Training Pains

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Gilmore Hodge was a pain in the neck. He was the biggest, loudest, meanest son-of-a-gun in the entire training camp, which was saying something.

All that wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that Steve Rogers was incapable of letting him mouth off.

"Hey, don't talk about her like that." Peggy's ears perked up at the sound of Private Rogers' disproportionately low voice, standing out from the babble of conversation as the recruits settled in for the midday meal. It always startled her - you would think a man that skinny would have a thin, reedy voice to match. Rogers' voice always sounded like it was coming from a much - well, taller man.

Scanning the tables, she finally found him down at one end, squeezed in with his tin plate between two recruits larger than he was. His sweaty hair had been shoved back from his face, and as she looked closer, she could see his shoulders shuddering jerkily. Apparently he was still trying to catch his breath from the ten-mile run they had completed hours earlier in the day.

Actually, it was astonishing he was even sitting up after that grueling exercise. She'd seen his medical records; she knew what he fought against every time he struggled to take another step. The undersized man had a disproportionate amount of pluck.

"Aw, lookee at Rogers, he's got a girlfriend." Hodge's taunting voice was harder to pick out, but now that she was tuned in to the conversation, she knew what to listen for. She was also pretty sure that she was the girl in question. When you're the only woman among several hundred men, you get used to being objectified.

She wasn't used to being defended though. That was new.

Rogers rather remarkably remained calm at the gibe, not rising to the bait. "No, but she deserves more respect than you're giving her."

Hodge leaned forward. "Yeah? She's just a..." his voice dropped and he said something very long, in a lowered tone. Try as she might, Peggy couldn't hear what he was saying, but the gist of it was unmistakeable by Rogers' reaction. He flushed angrily and half rose.

"Take that back," he rumbled.

"Make me," Hodge taunted, stabbing at his beans.

Peggy saw the movement of Rogers' head and turned away right before he could catch her watching him. Colonel Phillips asked her a question and when she looked back at the end of the mess table a few minutes later, Hodge was gone.

So was Steve Rogers.

Peggy dropped her knife and fork and ran.

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The knot of men behind the mess hall dissolved as she arrived. She had established her position as a tough officer right from the start, and they all knew she meant business.

Breaking through the ring of vanishing men, she found Hodge and Rogers at the epicenter. Rogers was obviously getting the worst of it. Blood poured from his nose and dripped off his chin. He was weaving unsteadily, and skinny shoulders heaved with each wheezing gasp, but he stood his ground, eyes resolute.

He saw her first, and lowered his fists, trying to straighten into something resembling attention. Hodge, his back to her, took the opening to drive his fist into Rogers' stomach, jackknifing the smaller man in half.

"Gentlemen," she snapped crisply, but Hodge didn't hear her, winding up to follow with another blow. Peggy didn't hesitate before stepping in, and almost got hit in the face before she managed to trip him neatly.

Sprawling on his back in the dirt, Hodge finally realized who had intervened, and got to his feet at once, coming to attention with what he seemed to think was a roguish grin. A reddening mark on his cheek showed where Rogers had gotten at least one blow in.

"Agent," he drawled infuriatingly, and she very badly wanted to hit him again.

"Private, report to your quarters until further notice." She put as much ice in her voice as she could manage, and was gratified to see his smirk fade. He wasn't about to risk disobeying a direct order though, so he retreated sourly.

With Hodge gone, Peggy turned her attention to her surroundings. The rest of the men had conveniently vanished, most back into the mess hall, leaving her alone with Rogers.

Rogers was floundering on the ground, struggling to get back on his feet. That last blow had knocked the wind out of him and thrown him into the wall. His head had connected hard with the corrugated metal, and he looked pale and dizzy. She also noticed, with some concern, that he was having a hard time getting any air.

"Sit down and breathe," she told him firmly, in a voice that brooked no opposition. He shook his head and doggedly tried to gather his feet beneath him again.

"That's an order, Private," she snapped, and he finally gave in, leaning up against the wall and closing his eyes, concentrating on breathing with the same stubbornness with which he attacked everything else. Peggy upturned an empty box and sat on it after a moment. Her clipboard had been left in the mess hall, but she busied herself with some papers from her pocket, trying to offer him a little privacy.

After a few minutes, she sneaked a glance at him out the corner of her eye. His dirty blond hair was flopped over his forehead again, and his eyelashes looked startlingly long. A bruise was forming on his jaw, and she hoped his nose wasn't broken. She was suddenly touched that he would try to defend her honor like some kind of old-fashioned knight, yet simultaneously irritated at herself for feeling that way.

Rogers was different from all the recruits she'd seen pass through the training camp. He had an overdeveloped sense of honor and duty, and she couldn't help but admire the sheer grit with which he tackled all obstacles. Yet somehow, those fine qualities had been locked into a frame that could barely support his strong spirit. She found herself suddenly agreeing with Dr. Erskine's assessment of him as a viable option for Project Rebirth. If the serum was everything the doctor claimed, perhaps Rogers would finally have the physical strength to back up his moral convictions.

When his breathing sounded less like he was about to tear something in his chest, and his color was a little better, she got back to her feet, and he followed suit, wiping his face with his sleeve. His eyes were steadily forward as he stood to attention, jaw set like a rock. She noticed he still swayed a little, but since he steadfastly ignored it, she followed his lead.

"Care to explain what that was all about?" She wasn't surprised when he shook his head after a breath of hesitation.

"No, ma'am."

For a long moment, she scanned his face, but he didn't so much as blink. Apparently he wasn't about to try to curry favor with her by painting himself as her hero, or put Hodge down by detailing his insults.

"Go to the infirmary and clean up, then report to your quarters," she finally ordered, and watched as he left, stumbling a little as his knees threatened to give. Hopefully Dr. Erskine would be on duty to patch him up. For a moment she was tempted to follow him, accompany him to the infirmary. She discarded the idea immediately though; he was far too fiercely independent to accept sympathy.

Retracing her steps, she walked back toward the mess hall and her abandoned meal, likely long cold by now. Colonel Phillips would be aware that something was behind her sudden departure, and was probably impatiently awaiting an explanation. She threw one last glance over her shoulder at Rogers' receding figure, and then pushed through the door.

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Colonel Phillips was not pleased. He called both recruits into his office that evening and bawled them out soundly. Neither one would tell what the fight had been over, and each claimed they had not started it. Finally the colonel threw up his hands.

"KP duty for a week, both of you," he growled. "And if there's ever a repeat of this, you'll both be dismissed."

Hodge had saluted smartly, turned on his heel, and left. He really was the perfect soldier when the colonel was around. Rogers hung back for a moment. His shoulders jerked as he held back a soft wheeze - he still wasn't quite breathing normally from the punch to the stomach, even hours later.

"Excuse me, sir."

The colonel looked up with barely-contained exasperation. "What now, private?"

Rogers tried to clear his throat and coughed instead, quickly stifling the sound. "I wanted to apologize, sir, for the trouble. I hope this won't affect my ability to ship out?"

Incredible. Peggy felt her eyebrows twitch up. After the beating he'd taken, and his obvious difficulty keeping up in training, he still had his heart set on going overseas. The man was impossible. She made a mental note to repeat this conversation to Dr. Erskine; she knew he was very interested in having Rogers for his project, and he appreciated any information on the man's character that he could get.

The colonel, on the other hand, was not impressed. He leaned over the desk and spoke bluntly.

"Rogers, I sincerely doubt you'll be able to do very much of anything. Why don't you go practice staying out of trouble." He threw himself back in his chair and opened a file. "Dismissed."

As he left, Rogers' eyes met hers, and he slowed, snapping a salute even though he didn't actually need to. She was an agent after all, not exactly a ranking officer. It was his way, she realized suddenly, of rendering her the respect that he felt she deserved.

Peggy nodded back, and watched as the door closed behind him. Through the window she saw him walk as briskly as he could until he was behind the next barracks. Apparently he didn't realize anyone could see him there, because he immediately slumped against the side of the building and coughed until he was bent double. It was several minutes before he slowly recovered his breath. For a moment he leaned against the wall, shoulders drooping. Then, with a determined line to his jaw, Steve Rogers pushed himself upright and continued on his way, spirit unbreakable as ever.

"Crazy kid," Colonel Phillips was grumbling from his place at the table. She turned from the window and made up her mind.

"Colonel, perhaps you might consider retracting Private Rogers' kitchen duty." Peggy wasn't given to superstition, but she crossed her fingers behind her back anyway.

The colonel grunted. "Got a soft spot for the shrimp?"

Peggy rolled her eyes. First Hodge and now the colonel - was everyone trying to pair her name with his? "No, but he was defending the good name of an absent party. I heard the whole conversation."

She hadn't quite, but Phillips didn't need to know that.

Colonel Phillips leaned back in his chair, a shrewd look in his eye as if he suspected something. Then he sighed heavily. "Look Carter, I agree the guy wouldn't cause a problem without good reason. He's a strange kid, but his heart's in the right place. I can't condone fights among the men though - sends the wrong message."

Peggy nodded and turned to go, but the colonel called after her, and she looked back. "I'll cut it down to three days. After all," and she saw a twinkle in his eye, "we can't have your champion drowning in potato peels."

She almost slammed the door in exasperation as she went out, his chuckles trailing behind her.

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We know that pre-serum Steve must have made an impact on Peggy, because she treasures his photo in Agent Carter, but they never really had a conversation until they were in the car on the way to complete Project Rebirth. If it wasn't his physicality that initially impressed her, and it wasn't something discovered in a conversation, then it must have been something he did.

Well, this is my take on what must have happened. I know there's very little interaction between them, but bear in mind, they barely know each other at this point.

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody, not even Gilmore Hodge. He's the guy Peggy punches when we first meet her. This story takes place sometime after that point.

Oh, would you like to see more Gilmore Hodge? I have some ideas, but I don't know if I'll write them or not. I may continue this as a series of one-shots, or post them all separately.