Chapter Seven

Every time we say goodbye, I die a little

Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little

Why the gods above me, who must be in the know

Think so little of me that they allow you to go

Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye by The Benny Goodman Quartet and Peggy Mann

"Oh Emmie, what's wrong?" the woman said, tossing her bundle of clothes onto the second bed and hurrying over to her. She crouched next to her and started to stroke Em's arm.

Dottie. The woman's name was Dorothy "Dottie" Miller, and she'd shared a room in the boarding house with Emily for the last eight months. "Ugh," Em groaned as that information trickled into her memory, moving to cup her head.

"Sweetie," Dottie sighed before reaching into one of the drawers of the vanity and pulling out a handkerchief. As she pressed it into Em's hand, she said, "Come now, we can't fall apart right now – William's on his way to pick you up and you have to look pretty for him or he'll lose interest."

Emily jerked away from her while pressing the handkerchief to her nose to staunch the bleeding. "Excuse me?" Dottie let out a long suffering sigh and stood, moving quickly to the small closet that held their clothes. She ruffled through it and pulled out a dark blue, knee length dress that belted at the waist, holding it against herself for a moment before nodding.

"Don't act like such a fuddy-duddy," she smirked, flicking a strand of her blonde hair over her shoulder and nudging her circular glasses further up her nose. "Might as well enjoy the benefits of an officer while you can!" And Em 'remembered' that William was an RAF officer within the British Embassy whom she'd been been flirting with. Dottie sighed and walked back towards her, draping the dress over the bed Em had vacated and snapped her fingers. "Hurry down to the bathroom and see if you beat Betty. By the time you're finished, I'll be done in here."

A bit startled, Em stood and took the towels Dottie shoved into her hands before allowing herself to be pushed out of the room and into the hallway. Straight across from her was the staircase, and Em allowed herself a moment to look out the window. She pinched herself hard, trying to convince herself that – if this wasn't an elaborate joke, it was a very detailed dream – when she saw the people walking about in 1940s fashion and older cars ambled down the roads.

"Morning Emmie!" another voice called, followed by the sound of a door closing. Em spun around to see a woman standing there, her coat in one hand and her shoes in the other. She looked at Em's hands before turning and looking down the hallway. "Did Betty go in before you again?"

"I…uh…"

"That girl," the other woman – Marie, Em's memory supplied from somewhere – scoffed before spinning around and storming down the hall. "We have a schedule for a reason! Betty!" She was pounding on the door at the far end of the hall, where a woman yelled at her to stop. "It's Emmie's turn and you know it, Betty! Don't make me tell Mrs. Baxter again!"

"Fine!" a girl with dark hair snapped as she threw the door open. "I hate the new schedule!"

"Don't fly off the handle, Betty Aiken! If you hadn't missed the house meeting, maybe you would have had a better time slot," Marie said.

"If you hadn't missed the house meeting," Betty mocked before turning her attention to Em. "Just hurry up, Emily – I can't be late for work again." Her piece said, Betty stormed up the hall and threw her bedroom door open before disappearing inside.

"That girl…" Marie rolled her eyes. "I don't know why Mrs. Baxter lets her stay here, she's more trouble than she's worth! Anyways, it's all yours."

"Thanks."

"Well, I'm off to work. See you tonight for the cartoon!" Marie passed her and hurried down the stairs, leaving Emily alone. The noise of other women drifted out of closed rooms as she walked towards the bathroom. A chalkboard was next to it, outlining the schedule for its use; Emily reached out to touch her own name, just under Dottie Miller's and before Betty Aiken. She marveled at it for a moment before stepping into the bathroom and locking the door. She turned to look at her pale face in the mirror before hurrying to the sink and splashing watcher on her face.

"It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream," she said. "It's not real. I'm going to wake up any minute now." Em ground her fists against her eyes until stars burst behind her eyelids, and then opened them quickly to see black spots dancing across her reflection. She glanced down and saw that she was still wearing that peach nightgown. "FUCK!" she snapped. After eyeing the shower, she decided to give it a go – maybe water would shock her into waking up.

It look a few minutes to figure out the knobs and temperature, but Em stepped under the spray and closed her eyes. She kept her head tilted back, making sure that the scarf over her hair didn't get wet, but still – nothing. No sudden jolt into awareness or anything to let her know that there was a shift. The only shock was when someone started to pound on the door.

"Hurry up, Harthorn!" Betty's voice shrieked. "It's almost my turn!"

"You already took some of my time, Betty – just like yesterday so back off!" she snapped before her brain could catch up with her mouth. Yesterday?

When scrubbing quickly, Em noticed something else – the puckered scar on her stomach wasn't there. She ran her fingers over the smooth skin; after a few months it felt odd not to have that reminder of nearly dying and bleeding out on the floor. But Betty cut her marveling short once again with a second round of knocking.

"Finally!" Dottie scoffed as Em entered their room. "We're going to be late!"

"Sorry," Em apologized. "I just…"

"Get dressed and I'll do your hair. William's going to be here in ten minutes!" Dottie motioned to the blue dress and stockings on Emily's bed before fluffing her hair in the mirror. Em dressed quickly and took the seat Dottie had vacated, staring at the array of makeup as the other woman removed the headscarf and started to take out the hair curlers.

"Dottie?"

"Hmm?"

"What the hell is going on?" Dottie's hands stilled and she met Em's eyes in the mirror.

"You're not getting cold feet, are you? Please tell me I didn't put my trust in the wrong woman."

"Cold feet?" Dottie moved quickly, sitting on the bench next to Emily and taking hold of Garrett's picture. She held it so that Em could see Garrett's cocky smile.

"You said you were doing this for him – are you chickening out now, Emily Harthorn?"

"I…" And then the 'memories' fell into place. Dottie approaching her in the Congressional automat and gossiping with her. After a few months they'd moved into the boarding house together and Dottie had told her that she was spying on Democratic House Speaker Sam Rayburn for the War Department. She'd been actively looking to recruit someone to do the same for a Senator when she'd come across Emily, fresh from Maine and the new secretary for Senator Joseph Brandt of New York.

The War Department wanted to have an ear in Brandt's office, as he was on the Military Affairs Committee and – more importantly – the Appropriations Committee, among others. Emily was perfectly placed to have access to everything going on. She'd passed bits and pieces of information to Dottie over the last few weeks, but today was important. Today there was a meeting on the continued funding of the Strategic Scientific Reserve's most recent project.

"Well?" Dottie demanded.

"No."

"Good," Dottie smiled, cupping Em's cheek before placing the picture back on the vanity and standing. "Now remember that you need to mention going up to New York for the weekend in a casual way. Make sure they know we're going but don't raise suspicion. The Colonel is going to have someone meet us at the station and we'll see him early tomorrow morning."

"Okay." Emily was shaking slightly; this was feeling less and less like a dream. Dottie seemed to take it as nervousness and pulled her in for a tight hug.

"You'll be fine, Emily, I promise."

OOO

Steve looked down at his watch while pacing the hospital hallway. The surgeons had taken Nick right in and there hadn't been an update yet.

The STRIKE team had been called in and was providing security; Rollins and Rumlow kept glancing over to make sure that he hadn't moved too far. When they weren't looking, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Tony.

Delayed. Keep me updated.

He looked over at his team again and waited until they were all looking away before quickly walking to the stairs. He jogged up the three flights and hurried through the hallways until he reached his destination. "I need your help," he said, quickly shutting the door behind him.

Carter's eyes shot to him and something in his expression must have told him how serious he was. He turned off the television and turned to face him. "What's wrong?"

"Emily's missing and I need you to get back to New York as soon as they discharge you."

"Em's…what do you mean missing?"

"…And I have a feeling S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't going to let me leave DC," Steve finished five minutes later, wiping a hand down his face.

"Fury's in surgery?" Carter asked, looking a bit dumbstruck.

"Yeah," Steve replied, glancing at the clock. Carter followed his eyes and scowled, his hand resting against the bandage covering his neck. For the first time, Steve noticed how pale Carter was and the dark circles under his eyes, and realized what he was asking. "I feel terrible asking – "

"Don't," Carter cut him off while pressing the button to call a nurse. "If you can't be there, I want to be."

"Thank you," he breathed, feeling a bit of relief for the first time since this ordeal had started.

There was a soft rapping on the door before it was pushed open. "What can I get for you, Mr. Falsworth?" a younger woman asked.

"I'd like to be discharged, my darling," Carter replied, making her chuckle.

"You're with us for a few more days, unfortunately." She glanced between Carter and Steve before her smile dropped a bit. "You're serious?"

"I think I'll be needing the Against Medical Advice papers, I believe."

OOO

"Do you have any plans for this weekend, Miss Harthorn?" Senator Brandt asked as he set aside his newspaper. He regarded her with a slight smirk, his eyes darting down from meeting hers to rake down her dress. She flushed and bit her lip to keep from saying something, but cleared her throat while setting his cup of coffee down beside him and placing her bundle of papers on the corner of the desk. Em had made it a point to go along with the flow of the day, had sat through the committee meetings and taken notes, eaten a sandwich at her desk, and let her mind drift as she followed her afternoon routine.

It was a routine. Emily remembered office tasks that she'd been assigned with from her first day, knew how and when Brandt and his assistant Martin liked their coffee, when mail was marked as a priority, and what people were allowed into the office. Her 'memory' kept supplying little tidbits about who would provide the best gossip to pass along to the War Department. But she also remembered that she was supposed to be grading tests for her students right now, and that Jane and Darcy were going to be in New York soon, and that Steve had an engagement ring waiting for her whenever he got home from D.C.

"Miss Harthorn?" Senator Brandt pressed.

"Sorry," Em said, waving her free hand as though to clear the air. "What did you ask?"

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?"

"Yes, actually," she forced herself to give him a tight smile. "Dottie and I are going to take the train up to New York City and visit the World Expo. Her cousin said it was really swell."

"Sounds like you girls will have fun. That the report from this afternoon?"

"It is," Em nodded, taking the stack of papers and handing it to him. "I've already given copies to all of the other Senators offices and made sure the official vote was logged."

"Good girl," he smirked around the rim of his coffee cup. She again bit her lip from saying anything. "It's too bad that Skinner voted against me – delaying Phillips little pet project would have cut out some of his requisition paperwork. Make sure that any requests from him get pushed to Dalton's office – he's got enough of a backlog that it won't be suspicious if anything falls through the cracks. And if Phillips calls, make sure you tell him we never got it."

"Alright."

"Is there anything on the schedule for the rest of the day?"

"No. Your wife called to remind you of the dinner party tonight and asked that you come home 'at a reasonable hour'." Brandt sighed and looked at the time.

"I'm going to go home – got to keep the Misses happy. Have Martin pull the car around and shut down the office for the weekend – and if there's nothing else, you can head home too."

"Thank you," Emily gave a him a soft smile this time. She tried not to run out of the office when she felt Brandt's eyes on her ass.

"What'd the boss man say?" Martin asked as she stepped out of the office and closed the door behind her.

"He wants you to get the car and for me to close up the office – apparently the weekend's come early." Martin grinned and stood up, slipping on his suit jacket and running a hand through his hair. Emily liked him; he was a nice guy who wanted to do his part but had been disqualified from active duty because of his color blindness. He also kept his eyes – and hands, unlike some other men roaming the Congressional halls – to himself, but that was probably because he was trying to hide the fact that he was gay.

Within thirty minutes, Martin was wishing her a good weekend before pulling the car away from the curb. Em walked up the steps of the boarding house feeling more drained than she had in a long time. Her head was aching and her eyes were heavy as her feet followed the (somehow) familiar path to her room. Dottie wasn't back yet, so Em had the place to herself.

After kicking off her shoes and tossing her purse onto the floor, she collapsed into bed. With solitude for the first time in the day, Em tried to figure out what was going on. She put her arm across her eyes and concentrated.

Her mind was a mixture of memories: she could remember going out with William for dinner last night and sitting in Stark Tower grading papers; William had kissed her goodnight while she'd chatted with Steve after he finished his debrief; her own debrief with Dottie mixed with yelling at Tony…

"That mother fucker," Em groaned as she moved her arm to look up at the ceiling. She remembered Tony opening the crate and that damn red light before blacking out. But that did her little good at trying to figure out what the hell was happening! "Okay," she said softly, pressing her fingertips to her eyes as she tried to work the puzzle out without the aid of her whiteboards. "Blacked out and woke up here. Possibility of this being a dream is limited unless I'm in a coma dreaming…"

The thought made her heart stop for a moment. She vaguely remembered a dream about dancing when she'd been shot but even that felt different from her current predicament. This felt…real.

"Possibility two: I actually traveled back in time." Emily paused to let that trickle in. "Likelihood...unknown but not ruled out with what Jane was trying to do. Possibility three: I'm in another one of those realms Jane mentioned where they have an affinity for the 1940s. Likelihood... very low because it's presumptuous and cultural imperialism, and if Asgard is any indication it's probably not it."

"Okay," she breathed, trying to fight back against the wave of tears pricking in her eyes. Two tears escaped and fell towards her hairline before she wiped them away and sniffled. Em felt herself slipping into her analytical mode and tried to divorce her own emotions from the situation at hand. "Okay," she said again before slipping off the bed and starting to pace the room. "Deconstructing possibility two."

Even thinking about possibility one was too depressing.

"Seems to be historically accurate given the limited variables at hand," Em stated, her voice getting firmer as she started to utilize her training. Her eyes darted over to the magazine on the vanity and she nodded. "Given the current timeframe, FDR is the president, we've been at war for about a year and a half, and Steve…" she spun on her heel and buried her hands in her hair. "Steve hasn't had the procedure yet, and Erskine's still alive!" Sitting on the corner of the bed, Emily pressed a hand to her mouth at that realization.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," she muttered. "Oh god, that's the project Brandt was talking about today. Phillips has to be Colonel Phillips and his requisitions have to be for Project Rebirth. Oh fuck."

The ramifications of her actions seemed to crash down on her. She'd seen one too many movies and TV shows about how going back in time could alter the present/future – and she was in a position to change everything. She knew too much – she was a liability! One little slip up and the consequences could be enormous!

"Hang on," Emily muttered, standing up quickly and striding to the vanity. She plucked up the framed picture of her family and frowned at it. "This doesn't fit with the chronology. If Mom's here but Erskine is alive…Grand-mère Brigitte – I mean Ingrid," she corrected herself (she was Ingrid before Erskine died, Brigitte afterwards), "is pregnant now. Which means, logically, she can't be in this picture, so point of contradiction."

Her musing was interrupted when the door opened and Dottie walked in.

OOO

"Where is he?" Deputy Director Maria Hill demanded. Agent Rollins moved to block her path; she stopped short and glared at him. "Get out of my way, Rollins." He glanced at Rumlow, who jerked a nod, before stepping aside. Hill turned to look at Rumlow, her eye twitching, "We'll discuss this later, Agent."

"Of course, Commander."

"Captain?" Maria said as she strode towards Steve. "I want a sitrep." Steve swiped a hand down his face and opened his mouth to speak he recognized another voice calling him.

"What happened?" Natasha demanded.

OOO

"Thanks," Dottie grinned, shifting to face the young officer as the car pulled up to the curb. He put the car in park before turning to face her.

"Best job I've had all day, doll face." He threw a wink over his shoulder to Emily in the back seat before turning back to Dottie. "What're you honeys doin' tomorrow night?"

"Why? What d'ya have in mind?" she flirted.

"My buddies and I are heading down to Flushing Meadow for the Stark Expo, and a couple pretty dames like you two would be a nice addition."

"Well," Dottie said, twisting in her seat to rest her arm on the back and looking at Em. "As it happens, we're going to the Expo as well. Maybe we'll see you and your buddies there."

"Or maybe we could pick you two up."

After confirming the time, they got out of the car. The officer, Jimmy, bought their bags up the steps for them before tipping his hat goodbye and promising to be on time the next evening. When Em caught Dottie's eyes, the other woman shrugged, "Might as well have some fun while we're here." She raised her hand to knock on the door before Em could reply.

"You're early," the woman who answered said in heavily accented English.

Emily had to grasp Dottie's arm to keep from fainting as she faced her grandmother – Ingrid Erskine.

OOO

"I have to take him," Maria said, blinking back tears. Steve clenched his fists and swallowed hard.

He and Nick may not have gotten along very well, but he was still a man he respected.

OOO

Emily couldn't help herself – she was staring. Dottie kept nudging her to get her to stop, but she couldn't.

Her grandmother was beautiful.

She had dark brown hair that curled just above her shoulders and kind brown eyes that had a mischievous twinkle that Em remembered. It make her think back to growing up at the cabin, sneaking ice cream sandwiches before dinner even though her parents told her no (but Grandmère over ruled them), and catching lightning bugs in the front yard.

Ingrid was bustling around the kitchen making tea while chatting with Dottie. Em tried to follow the conversation but found herself just watching her. She couldn't have been more than twenty-seven and she wasn't showing, even though Em figured she would be pregnant at that point.

But when Dottie excused herself to use the restroom, Em was left alone with her. "You are very quiet," Ingrid said, setting a cup of tea in front of her.

"Sorry," Emily smiled, wrapping her hands around the warm cup. "Just tired." Ingrid nodded and glanced at the clock before patting her wrist.

"My husband will be home soon and we will have supper, and then you will sleep."

"Can I ask how you met? You and your husband?" Her Grandmère smiled at her and sat backing her chair.

"Abraham needed someone to look after his house and put out an advertisement, and I was trying to find steady wages after finishing university. He hired me on to clean his house and cook his meals."

"Oh," Em said, feeling slightly let down that it wasn't a more romantic story. Growing up, she'd heard over and over again the story of how her Grandmère had met Grandpère Charlie when she fell off a ladder while picking apples and he'd caught her. Part of her had hoped that she would have had a similar story with Erskine.

A smile tugged at the corner of Ingrid's mouth and she took a sip of tea before speaking again. "He was a grouchy old man at first, but once he realized that I was there to make his life easier, he came around to me being at his home. And then I made him fall in love with me." The last part was said in such a matter of fact way that Emily choked on her tea as she started to laugh.

"And how did you accomplish that?" she asked after clearing her throat.

"Men like two things: good food, and to feel as though they – "

"Are appreciated," they said at the same time. Emily bit her lip as Ingrid cocked her head to the side and studied her.

"You know this saying?" she asked.

"My grandmother used to say it all the time," Em said quietly.

"Ah," Ingrid nodded. She glanced at Dottie as the blonde slid back into her seat.

Dottie looked between the two of them before leaning forward and asking, "How long have you and Dr. Erskine been married?"

"Three years. We married right after the Americans offered to smuggle Abraham from Germany. They wouldn't let me come with him, even after Schmidt threatened to send me to his political camp," Ingrid's voice grew harder and her eyes darker. "I've never seen him so furious. And then Peggy told him that if we married, they would have to let me come."

"Peggy?" Emily asked, her eyes widening.

"Margaret Carter," Ingrid waved her hand. "So I borrowed my friend's wedding dress and we married in secret."

"Wow," Dottie said.

Ingrid was about to say something when they heard the front door open, and a woman's laugh.

OOO

"What was Fury doing in your apartment?" Natasha demanded.

"I don't know," Steve lied. He had to stop his hand from drifting to his pocket, knowing it would be a give away.

"Cap," Rumlow said. "They want you back at S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Yeah, give me a second," he replied. He could see his plans for getting home tonight disappearing before his eyes.

"They want you now," Brock insisted.

"Okay."

OOO

She felt like she needed to pinch herself again. They were lingering over the remnants of their dinner, sipping their coffee and chatting.

Well, Em was listening more than anything.

"You're very quiet," Peggy Carter said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she leaned towards her.

"Sorry," Em squeaked – actually fucking squeaked. "Just tired."

"Working close to Senator Brandt would tire anyone," Peggy smiled. "Although we do appreciate everything you're doing for us. It's wonderful having someone in his office to let us know what's going on."

"Um."

Sitting next to Agent Margret Carter, one of the founding members of S.H.I.E.L.D., decorated veteran, and the woman who mentored Nick Fury was intimidating enough without adding Dr. Abraham Erskine next to her. The only time she could remember feeling this overwhelmed a few times in her life, of which one was when she had read their respective journals in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s archives.

There was always something magical about reading and connecting with someone through their personal documents, knowing that you were reaching across the divide of time to find some spark of similarity. It was an academic high, made historians junkies for it. And Emily was actually sitting and talking to them.

It was the 'if you could sit at a table with anyone, past or present, whom would you sit with' come true.

"I don't like these young women being spies," Dr. Erskine said, drawing everyone's attention.

"I think we're doing a pretty well," Dottie frowned.

"Yes, Abraham, these girls have passed on invaluable information to the SSR," Peggy said.

"Why?" Emily asked. Ingrid pressed her lips together to keep from smiling but waggled an eyebrow at her, her small way of showing she approved of the question.

For the second time that evening, Emily found herself at the center of her grandfather's attention. He adjusted his glasses before saying, "It is too dangerous for young women." When Peggy opened her mouth to retort, he corrected himself. "Untrained young women."

"So if we were given formal training, you would be okay with what Dottie and I do?" Em challenged.

"No, not entirely. You do not have someone there to help you if things – "

"You seem to forget," Peggy cut in, "that I didn't have back up when I came to speak to you and Ingrid."

"You have the backing of the SSR," Erskine contradicted.

"Who were nowhere near Ausburg when I came to get you."

"Colonel Phillips would have sent a team in for you had something gone wrong."

Peggy laughed, pressing a hand to her chest. "I think you overestimate my value, Abraham. There was no plan to save me if things had gone badly."

Author's Note: Oh man, I am so sorry for the length of time between updates! I didn't realize it had been a month until yesterday and then I pushed myself to get this banged out, but sadly it's shorter than usual. Unfortunately the writing muses aren't cooperating much with me on this story right now, hence the small series I'm working on the side (The Prisoner's Dilemma if you'd like to read it). Add that to a heavy workload of a PhD program and I'm running on fumes right now.

Ok, onto the content stuff. In the comics, Peggy was the one who actually got Erskine out of Germany. Erskine's wife and children were sent to a concentration camp and died there, but that obviously doesn't work for my story so I took artistic liberty. Another thing I was trying to get across in this chapter is that time moves differently where Em is.

As always, thank you for reading (and being patient with the slow progress!) and let me know what you think =)