(Reposting the first part so it's all in one place, and because of minor edits for pacing etc.)
"I see they're still not hiring you boys for originality," Peggy observed, staring down the Hydra stormtrooper whose gloved hand was clamped underneath her chin. He let go long enough to backhand her across the face, but it was halfhearted, a slap for an uppity little girl rather than a blow for a dangerous enemy operative. Instead of snapping to the side, her head barely budged. His hand slid down to the top button of her blouse, and she half-raised her eyebrows, the deeply unimpressed "Really?" unspoken but almost audible nonetheless.
Steve, watching from across the room as her lip began to curl, felt the familiar warm swell of admiration in his chest even as his fists ached to punch the dirty bastard into next week. Damn it all to hell, he should've realized Schmidt's men wouldn't hesitate to stoop this low. It had been so easy to let Peggy's ruthless competence in the field, and the fear of God she struck into the hearts of the soldiers surrounding her, lull him into forgetting the extra risks she ran every time she went out with them. Not that he was dumb enough to try and prevent her from running whatever risks she damn well pleased. But he should've planned for this. Expected it, at least. Peggy was sitting handcuffed to the radiator in a dingy factory office with some Hydra lowlife's hand halfway down her shirt, and she looked about as shocked as if she'd discovered something nasty on the sole of her boot. Steve, meanwhile, was almost too furious to speak.
Almost. "Keep your hands off her," he growled, and yanked at his restraints hard enough to bruise his windpipe. They'd underestimated Peggy--only cuffed her by one wrist at first, before the commander discovered her mean right hook the hard way--but not Steve. Steve was shackled hand and foot, with a heavy collar around his neck attached to a support column by a sturdy length of chain. He'd been testing them, looking for weak points. Now he threw all his strength into seeing if they'd cede to brute force.
The Hydra agent just laughed, and looked directly at Steve as he slid his hand down over the swell of Peggy's chest and squeezed. She didn't so much as flinch, but her lips were pressed so tighly together they must've been white under her lipstick. "Steve," she said, "you're not helping."
Steve felt like he was going to be sick. "But Peggy--"
"I don't need you to defend me," she said quietly, her voice sharp-edged and taut almost to the point of snapping. She swallowed, so quick Steve nearly missed it, and squared her shoulders, fixing the Hydra agent with a look that would've made Steve take two instinctive steps backward.
She was right. Of course. Any protests from his corner of the room were just going to egg them on. And if he let on even a fraction of how livid it got him to see their hands on Peggy Carter, he might as well paint a target on the front of her skirt. But that didn't mean he had to stand there and leave her to her fate.
Steve had no doubt she could handle anything they threw at her. What he wasn't so sure about was whether he could handle watching it.
He turned to the commander, who was leaning back in his chair filling out paperwork, boots propped up on his desk. "So this is what you go for, huh?" Steve said, making sure he sounded every inch the cocky little Brooklyn smart-ass he was. "Shoulda guessed. Got your worst enemy in chains in front of you, and what do you suckers do? Grab your first chance to make pigs of yourselves."
Across the room, he heard Peggy hiss, "Steve, don't you dare."
The commander finished filling out a line on his form before he glanced up at Steve. "What can I say, Captain? It has been a very long time since my men have seen a woman in the flesh."
"And twice as long since any of those women let them get close enough to breathe on them, I imagine," Peggy cut in icily. She didn't even react to the Hydra goon tearing her blouse open in retaliation, only glared at Steve, as though to say Two can play that game.
Her shirt buttons skittered across the floor. Steve kept his eyes on them so he wouldn't have to see her exposed. One of them landed at his feet. He took a deep breath and said, "Shoulda guessed you wouldn't have the balls to get within punching distance, even when I'm tied up."
The rifle butt crashing down on his forehead was almost a relief. He staggered, choked as the collar caught all the weight, and bared his teeth in a grin. "Feiglinge," he rasped, just in case any of them hadn't gotten the message. His German wasn't great, but he could manage schoolyard taunts.
The commander laid his clipboard down on the desk and stopped the rest of the guards in their tracks with a wave of his hand. "You are very good at making a nuisance of yourself, Captain," he said, eyeing Steve with interest this time. "If your reputation were any less pure and upright, I would guess you were trying to take her place."
"You'd guess right, buddy," said Steve. Peggy would kill him, but in his book it was pretty upright to sign up for a beating if it'd spare a dame a much worse fate. "This is between us. Leave the lady out of it."
"Steve, no--"
"An interesting offer," said the commander, and now he looked genuinely surprised. "But I don't think my men will take it. We are not degenerates in this country, you see. A man is not so easily substituted for a woman."
It took a moment for Steve to put two and two together. When he did, he felt his face go flaming red. Those sick bastards--
"I was more expecting you to hit me," he growled. "Don't think I'm the one with the dirty mind here."
But they weren't listening. One of the guards had come around to whisper in his officer's ear. The commander laughed and addressed the room at large in German, talking too fast for Steve to make out more than a few words. A wave of approving laughter spread through the room.
The commander swung his feet off the desk and leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him. The corners of his lips twisted in a suppressed smile. "It seems I misspoke. My men are not degenerates, but they are very much in favor of seeing you, ah, defiled."
Great. What the hell had he just signed up for?
One of the guards grabbed Steve under the chin, and he glared defiance even as his skin burned beneath the touch. It wasn't like he didn't know what men could do with each other, but he'd never had a man actually touch him with intent before. The shame of it prickled just under his skin, as hot as the old familiar flame of anger, but foreign and wrong, like it was trying to crawl out of him. "You want that?" the guard sneered in thickly accented English. "Or are you afraid? Should we go back to your lady friend instead?"
Over the man's shoulder, Steve could see Peggy yanking at her restraints in impotent rage. He caught her eye and she stilled, staring stricken at him. In that moment she didn't look angry, not even at Steve. Her face was white, her eyes wide. She looked scared. It was enough to make his heart contract, because he knew that what they might do to her would never scare her enough to show on her face. But it wasn't enough to shake his resolve. He was her commanding officer. He was a super-soldier. Whatever abuse the enemy had in store, he ought to be the one to take it.
He swallowed, tasting bile at the back of his throat. This was going to be unpleasant, in ways he’d never even thought to imagine before. But better him than Peggy. He braced himself and spat in the guard's face.
Fill: Take Me Instead 1/?
"I see they're still not hiring you boys for originality," Peggy observed, staring down the Hydra stormtrooper whose gloved hand was clamped underneath her chin. He let go long enough to backhand her across the face, but it was halfhearted, a slap for an uppity little girl rather than a blow for a dangerous enemy operative. Instead of snapping to the side, her head barely budged. His hand slid down to the top button of her blouse, and she half-raised her eyebrows, the deeply unimpressed "Really?" unspoken but almost audible nonetheless.
Steve, watching from across the room as her lip began to curl, felt the familiar warm swell of admiration in his chest even as his fists ached to punch the dirty bastard into next week. Damn it all to hell, he should've realized Schmidt's men wouldn't hesitate to stoop this low. It had been so easy to let Peggy's ruthless competence in the field, and the fear of God she struck into the hearts of the soldiers surrounding her, lull him into forgetting the extra risks she ran every time she went out with them. Not that he was dumb enough to try and prevent her from running whatever risks she damn well pleased. But he should've planned for this. Expected it, at least. Peggy was sitting handcuffed to the radiator in a dingy factory office with some Hydra lowlife's hand halfway down her shirt, and she looked about as shocked as if she'd discovered something nasty on the sole of her boot. Steve, meanwhile, was almost too furious to speak.
Almost. "Keep your hands off her," he growled, and yanked at his restraints hard enough to bruise his windpipe. They'd underestimated Peggy--only cuffed her by one wrist at first, before the commander discovered her mean right hook the hard way--but not Steve. Steve was shackled hand and foot, with a heavy collar around his neck attached to a support column by a sturdy length of chain. He'd been testing them, looking for weak points. Now he threw all his strength into seeing if they'd cede to brute force.
The Hydra agent just laughed, and looked directly at Steve as he slid his hand down over the swell of Peggy's chest and squeezed. She didn't so much as flinch, but her lips were pressed so tighly together they must've been white under her lipstick. "Steve," she said, "you're not helping."
Steve felt like he was going to be sick. "But Peggy--"
"I don't need you to defend me," she said quietly, her voice sharp-edged and taut almost to the point of snapping. She swallowed, so quick Steve nearly missed it, and squared her shoulders, fixing the Hydra agent with a look that would've made Steve take two instinctive steps backward.
She was right. Of course. Any protests from his corner of the room were just going to egg them on. And if he let on even a fraction of how livid it got him to see their hands on Peggy Carter, he might as well paint a target on the front of her skirt. But that didn't mean he had to stand there and leave her to her fate.
Steve had no doubt she could handle anything they threw at her. What he wasn't so sure about was whether he could handle watching it.
He turned to the commander, who was leaning back in his chair filling out paperwork, boots propped up on his desk. "So this is what you go for, huh?" Steve said, making sure he sounded every inch the cocky little Brooklyn smart-ass he was. "Shoulda guessed. Got your worst enemy in chains in front of you, and what do you suckers do? Grab your first chance to make pigs of yourselves."
Across the room, he heard Peggy hiss, "Steve, don't you dare."
The commander finished filling out a line on his form before he glanced up at Steve. "What can I say, Captain? It has been a very long time since my men have seen a woman in the flesh."
"And twice as long since any of those women let them get close enough to breathe on them, I imagine," Peggy cut in icily. She didn't even react to the Hydra goon tearing her blouse open in retaliation, only glared at Steve, as though to say Two can play that game.
Her shirt buttons skittered across the floor. Steve kept his eyes on them so he wouldn't have to see her exposed. One of them landed at his feet. He took a deep breath and said, "Shoulda guessed you wouldn't have the balls to get within punching distance, even when I'm tied up."
The rifle butt crashing down on his forehead was almost a relief. He staggered, choked as the collar caught all the weight, and bared his teeth in a grin. "Feiglinge," he rasped, just in case any of them hadn't gotten the message. His German wasn't great, but he could manage schoolyard taunts.
The commander laid his clipboard down on the desk and stopped the rest of the guards in their tracks with a wave of his hand. "You are very good at making a nuisance of yourself, Captain," he said, eyeing Steve with interest this time. "If your reputation were any less pure and upright, I would guess you were trying to take her place."
"You'd guess right, buddy," said Steve. Peggy would kill him, but in his book it was pretty upright to sign up for a beating if it'd spare a dame a much worse fate. "This is between us. Leave the lady out of it."
"Steve, no--"
"An interesting offer," said the commander, and now he looked genuinely surprised. "But I don't think my men will take it. We are not degenerates in this country, you see. A man is not so easily substituted for a woman."
It took a moment for Steve to put two and two together. When he did, he felt his face go flaming red. Those sick bastards--
"I was more expecting you to hit me," he growled. "Don't think I'm the one with the dirty mind here."
But they weren't listening. One of the guards had come around to whisper in his officer's ear. The commander laughed and addressed the room at large in German, talking too fast for Steve to make out more than a few words. A wave of approving laughter spread through the room.
The commander swung his feet off the desk and leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him. The corners of his lips twisted in a suppressed smile. "It seems I misspoke. My men are not degenerates, but they are very much in favor of seeing you, ah, defiled."
Great. What the hell had he just signed up for?
One of the guards grabbed Steve under the chin, and he glared defiance even as his skin burned beneath the touch. It wasn't like he didn't know what men could do with each other, but he'd never had a man actually touch him with intent before. The shame of it prickled just under his skin, as hot as the old familiar flame of anger, but foreign and wrong, like it was trying to crawl out of him. "You want that?" the guard sneered in thickly accented English. "Or are you afraid? Should we go back to your lady friend instead?"
Over the man's shoulder, Steve could see Peggy yanking at her restraints in impotent rage. He caught her eye and she stilled, staring stricken at him. In that moment she didn't look angry, not even at Steve. Her face was white, her eyes wide. She looked scared. It was enough to make his heart contract, because he knew that what they might do to her would never scare her enough to show on her face. But it wasn't enough to shake his resolve. He was her commanding officer. He was a super-soldier. Whatever abuse the enemy had in store, he ought to be the one to take it.
He swallowed, tasting bile at the back of his throat. This was going to be unpleasant, in ways he’d never even thought to imagine before. But better him than Peggy. He braced himself and spat in the guard's face.