Harry invited him to be there. Merlin didn't want to or direly needed to. He got enough on his plate to turn down the invitation, whether it be monitoring other agents on missions, checking the science department for their discoveries, or just plain catching up on the backlog that they had. He could also tell Harry outright all these, even with the hopeful smile on his face.

He didn't tell him that, so here he was standing beside Harry watching the black car park before them.

MERLIN'S ONLY REASON FOR BEING THERE:

1. Technology can only do so much in gathering information.

Eggsy was the first to step out with a smile. There was a bit of strain, but his eyes were still bright. He moved to open Pevensie's door and offered a hand. She took the offer and stepped out with such ease that one would think she was wearing a gown instead of the signature power suit. Captain Rogers exited a moment after, amusement directed at Eggsy.

In signature Eggsy fashion, he had endeared himself to Susan Pevensie and Captain Steve Rogers, and vice versa. Merlin couldn't say that he was surprised of this development. He expected it. The young man could leave an impression quite well.

His gaze turned to Pevensie. Exhaustion had her leaning against Eggsy and there were still bits of red tinting her eyes. Amid it all, grace still blessed her form. It bothered him, this grace. He thought it was bred from girl schools. He also thought it came from home lessons of etiquette and proper manners. Grace that a socialite in high society learned and must possess. He had tried to label it with words fitting her time. Words found during a war-torn England and amid a decade where the classic beauties were at its peak. The words didn't fit. The words felt wrong. He pushed the need to label it away.

Her grace of this moment reminded him of the way bamboo bowed to the wind. Of the shameplant curling its leaves in when touched. Of a cat stretching while basking in the sun's warmth.

Those words came easier.

That was only a small thing compared to the huge unknown about her that he needed to figure out. What was it with her that bothered him to the point of near paranoia? Something more than the control he had found out before.

XX/XX/1943.

...something unbelievable if we're not in desperate times. I would always wonder though, what pushed a young woman like her to call lockpicking a hobby among many. And from what they told me, a close to perfect one at that.

This girl's skills are too good for someone so young. Then again, her eyes are too old for this too young war...

These statements of wonder and puzzlement littered files without any explanation, from the BSC to the Kingsman. There was never a statement of where the skills came from and each writer knew that a whim was too unbelievable a reason.

"Thank you Arthur, for hearing this old woman's whims." The smile on her face was subdued, but her eyes expressed more just by softening.

"Harry."

"Hm?" She blinked in confusion. To Merlin it was akin to getting out of autopilot. "…Harry?"

"Yes. You are one of us, after all."

Her cheek dropped against Eggsy's shoulder. Her eyes fluttered close for a moment as she took in breath. "Thank you, Harry. For everything."

Then, she opened her eyes.

"And," The word came out breathless. She swept a gaze on both of them before landing on him. He saw the glaze of sleep in those blues and the quiet consideration in them. "What do you want me to call you, Merlin?"

"Merlin."

"You do not trust me. Very good. I don't trust myself in these situations too."

His mind was raging at 'these situations' that he missed whatever followed. These situations. These. Which specific were these situations? The matter of trust? The grief? The displacement? The time travel?

Which?

Captain Rogers stepped closer and pressed a hand on her back. "Eggsy, can you please bring her to her room?"

"Steve?"

"Su, you're falling asleep on your feet. Eggsy's going to get you to bed, alright?"

Her hand snapped out and grabbed Roger's arm. The blunt fingernails dug and crumpled his sleeve. Her lips parted to speak, shaping but not sounding. Merlin thought she would've said something, but the yawn that followed broke it. Her hand moved to cover her mouth. Freed, Rogers used the opportunity to nudge her again and give Eggsy a nod. "I'll be right there beside you when you wake."

"On the bed?" A languid blink. The sleep faded a bit and some alertness was back in. A small coy smile to finish the expression.

"An invitation?"

"You know you've always been welcome."

She gave them another sweeping look. Merlin wondered if she remembered what she just said. Was it her sleep addled brain's loose guards or a calculated move? Their eyes met. The coy smile widened. The latter, then.

"Can I have an open invitation to your bed as well?" Eggsy stirred them away with a final nod.

There was a chuckle. "One of these days, we'll have a slumber party. I want to know the new wonders man had developed over the decades."

Merlin watched as Rogers stared at them until they were out of earshot. He counted worry on his shoulders, some fatigue on his stance, and amusement in his gaze. Minute details that he picked out as easy as he could pick the flaws in a seemingly pristine gadget.

"You have a good lad with you. He'd been nothing but kind to her."

"She's wrapping him around her finger." Merlin commented, pressing his lips tight. Why was he the only one this bothered and wary? Or was he thinking too much of this that he couldn't notice?

"Oh, don't worry Mr. Merlin. It's quite mutual. She's not liking it, but she couldn't help it."

He didn't like those statements or how Rogers delivered it like a damned fate-decreed fact.

"I hope you're not tired of hearing this. Thank you for letting us see Peggy and all your assistance."

"Rooms and transport aren't a big thing, Captain."

"Even so, if you do not wish to let her stay, I am ready to take her with me to New York once the week is done."

"I wasn't lying when I said she is one of us, Captain. We protect what is ours."

"I do not doubt that but—"

"That will be something Ms. Pevensie needs to decide on by herself." He cut Rogers off. He wouldn't be witness to a banter between Harry and Rogers. His object of observation was gone and Rogers' insights were helpful, but minimal at the moment. "Excuse me."

XX/XX/1952

KINGSMAN - ARTHUR: Timothy Donovan

...haven't been a year and she's being called in jest by another codename. Of course, jests are half-truths, and now that I think of it, they had a point.

Maybe I have bestowed that name because those were the traits that jumped at me. The noble air and her obvious kindness. The slope of her back and the set of her shoulders. The way she's also quite unreachable. Like she's a blessing bestowed only upon her grace.

Working with her for months now and if we are being technical, I see that she fits Guinevere more because of its etymology, and the other name...

That one was of a Queen too either way.

Roxy volunteered to be their driver the next day. She didn't like where they were going though, especially with what Eggsy told her last night. Of course, he told her aplenty. He alternated between his excitement of Susan and his distress of the privacy part of the mission. It would be a blatant lie to say she wasn't curious and concerned. She wanted answers to the questions she found ever since Susan came to their lives, but she wanted them to be given not taken.

Susan was their Guinevere. She was going to be a part of their family, even if Merlin thought it was temporary.

Roxy looked up to the rearview mirror to check, her glasses sending the live feed to HQ. Eggsy had warned her of the unease of this as well.

She buried it the moment she felt it.

"How were you able to convince Oliver to keep your cover?" She broke the silence, unable to keep the curiosity in amid the silence. Susan and Steve both turned to her, abandoning the windows they were looking out of. She couldn't help but ask. She was impressed, especially with the knowledge that Susan made up Annalise Hollander the moment they stepped into the room. She shouldn't be surprised though. Spies were made to be able to adapt and take a role at the drop of a hat. They were expected to be able to keep their stories intact. For Susan to keep her head after time travel? Admirable.

"Hot chocolate." She glimpsed a smile from the rearview mirror. It got stuck in her mind's eyes. It had her plan that if there was anything she wanted to figure out with Susan Pevensie, it was the nuances of her expressions. The woman seemed to always be amused and testing.

"Hot chocolate?" A few beats passed, then realization set in. "So you knew you were drinking that much hot chocolate!"

"Of course. I quite like chocolate. Some would say I have a problem with it."

Roxy played back the scenes in her mind and focused on the events that involved Oliver. Mainly, they were the refills. The words exchanged. Susan's actions. To the miniscule. Ah. "Intervals with no conversation. Short talk with no name calling. He did look at you weird."

"Weird?"

"Like he's figuring out what's happening. Or piecing up what you're saying and not saying."

"Ah. Yes. He gave up a bit after the third refill. I guess he's more confused at how I could drink that much chocolate and haven't rushed to the closest loo."

"How much is truth?"

"Bits and pieces. I was an informant for some time. I've done the things I've said, especially the people watching."

"Such experience."

"Also, that wasn't a guess."

Roxy's grin was wicked. "I knew it!"

A lull. She knew that her chance to ask questions was now. With their destination, Susan would probably be too drained to answer anything else.

"You volunteered into a spy ring at age 15." She dropped the fact that bothered her the most. There was a pause as Susan slowly turned, a light crease on her forehead. "Why?"

"That's a surprise. My Arthur said that that little tidbit would be under special authorization."

"It still is. It came up during the briefing. It's quite surreal to think about."

"Was it surreal because you think I was too young?"

"Yeah. I keep thinking anything notable I did or could've done when I was 15, but nothing could match what you did. Helping in the war."

"You're a Kingsman in a world still at war, aren't you?" Steve asked with genuine confusion. Roxy did her best not to flush. The question felt like she was called out at her attempt to get some information. She was hoping that Susan would share some stories, even little tidbits. "It doesn't matter what age you start, as long as you do."

Roxy let the silence fill in, hoping that they took it as her taking the words as a compliment. She knew that the awkward silence was only in her head and that it would fade away. Besides, she was on the road.

"During the air raids," Susan started slow and loud enough to hear. "My brothers, sister and I were sent to the countryside for safety. We were taken in by an old professor in a house full of knickknacks of history, such as armors and sculptures. There was a bust of Venus too. Amid it all, my brothers and sister blessed favor on the professor's wooden wardrobe."

"What about you?"

"I had a love and hate relationship with it."

"Had?"

"I learned to make peace with it. Besides, you can say that's where everything started for me."

A wardrobe?

The car dragged to park. Once it was in full stop, Roxy sought Susan's eyes. "What happened there?"

Another smile, this time enigmatic. "Everything."

Steve knew little about Susan's family. He always accepted it as such given her line of work during the war. The few times she talked about them was easy to recall, but the details already blurred. He was sure of a few things. Calculated words. Undeniable admiration. Utter fondness. It was also always 'my brothers, sister and I'. That was the phrase that triggered memory lane.

Somewhere in that memory lane, he paused. His stomach cramped. His lungs stuttered for breath.

"Susan." He called out since she was leading their little line, with Roxy a few steps behind him. The urge to pull Susan back and return her to the mansion was strong. The dread dug its roots and grew its branches, aiming for his lungs. "Susan, wait."

Susan paused. Another beat passed before she turned around to look at him, not even a full turn. A brow raised. Head cocked to the side a bit. Amusement and confusion clear—ly lies. The urge grew desperate as he tried to find the right words amid the dread now squeezing his lungs. His mind replayed that one moment that paused his memory trek.

There was no funeral. We just couldn't accept that she's gone, but I think it was selfishness on our part. At least she's with her family on the other side. We should've been happy for her, but I couldn't.

Peggy's frail form flashed in his mind and he wished that it would help with finding the right words. Instead, he stood there with his mouth forming words that died before they even lived. He stood there watching as the mask on her face settled and cleared the cracks.

"I'm ready to see what grave they made for me." The tilt of her smile was like Bucky's when he's trying to protect him. He knew because the anger that rose in him was the same. "I wonder if a ghoul had taken my name to records."

He wanted to rip that mask off her face, but he knew that it would only hurt her more. So, Steve stomped down the anger and the uselessness he felt. It was hard to see her like this, to know her suffering, to have the time to be able to address it, but to be unable to. He didn't stomp the emotions good enough, because Susan went to his side with concern on her face.

She shouldn't be wearing that expression.

"Steve." He should be the one soothing, but all he could think of was to take her away from this place. "I'll be fine. I'm used to this. I really am."

"Seeing your own grave?"

"Being thought dead." She looped her arm under his and dragged him with her. "They've been dead longer than I've ever been alive. All I could think of now is how can I ever outlive them now?"

"Happily."

The smile she gave him had the signature amusement tainted by longing. The same he found whenever she talked of family. A place unreachable. Secrets that only she, her brothers and sister only knew.

"Happily." He repeated. This time to himself as a promise. The same desperate wish he prayed for Peggy that fateful night of 1945. "They would wish that for you. More than anything."

More than anything.

"We have a promise, my brothers, sisters, and I." She carried along the path with mastery. Her body leaning against him like they were walking in a park instead of a graveyard. There was a degree of serenity on her face this time. He pushed down every question about its sincerity. She broke the silence when they made another turn. "Of course. It's just one among many."

She reached out to the gravestones with a feather touch.

"I think with this one, I held on too tight and twisted it too much." She stopped walking. Steve followed her gaze and found atop a small hill, a cluster of graves. "There is one for me."

"Susan."

"I'm fine." She patted his arm and carried on walking. "I feel as dead as they made me and as empty as the coffin beneath."

She gave the graves a sweeping look once they got there. Steve followed suit.

Pole. 1977. Pole. 1980. Pole. 1949. Scrubb. 1983. Scrubb. 1949. Scrubb. 1970. Kirke. 1949. Plummer. 1949. Pevensie. 1949. 1949. Pevensie. 1949. Pevensie. 1949. Pevensie. 1949. Pevensie. 1957.

She was right.

She untangled herself from him and crouched before her family. She reminded Steve of a child. It chased his gaze back to the graves.

Beloved. Helen and William Pevensie. The gravestone was simple with the only highlight being that one word. Engraved in delicate script and painted in sky blue. It stood out against the dark stone. It was her parents that triggered her involvement to the war. Susan would often mention her thanks whenever they came up in conversation.

Magnificent. In gold. Peter Pevensie. Steve could remember a fond smile on Susan's face. He would like you. I think you will like him too. He was the Pevensie he looked forward to meet. Now, it filled him with melancholy to think that the Magnificent was no longer a possible friend of his.

Valiant. In luminous silver. Lucy Pevensie. Her name would always bring a bright smile to Susan's face. Brighter and truer than any that he had found. It even overpowered her laughter if one knew her long enough to make a comparison. When it came to Lucy Pevensie, Susan couldn't lie as well as she often did.

Just. In darker silver. Edmund Pevensie. With him, Steve always thought that he was the closest to being Susan's twin, especially with how she spoke of him. Dancing eyes and a knowing smirk. Peggy always perked up when the topic was him. It made him wonder if Peggy ever tried recruiting the kid, age be damned. Susan was proud of him and would often mention him when in a sarcastic mood.

Clever.

"So this is what I became." Susan's voice was soft. A pale finger traced the word. Each loop's rise and fall done slow. The silence was deafening. "It was a train crash."

How did it feel, to stand here all those years ago?

Susan's hand dropped and she wrapped the arm around her knees. Her gaze settled on the other graves. Eyes soft. Smile small.

"They were going back to the countryside. Back to the Professor's house."

"They didn't invite you?" Steve moved to crouch beside her, looking at her face as she looked everywhere else.

"Oh, they did. They sent me letters and called me every chance they got. They begged that I come with them." She moved to sit properly then. Her fingers running through the grass and digging to the dirt. "Maybe I should've brought flowers."

Steve clenched his teeth to stop curiosity from shattering his resolve. He kept the questions behind his teeth and his tongue immobile. There was time and he could understand. He could understand the loss and the gap. Grief. Isolation. Homesickness.

He couldn't understand why she had to do this now. What could he say to her?

"They loved that place with every fiber of their being and the land loved them back just as fiercely. It was home for us in a whole different way anywhere else could only aim to be."

"How about you?"

"Me?"

"Didn't you love that place as well?"

"I do. I still do despite everything that happened."

But. There's a but. There was always a but.

"The land no longer needs me. They are more than enough." She motioned to the other graves. The 1949s. "I have claimed another story as my own and I will see it through as I did this. Of course, explaining that to them wasn't easy. They begged and in the end, Lucy cried. Peter became disappointed because of it. Edmund was grave."

There was a hitch in her voice. He wanted to look at her and wipe whatever tears threatened to fall. Instead, he looked at the sky with the curve of Peter's gravestone as his horizon. Her clothes rustled and he felt her shuffle.

"They were all prepared. They planned it all so well even if it was an emergency. They dropped everything. From gathering everyone, even our parents, to trasporta—"

That crack had him already reaching out for her. The pain on her face now open to anyone. Her eyes wide and her lips parted in shock. Another piece of reality sank into understanding. "I couldn't do the same. I can't just...drop everything."

Steve could only hold her then.

A bottle of wine, a good book, and a comfortable chair by the fireplace. Of course, that would come after a hearty meal and a warm bath, which could only be reached if one was able to leave work. Harry Hart was in such predicament. Given, he would be reviewing work files the moment he finished the three chapters of the book he was reading. The wine and the comfortable chair made the difference, and it was a significant difference.

There was the report on the 27% Kingsman level leads. He was also to review the Kingsguards' reports on the rest of the leads. He should also start planning backups if the drug cartel war fail, even if there's a small possibility for it. Percival would come home, while Mordred sweeps in to conquer control of the board leaving chaos in his wake when he disappears. Then, the next phase would come which he should start figuring out the details on as well.

Merlin told him that he shouldn't be pushing himself too much about all these plan making by trying to come up a counter to every possibility. His ideas, analyses, concerns, and input would be a great start. Merlin told him that he could focus on being the head of the K branch, before being the King Arthur, Head of the Kingsman.

Merlin also said that he could handle whatever's left.

Harry rolled his eyes as he traversed the HQ's halls. Merlin had the gall to tell him to take it easy when he was pushing himself too hard. Like keeping from him the fact that their affiliated informant ring in Scotland turned quiet. It's not Harry's field as head of the K branch, but he should help more with the workload at least.

He halted his thoughts before it fell into the pit of work once more. Wine. Book. Chair. He needed those very, very much.

Once he figured out what's happening in the HQ's living room, that is.

"I can't!"

Steve Rogers marched to and fro in his soldier's gait, shoulders tensed and his free hand clenched. His other hand was wrapped around his phone in a calculated grip. He covered a distance of four large strides before turning back and doing the same. The rhythmic thumping against the carpeted floor.

"I don't care what strings you pull or who you'll call, Tony. I won't—can't—leave until the week is done."

Ah. Superhero business.

If so, why was Merlin standing behind an armchair looking grim? To see the two of them was seeing contrasts. Captain Rogers was a growing whirlwind while Merlin was an ocean surface in a standstill. It was this reason that he was more concerned of the latter. It was an established fact of the Kingsman that Merlin was one of the best with keeping his emotions even under extreme stress. However, when he got to a level that even Harry couldn't read him? It was definitely concerning, especially with the new things he now knew. He moved farther into the room with this in mind.

"Do you think I'll fight you on this if I could do that? No. I won't let SHIELD touch even the tip of her fingernail before we settle some ground rules."

Susan. Harry wasn't there to view the live feed about her trip and he was yet to see it in any way. He was stuck finalizing the affiliations the Kingsman had and reassuring them that the change of head didn't mean change in partnerships. That was how he found out about the extent of the silence with Scotland's information ring. So when Merlin gave him a nod when he reached his side, he was undeniably curious. He could now see Merlin's rigid shoulders and his white-knuckled grip around his cliptab. What could've happened that they didn't know already?

"Tony, she saw her own grave! Her. Own. Grave."

Oh. Harry's heart dropped to his stomach. Not because of the fact, because he knew that already. It was the emotion of the delivery.

"Oh, yes, I have one. Yes. I've seen it. Six months and very much ready."

That was something Harry had wondered when he first found out. Would Susan even be surprised at having a grave? Would she even care of the world moving on without her?

"I don't know why so soon. She just visited Peggy yesterday. Look, Tony, you can come and try to pick me up but you would have to drag me away to do so. I will not leave until the week is done."

At first, he wondered how she could believe that they would believe her story. It was a strange emotion to feel, knowing that there's a semblance of truth in such outrageousness. She believed. That didn't help. When the initial suspicion abated, his disbelief made him question how she could keep her composure and determination. He would label it adrenaline and desperation, but there was an order in her ways. A show of sorts, meant to tell them something other than her authenticity. Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter were part of that stage set, albeit not knowing so.

"Is it that bad?" He turned to Merlin to check his own expression.

Merlin took a deep breath. His body curved forward a bit once he exhaled, a sign that exhaustion was getting him. "There's little waterworks, only family stories. There's...there's a lot to review."

Merlin passed Harry his cliptab, which he accepted with a curious tilt of his head. Merlin just wouldn't pass his cliptab to anyone. He could remember the irritation on his face during the Valentine debacle. Harry wanted to ask if he did that because it was something they couldn't talk about with company or because of something else.

The rhythm continued in the background.

On the cliptab was a picture of Susan tracing the text on her gravestone. Clever, he remembered it to be. A different set of questions flooded his mind then, compared to the first time he discovered of the fact. The only plausible answer he could think of, was understandingly painful.

WHAT HAPPENED IN 1957:

1. The year Timothy Donovan was outvoted on the matter of continuing the search for Guinevere.

Clever.

Did Donovan hope that Susan would outwit her captors? Did he hope that she would live and that in the end, this grave would indeed be a fake one? There was no funeral, after all. This denial of her death, when all her family had already left her. Was it an apology or a desperate plea? What did Susan feel? Did she feel guilt to feel so?

Amid dead family, did this long proclaimed orphan feel like a fraud?

"I don't care what Fury thinks! If he dares do something untoward and disrupt what little peace she has, I will deal with him personally!" The growl that followed that statement became a highlight because the rhythm stopped. A break in his calm tone as well.

Clever.

Did they think her clever enough to go and live her life if she did escape? To leave the Kingsman and be the ghost that they turned her to? Did they even think that maybe, maybe, at this point, she would want nothing more than to be with her family again?

In the end, Susan Pevensie was here alive and out of her time.

"She got nothing left, Tony! Nothing!"

Oh. Whatever realization Harry had was cut off by a vision of white moving before them. He felt Merlin tense and shift beside him. Susan was there.

She glided into the room wearing a long white cotton nightgown, undeniably one of her own. Its hem ended shy her ankles and it highlighted her bare feet. Its sleeves billowed as she took each step. Her hair was loose and covered her back in waves. There was, once more, a smile. She looked like she belonged in the mansion, the same way a ghost would adapt to a changing home. She took the phone, standing on her tiptoes just to do so, from an astounded Steve Rogers. She stared at the phone for a few moments, wonder and intrigue obvious. Her free hand took hold of Rogers' clenched fist, uncurling each of his finger as she listened to the voice on the other line. Once she was done with that, she moved to smoothen the crease on his forehead. Only when Rogers surrendered with a sigh did she place the phone against her ear.

"Good evening, Tony." Through it all, she was still smiling. "I hope you don't mind me calling you that. This is the Susan Pevensie."

Rogers held her arm, his muscles bunching in an attempt to conceal his emotions. His movements showed his effort to be unreadable, but there were shards of desperation, worry, and fear sticking out of him among many others. The line of his shoulders had shifted from its coil of defiance to a sharp point of anticipation.

"I'm sorry for keeping him from you. I hope you can understand an old woman's sentimentalities."

Pause. A chuckle.

"Steve's still older, but I'll be happy to be called Grandma."

How could she be so calm? The age old question revisited Harry's mind. This languid calm and the ease of her posture made it look like it was nothing but normal and routine interaction. It made him feel like an intruder and a welcomed audience. He wanted to ask her so many questions, but at the same time, was afraid of what he would get as an answer.

"He forgot to mention, my little Tony, that I did say I won't steal him from the people if the need arises." Her face scrunched a bit as she listened to the other line, before smoothing out into amusement. "Mr. Stark, if we are going to be throwing around endearments and nicknames, I would appreciate if you accept it with the same grace as I did. I was told I'm good at dealing with children."

A grin split Rogers' face and there's another chuckle from Susan. The moment was short lived.

"You can pick him up in the morning, after breakfast." The speed Rogers' face warped to shock and annoyance was admirable. Susan met the glare head on, while her hand dropped to his shoulder to massage the tension away. "Steve found a home there with you. He found new friends and a purpose, whether it be old or new, with you. You are part of his family now. I'm going to try to build a family of my own too."

Try.

"In the end, I may not be able to. I may leave them all again. I may be left alone once more. I will try all the same. I have a feeling you'd understand the unfortunate flaw of caring, Tony."

Try.

The unfortunate flaw of caring.

Harry finally understood Steve Rogers' reply to Merlin's comment. It finally came full circle. The message Susan Pevensie was telling them. This young woman, time displaced and with almost nothing left, was willing to try and find her home with the Kingsman once more, because she cared. She cared enough to trust them amid suspicion and doubt.

"First thing in the morning. You don't have to come yourself. Maybe when I'm settled enough I can meet all of you. Heaven knows, I am more than interested to meet another tangible god."

The tension was gone and there was a level of acceptance of what's going to happen. It would seem that Susan's presence gave Rogers a chance to remember old dynamics while adapting it to the new age. The acceptance only cemented the fact a truth that was slowly becoming less a dream to Harry.

"Oh, I am quite interested in meeting you as well. We could lament on having to babysit a stubborn mule with a flagpole up in his backside. Maybe get into some business transactions." Another series of chuckles followed her words. "I'm sure you would love some ideas to get under Steve's skin easier."

She chose to stay. She chose to try with them. She used the word family.

"I'll be giving the phone back to Steve now. It's nice talking to you, Tony. Don't forget to get some sleep too."

She did as she said with a final squeeze to Rogers' hand, then stepped back to turn away. She paused halfway when she caught sight of them, her eyes widening at the realization. Harry tried his best and succeeded in keeping his smile at a minimum.

"Steve." She called without breaking eye contact. "You owe Harry and Merlin for keeping them up."

"It's not that late."

She shook her head then smiled back at them. "I should've come sooner, when I felt a great disturbance in the atmosphere."

"The Force, Su."

She blinked and turned to Steve in utter confusion. "The... Force? Is that what they call the atmosphere now?"

Harry sneaked a glance at Merlin then. He wondered how the fan would feel in this situation. He was welcomed with a closed off face highlighted by a tense jaw.

"No. Not at all. It's a movie reference." Rogers had finished his call and now stood beside Susan again. "I felt a great disturbance in the Force. That's the line."

"Well, clearly I have much to catch up on. That little box you use as phones among many others. As well as this... Force." There was a flash of excitement in her blue eyes. It left a residue of intrigue when it disappeared. "Have you reconciled with Tony?"

"I gave him the shop's address. He'll send one of his contacts to pick me up after breakfast."

"That's good. Now, can we please go to bed?"

Harry couldn't stop himself from chuckling this time. "I do have a good book and a bottle of wine waiting for me back home."

"See? Steve, you should stop trying to be the center of attention so much."

"Let's talk about that once you properly met Tony."

Susan rolled her eyes and then looped her arm around Rogers'. "Thank you for indulging this headache of a man. I'll be leaving myself to your care."

All throughout, Merlin kept quiet. His eyes though, were glued at Susan to the point that he stared at the doorway long after she'd left.

Susan had long given up trying to figure out if she was a pathological manipulator or if she had become one due to her experience through worlds. She just accepted that in her mind, the process to redirect for their safety and misdirect for hers had become a default. Yes, she argued with that little voice in her head, her intentions were sincere. Her mind retorted that even that statement was loaded with loopholes she wouldn't even doubt of using. For the safety and prosperity of her own.

Hugging Steve goodbye and telling him that she would miss him so, was a truth. He had become one of her constants when she decided to grow her roots in America. Peter was ever intrigued at the prospect of meeting him. Lucy prayed a bit more for his safety and his loving heart. Edmund kept teasing her on how half of her coded letters would be praises about this captain. Steve was someone they learned to trust, and even love, because they knew she did. She trusted her siblings so that she looked forward to finally introducing her family to the place in the world she found for herself.

Telling him that she would send him updates the moment she could was another truth. She owed him that. What she witnessed last night was a summary of all the reasons why. He was and is her friend. It amazed her how easy it was to fall back to old dynamics. The feeling of the 'familiar in the unfamiliar' was now as recognizable as fear and as easy to feel as sorrow.

She had pushed back the too thin phone that he had dropped into her hands. She understood that he wanted his updates soon as possible, but she needed to do this at her own pace. He had commented about the Stark Spawn easily giving him a replacement, while he looked and did something odd with said phone. There had been a click before he slipped his phone in his jacket.

A kiss on her forehead and a tight hug, then he's gone.

She's alone again.

Almost alone.

"How're you?" Harry had accompanied her. A quiet presence amid the goodbyes. It was then that Susan delivered her first lie.

"I'm fine." Then carried on with a truth. "Amused that Steve once again missed a dance with an old friend."

She stepped back into the shop with her default smile. More lies followed suit, unspoken. There's no restless energy crawling under her skin. There's no scream stuck in her throat. There's no clawing in her stomach or a hollow in her chest. She chuckled at the last part. Her chest had long hollowed, or as hollowed as it could've been with the multiple failed attempts to fill it with something long term. Her heart had become a patchwork of things she was surprisingly allowed to keep and things she fought tooth and nail just to hold. Twenty-seven seemed to be a significant number to her, at this point.

"Do you plan any changes to your week then?"

She paused and turned back to face him. Harry wasn't smiling. A small part of her expected him to be and was disappointed. She had a clue as to why though. Steve was no longer there to act as her caretaker and the buffer between them. They were all forced to face each other. Face truths.

So she did what she always do.

"Do you know why I didn't come with Steve, Harry?"

She raised a brow. Her mind went through images of assumed movements and actions that he would take to answer. With his personality type and the environment, as well as who she was to him, she had laid down 17 possibilities in three breaths. She narrowed it down to three in the following two.

The one she picked was 65% correct. High enough for assumptions and what little she knew of him.

Harry straightened his shoulders and folded his hands together behind his back. He stepped forward with his right foot and tilted his head a bit to that side as well. The half-smile sprung up. "I think I was too taken by the chance you gave all of us to be a family to you."

The full smile it grew to was possibility seven. The small nod he gave her was possibility three. The way he regarded her for a moment then looked away was possibility one. He motioned her to lead and that was already a given for a gentleman.

"But, please, do tell. I feel like I will be revealed a secret."

Susan barked a soft laugh. Her surprise was true. "I can see where the encouragement of Eggsy's behavior is coming from."

"I would say I'm the one infected." She saw the fondness clear. "I won't tell Eggsy if you don't want me to."

She shook her head with a grin. That one was true as well. "I quite like being an outsider looking in."

"But you've been a SHIELD liaison."

She smirked, "An outsider with special privileges."

And from connections alone and proper navigation, she would've a degree of control through SHIELD if she so wanted to. She took a deep breath. Susan could survive this place. She could flourish in this place. She could definitely wrap everything around her finger and make it bloom like a grand belladonna.

The only step to be taken was if she would.

Lucy would have her ask and prove herself to the Great Cat. Peter would have her convene her ideas to those involved. They wouldn't stop her though. Edmund would smile and give her a side glance, then call this their new stage. He would then step beside her and tilt his head onward to hide the growing grin. Your orders, Sister Queen?

Notes:

I apologize for the extreme delay. This chapter's already in my phone for so long. Work stuff happened, including a promotion to a position that is very challenging. I'm adapting slowly since I have no experience on it whatsoever. I just applied to prolly refresh my interview skills. XD

To anyone reading 'A Span of Sixty Years' I am doing a big backtrack outline so updates will take longer. However, I am really determined to finish it.

Thank you so much for your time reading this. Your feedback is greatly appreciated. It makes me think more scenarios and just... *Squeals*

(If I follow through with all the stories and ideas I had in stock, I will be a Susan/anyone that could make her happy, crossover corner. XD)