implications of being a hetero-normative homozygous-X hero – fluff, chocolate, heartache, and blood.

Characters: Betty Ross. Movieverse canon relationships.

Author's Notes: Set in movieverse, pre-Avengers, post-Captain America. For the context of this last section, interested readers are advised to look up Ethel Gee, Melita Norwood, and the British Non-Ferrous Metals Research Agency. Thanks to Flora and Kernie for beta, encouragement and virtual chocolate when needed. All errors (esp the Brit-specific ones) remain my own.

Eris is, of course, one of the daughters of Mars.

Disclaimer: Not mine; they were broken when I found them.