So, I feel like I need to add a little bit of context for this chapter. James Carter is the son of Peggy Carter and Steve Rogers, born in October of 1945. He was concieved before Steve went into the ice. He has some of the side effects of the serum and has a twin sister named Sarah. I'm planning on revealing their middle names a little bit later. At some point I may add a prequel story including Peggy's pregnancy and how Agent Carter may have changed with the twins there. Enjoy!


April Fifteenth, Two-Thousand Twelve

Washington D.C.

4:43 AM

The shrill sound of his cell phone ringing was not something James Carter's sensitive ears appreciated at four o' clock in the morning. For starters, it woke up his wife (who put up with enough of his nonsense). Secondly, at this time of night, it could only be two people. Sarah…or work. He'd venture a guess at work, considering the fact his sister was usually more considerate when it came to the time difference.

"Hello?"

"Agent Carter. I hope you're not too sleepy." The sixty-six year old sat up in bed as he recognized Fury's voice. Whatever he wanted, it couldn't be good.

"Not at all. What can I do for you?" James said, acting as though he typically got work-related calls in the middle of the night.

"Agent Coulson got a rather interesting report from some of our field agents this morning. We'd like you to consult." That was a first. Normally, stuff like this could wait until sunrise.

"Sure. Give me half an hour."

"I'll give you one. We'll be meeting up in New York. And, Agent Carter? I'd appreciate it if this was kept quiet."

"Of course."

"Pleasure doing business." With a sigh, James turned back to his wife, a sheepish look on his face.

"Trouble at work?" Catherine asked knowingly, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Yeah. It can usually wait until the sun comes up, though." She laughed softly.

"Go ahead. Give me a call when you're done." With that, they exchanged a quick kiss, and James climbed out of the bed in search of his coat and some jeans.


April Fifteenth, Two-Thousand Twelve

S.H.I.E.L.D Base, New York City

5:36 AM

Agent Coulson was the one to meet him when he landed at S.H.I.E.L.D's New York base. They wove their way through various lobbies and hallways until they reached the cold storage unit (why on earth were they in here?) where they met up with Doctor Weber, one of the medical staff, and his team.

"Agent Carter," The man said, shaking James's hand enthusiastically. "It's a pleasure. You and your family are quite the celebrities around here." James managed a half-smile. Oh, you've got no idea, Doc.

"Nice to meet you, too. Even if it is under…strange circumstances." The doctor chuckled.

"Believe me, I'm as much in the dark as you are. Agent Coulson called me down here ten minutes ago. Imagine my surprise when I discovered I'd be meeting with Director Fury and yourself."

"Director Fury asked for both of you personally," Coulson said, rejoining the conversation. "I'm afraid we don't exactly have good news for you. Two days ago, a Russian oil team called in what they assumed was a weather balloon up in the arctic, and a couple of guys from Washington were sent to investigate. When we got wind of what the team had actually found, we asked for its contents to be sent here." James raised an eyebrow.

"What interest do we have with it? And why do we need a medical team on site?"

"Doctor Weber, you have experience with post-mortem examination, correct?" Coulson called, ignoring both of James's questions. Doctor Weber gave Coulson a questioning look from the table where his team was setting up their tools.

"I've done a few of them, Sir."

"Good. We'll need your expertise." That was cryptic, James mused, raising an eyebrow.

"Surely you didn't call us in for a John Doe, Agent?" He asked. Coulson flashed him a tight-lipped smile.

"Not exactly." Suddenly, a half-dozen men, flanked by Fury, jogged into the room with a rolling table between them. On top of the table lay…a man? James blinked dumbly. The body was encased in a block of ice, the limbs stiff, the face pale. Who was this? Why had S.H.I.E.L.D brought him here when he was clearly dead? Oddly enough, the man's features seemed familiar, though James couldn't put his finger on it. The lips and the cheekbones reminded him of his sister. And the outfit, with the white star embellished on the chest…

"That's Captain America," murmured one of Weber's men. James froze. No way, he thought. No way this is happening now. As a child, James had banked on this moment. Even before he found out that his father was Captain America, he had dreamed of his dad stepping through their front door, scooping him and Sarah into his arms, planting a kiss on his mother's cheek. He was eternally grateful to Daniel, but the childish thought had remained in his head well into his teenage years. It had never crossed his mind that all that was left of his father would be a body. He felt rather silly at this realization. People swarmed the table, barking orders and retrieving equipment. Fury, obviously sensing James's apprehension and shock, walked over to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you beforehand," he said quietly. "But I thought your relationship to him might've become too obvious." James nodded stiffly. Fury was one of two people alive who knew of James and Sarah's heritage outside of himself, Sarah, and their mother. James found himself glued to his father's whitened face, drinking in every detail. Their mother had always said that Sarah looked like Steve Rogers, and she was right. The hair color, the face shape, the slight downturn of the lips were pure Sarah. It was almost freaky. He suspected that the eyes would also be the precise shade of blue that Sarah's were, too. James would have stood there for hours, all the way until they took the body away and lowered it into a coffin. All too quickly, though, he was jerked out of his trance when Doctor Weber spoke up. The men surrounding the table had scanners out, obviously checking for vital signs (not that there would be any) or contamination. The doctor blurted out a sentence James never could have expected or prepared himself for.

"Oh my god- this guy is still alive!"