Author's Notes: I wanted to write something in advance of the Agent Carter series coming in January. It's taken a bit longer than expected, so here's to finishing it by the series finale rather than the premiere. This story follows Marvel Cinematic Universe canon through 1946 (the "Agent Carter" One-Shot). The story title comes from the lyrics of "Ghost" by Darling Parade.

Chapter 1

October 1948

A sleek jet plane flew low over the frozen arctic tundra. The white Stark Industries logo emblazoned on the aluminum craft almost disappeared against the all-white backdrop. Despite the beautiful but empty landscape, the plane's pilot kept his eyes glued to the vast number of instruments covering the cockpit.

"Sir," a crisp, British voice crackled in the pilot's ear. "Did you mean to travel all the way to the Arctic Circle today?"

Howard Stark ran a frustrated hand through his black hair, causing it to stand up in all directions. He hadn't meant for his test flight to take him quite so far away from New York, but he found himself drawn to this area over and over again throughout the years.

A blinking light to his right drew his attention before he could reply to Jarvis. The amber light belonged to a prototype metal detector that shouldn't have been able to detect anything at this height. Stark pushed the controls forward, taking the aircraft closer to the snow covered land below. The light began to pulse faster, and he circled slowly looking for any break in the unrelenting white.

"Holy shit," Stark exclaimed slowly as he saw a large dark mass protruding from the tundra. It was a giant black wing-the one blemish in the perfect white terrain. He could only hope the rest of the Valkyrie remained beneath. Howard flipped a switch on the instrument panel to drop a beacon to the ground below and turned the jet back towards New York.

"Jarvis, get Peggy on the line." He paused for a second and changed his mind. "No, not Peggy. Not yet. Get Phillips."

"Sir, may I remind you that General Phillips retired two months ago."

"He's going to want to hear this. I'll be back in New York in three hours. Have him meet me at my office."

"And what should I tell him?"

"Tell him...tell him I found Captain America."

"It's a damn fool idea."

Stark's meeting with Brigadier General Chester Phillips (Retired) was not going well, to put it lightly.

"You're asking me to send men to the middle of frozen nowhere." Phillips paced the room, not even looking at Stark. "You do realize I'm not in the army anymore."

"But-"

"It's almost November. Even if I could, it would be too dangerous until spring, at best." Phillips finally stopped pacing. Retirement obviously hadn't changed him-the man made a plain navy wool suit look like a uniform. He finally looked at his host, and the stern expression softened just a bit. "It's been three and a half years. You're asking me to retrieve a frozen corpse."

"But with the serum-"

"If Steve Rogers had somehow survived that crash, he would have hiked back to New York by now," Phillips snapped. He finally settled in one of Stark's leather high back chairs, satisfied he'd gotten his message through the hotheaded engineer's thick skull.

"You haven't mentioned any of this to Carter, have you?"

Stark picked up something mechanical from his desk and began to examine it. "No. I…" he trailed off. I didn't want to get her hopes up lingered in the room even if the words were left unspoken.

"Good. She's got enough on her plate these days."

May 1949

"Happy birthday, Peggy," Stark said, casually dropping a piece of paper on her busy yet tidy desk at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Washington, D.C. headquarters.

"What is this?" she asked, picking up the page with a crimson-manicured hand. "And my birthday was last month," she added drily. Her mother couldn't believe her only daughter had made it to thirty still unmarried, and she hadn't hesitated to let Peggy know.

"It's a map. Hey, who are those from?" he asked, abruptly changing topics as he took in a small bouquet of pink and white roses on the corner of Peggy's desk. The flowers stood out in her clean, efficient, and rather impersonal office.

"Yes, I can see it's a map, and it's none of your business."

"Is some naïve underling sweet on the boss?" Stark rotated the glass vase to look for a card. "Nah, they're all scared of you. Give me a minute. It's not like you get out much," he jabbed, tapping his foot as he thought.

Peggy slapped his hand away and sighed, knowing he wouldn't leave until he got an answer. "They're from Richard."

"Richard?" He racked his brain trying to place the name. "You mean Dick from the CIA? What a bore."

"Was there something important you wanted to talk to me about? Perhaps whatever is going on in northern Canada?" She waved the map in front of his face. "If it's a holiday, I'd prefer someplace warmer."

"Yes, the map." Stark suddenly went from teasing to uncommonly serious as he remembered why he was there. "Peggy, I found it." She stared at the map again, and he could see the very moment the thought entered her mind. Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth involuntarily.

"No," she breathed.

"We're finally bringing him home."

Peggy stood abruptly, as if her body was ready to leave that very moment. Then her mind caught up. "Are you sure?"

"I saw it myself," Howard said confidently. "I just need you to sign the requisition."

"And Phillips?"

"He came around. Eventually. He made sure to call me every insult in the book first."

Peggy gave him a wry half smile. "Whom are you taking?"

"Dum Dum, of course. Maybe a couple more Commandos, if they aren't too busy. And I hoped you could loan me a couple S.H.I.E.L.D. agents."

"If you recall, this is your agency, too, Howard."

"Yeah, but you know all these people a lot better than I do."

She grabbed a pen and started jotting names on a notepad. "Here are a few candidates," she said, tearing off the page and handing it to him.

"You can come, too," Howard said as his eyes skimmed over the short list of names.

Peggy hesitated. "I can't. There's just too much to do here." The telephone on her desk rang, as if to prove her point. "Good luck, Howard. Please keep me informed."

"Yes, director," Stark replied with a mock salute.

Once he was gone, Peggy Carter sank into her chair before her knees gave out. Ignoring the ringing telephone, she opened a small drawer in her desk. Hidden safely beneath a stack of papers was a framed photograph she hadn't looked at in months. She regarded the photo for a moment, running her thumb across the glass, before closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, and setting it gently back in the drawer.

A week later, Peggy had largely managed to block Howard Stark's mission from her mind in order to keep functioning. There was enough going on at the fledgling Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division that her mind was otherwise occupied. In the nearly four years since the end of the war, S.H.I.E.L.D. had participated in the OSS' Operation Paperclip, bringing former Nazi scientists to the United States and keeping them away from the Soviets. With the so-called Cold War, keeping a close eye on the Soviet Union and its allies had become critical.

Perhaps most concerning were rumors circulating about the Soviets developing their own nuclear weapons. Peggy had no doubt HYDRA technology had survived the war and was now in Soviet hands. The only saving grace was that Howard Stark had been able to recover the Tesseract. It, along with other powerful objects confiscated from HYDRA by the SSR, was now safely stored in a S.H.I.E.L.D. research facility that Howard liked to call the Fridge.

Peggy sat in a quiet conference room with the pages of the latest intel report from Moscow strewn around her. A long-cooled cup of tea had been pushed just out of arm's reach. The report referenced several Soviet bioengineering projects, including a super-soldier program that sounded like an attempt to recreate Abraham Erskine's serum. However, unlike the SSR's program, the Soviet program included brutal reprogramming and a number of deaths from failed attempts. Peggy repressed a shudder at some of the more gruesome descriptions.

"Director!" Anna, the office's petite switchboard operator, was practically panting as she leaned against the door of the conference room. "I've been looking all over for you. Mr. Stark is on the line, and he says it's urgent."

"Put him through to my office," she replied, hastily gathering the pages of the report into a stack. Anna ran for the switchboard as fast as she could in her impractical high-heeled shoes. Peggy strode purposefully to her office and picked up the telephone handset as she waited for Anna to connect the call. She took a deep breath to try to calm her suddenly pounding heart.

"Peggy?" Howard's voice crackled with static.

"Yes, I'm here. What have you found?" She sounded infinitely more calm and collected than she felt.

"It's not … I don't understand!" Peggy could hear the strain in his voice, but the static was making it nearly impossible to comprehend him.

"Say that again, Howard. You're breaking up."

"... not here!"

"You mean he wasn't inside?" As much as she'd tried not to get her hopes up, Peggy felt a wash of disappointment.

"No, the whole goddamned bomber is gone!" Stark shouted, the static finally subsiding a bit.

"Are you sure it was there to begin with?"

"Yes, I saw it with my own eyes. I dropped a beacon to make sure I could find it again." Howard made a noise of frustration. "It was here. Someone else beat us to it."

Peggy heard a brief scuffle and a new voice came on the line. "Stark may be a crazy sonofabitch, but he's right." She recognized the deadpan tone of Jim Morita. "There's a giant hole in the ice and massive drag marks. Someone really wanted that plane. Sorry, Carter," he said in a softer tone. "We all wanted to find him."