Author's note: Thank you to FictionFrek101, Jedi Alex Colbent, Pirate King Ray and the many "Guests" who have left reviews! (To the last Guest who commented, that sounds like a great idea for a fic! Sounds like you disliked a few things in that episode that I did, too. :-) That probably isn't a project I could tackle right away, at least not until I finish my Avengers stories. Do you write at all? Maybe you could try your hand?.)

1989

Steve did his best to help Hank cope with his grief, coming over to Mike's house on a daily basis to check in on him. But even now that the shock of his wife's death had worn off, Hank did not seem particularly interested in being helped. He would listen to Steve's gentle advice with patient silence, and then calmly ignore it. He wouldn't argue or rage with Steve or anyone else about anything, although before Janet's death he had sometimes had a bit of a temper. Nowadays he seemed to be only half awake. Or half alive.

Nor did Hank seem interested in helping Hope. He spent very long hours working in his lab, leaving first thing in the morning and frequently not coming back until after Hope was already in bed. It was painful and frustrating for Steve to see his friend in pain - and even more so to see Hope confused and hurt by her father's distance - but he'd been doing grief counseling long enough to know that it wasn't possible to force someone to accept help. Whenever Hank was ready to heal, Steve would be there for him. Until then, there wasn't much else they could do.

"Is this what it was like for you?" Peggy asked Steve one night as they got ready for bed while discussing Hank's apparent lack of progress. "When they took you out of the ice?"

He was cautious with his answer. Peggy inevitably grew distressed at any discussion of that time period, although Steve had tried not to get too detailed with her about how difficult it had been for him. But she knew him too well, and there was no getting around it: his first few months in the future had been unquestionably traumatic, and Peggy hated the fact that she hadn't been there for him. It was almost like she thought she could make up for it now by sharing in Steve's grief, although he had long ago put it behind him.

"I swung between anger and numbness," he finally told her. "Hank seems to stay almost exclusively numb. It's understandable; it can actually be a relief to feel nothing for a while. But it's hard on Hope. She doesn't understand what's wrong with her dad."

"Maybe it's Hope you need to be working with," Peggy said slowly. "If Hank won't respond..."

"I hate to interfere with someone else's parenting."

"Someone has to parent her," Peggy said. "And if he won't, then our family will."

Steve made sure to ask permission first, but Hank didn't object to the idea of Hope talking to him as a therapist and not just as a family friend. In fact, he looked relieved when Steve suggested it. It was one more thing he didn't have to worry about himself.

And so Steve began making it a point to talk to Hope in private on a regular basis, asking her how she was doing, encouraging her to talk about things that were bothering her. It didn't take long to gain her trust, and it quickly became clear that Hope was not numb about her mother's death, or her father's emotional absence either, for that matter.

She was furious.

Steve's talks with her tended to take on the tenor of a barely-controlled venting session, but he could handle Hope's anger. It became his job to remain calm and to assure her as many times as she needed to hear it: "Your father loves you more than you know."

"Then how come he's never here?" Hope shouted one day. Angry tears streamed down her face, her hands balled into fists at her side. "Even when he's here he isn't here!"

"I know," Steve said soothingly. "It's how people grieve, Hope. Sometimes the pain is so hard to bear that people just want to run away from it. Sometimes they throw themselves into their work so they don't have to think about things for a while. What do you want to do when you feel bad about your mother?"

Hope sniffed angrily. "I want to hit something!"

Steve paused a moment. "Well, there's a punching bag downstairs. Do you want me to teach you how to use it?"

"Is that... okay?" she asked, looking so surprised at the suggestion that she forgot to be angry for a second. She couldn't have been ignorant of the fact that both her mother and her father knew hand-to-hand combat, could she? Maybe she was. Maybe she had believed them to be scientists only. It had taken Hank a long time to come around to the idea of teaching Janet to fight in the first place.

"Hitting a punching bag is just exactly what I used to do when I felt bad about losing somebody I cared about very much," Steve said to Hope gently. "It's okay. Do you want to try?"

Hope nodded vigorously, smearing at the tears on her cheeks with the palms of her hands.

"Okay." He stood up. "Let's go. I'll teach you the right way to punch."

Hope took to the lessons eagerly. At first she was undisciplined, striking out in anger as hard as she possibly could, too impatient for grace or precision. But as the summer wore on, he was gradually able to coax her into focusing her anger in more constructive ways, and she eventually discovered that she had better control when she did. His granddaughter Sammy often joined them, helping him show Hope how it was done; Mike had been teaching all his children his own fighting style from an early age, a blend of what Steve had taught Mike as a young man and the Vo Binh Dihn Mike had subsequently learned during his time in Vietnam. Before long, Hope had moved on to learning kicks, and then Steve had her begin punching and kicking his hands rather than the punching bag. The first time they did that, she was timid, pulling her punches and no longer throwing all her weight behind her kicks like she should.

"Hope, honey," he said gently. "You can't hurt me. You can hit as hard as you want."

He was afraid she wouldn't believe him, given his age - she had taken to calling him Grandpa, like all the other kids in the house did - but to his surprise, she took him at his word. She threw herself into it, holding nothing back, but still keeping a tight control over her aim, and she launched a volley of relentless attacks until finally she had had enough and stood there panting, looking pleased with herself. Steve couldn't help but smile.

"You're a natural," he told her.

A flush of pride touched her cheeks.

"I think maybe we should show your dad what you can do. What do you think?"

Hope nodded eagerly.

They had to wait until Hank came home from work late that night. He walked down the stairs to the basement and paused in surprise when he saw Steve and Hope waiting there for him. His tie was loosened, his suit jacket rumpled, and there were papers nearly bursting out of his overstuffed briefcase.

"What's this?" he asked blankly.

Steve stood up. "Hope has something to show you," he said. "She's been working hard on this."

Hope began to demonstrate the moves she had learned, one by one, and when she was finished she turned to look at her dad, her expression hopeful.

Hank had watched it all in silence, just standing there holding his briefcase.

"That's not bad," he said finally.

Hope's shoulders sagged visibly in relief. Clearly she had feared her father would have nothing to say about her newfound skills. Steve was more than a little relieved too; he had feared the same thing.

"Hope, why don't you go get ready for bed?" Steve said. "It's late." She ran off, glancing one more time at her dad as she went.

"She's a little young for that, isn't she?" Hank asked Steve when she was gone.

"Not at all," Steve said. "She's handling it well. I think she's about ready to learn throws. And Hank... I think you should take over as her teacher."

"Me?" Hank said blankly. "I don't have time for all that. My work-"

"You can't work 24/7, Hank," Steve said firmly. "Get out your lab for an hour or so every day and do this for Hope. It would be good for you, and it would be good for her, too. She wants to spend time with you."

"It's just that I'm trying to figure out all this," Hank said, gesturing vaguely toward his briefcase. "I've barely even tapped the surface of the Quantum Realm. My experiments are important. I don't have time for playing around."

"I know what it is you're trying to do, Hank," Steve said gently. "And you're right, your experiments are important. You can do that and be there for Hope, too. Just an hour a day. It would mean a lot to her. It might even help you work more effectively if you take a break once in a while."

"I'll... think about it," Hank said, but already he seemed to be half-asleep again. He started toward his bedroom.

"Hank," Steve said, and Hank turned back for a moment.

"It's important to Hope," Steve said.

Hank nodded silently, and disappeared into his bedroom.

But despite Steve's best efforts, he never could get Hank to take over as Hope's teacher. The school year started, and Peggy convinced Hank to continue to stay in D.C. a little longer and let Hope go to school with their grandchildren. Steve continued Hope's martial arts lessons himself, and before long she was learning throws, partnered with Sammy. He taught her some of Natasha Romanoff's old favorites, which gave him a bittersweet kind of satisfaction, and she took to them like a fish to water, not holding back in the slightest. Steve wondered uneasily sometimes what was going to happen if Hope ever sparred with someone other than members of his family. All of them were unusually... resilient, even his grandchildren. Hope was going to be a force to reckon with when she found herself facing off against a normal person.

January came, and Steve was working with Hope in the basement gym one afternoon when he heard the front door burst open and someone came clomping down the stairs loudly. He and Hope paused in surprise to see Hank swiftly stride into the room. School had only just gotten out, and he never came home that early.

It was obvious from Hank's reddened face that he was absolutely livid about something. He pointed at Hope and snapped: "Get your things. All of them. Just throw them in a bag as fast as you can. We're leaving."

"Why?" she demanded, immediately responding with a flare of her own anger, but Hank barked, "Now," and Hope, wide-eyed and taken aback, ran to obey. Ignoring Steve, Hank strode into his bedroom and yanked a suitcase out from under the bed.

"Hank?" Steve asked, concerned, coming to stand at the threshold of his room.

Just then, Peggy also came down into the basement, heels clicking rapidly across the floor until she joined them.

"Hank, don't do this," she said sharply. "Please. I know you're angry, and you have a right to be, but I can make this right for you."

"It's too late," Hank told Peggy roughly, opening a drawer and pulling out a fistful of clothing. "I don't blame you for what happened. But you couldn't exactly stop it either, could you?"

"I swear to you, Mitchell Carson has worked his last day at S.H.I.E.L.D.," Peggy said fiercely. "I'm letting him go, first thing in the morning."

Hank paused, fixing an intense blue gaze at Peggy. "And what about Howard Stark? Are you going to fire him, too?"

Peggy drew back a little, hesitating, and Hank scoffed loudly, returning to shoveling things into his suitcase.

"What's happened?" Steve asked.

Hank laughed cynically. "Go on," he said to Peggy. "Tell him."

Peggy tipped her head back for a moment and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if appealing to heaven for help. "Mitchell Carson tried to replicate the Pym Particles in the defense lab. I never authorized him to do that."

"And?" Hank prompted her angrily.

Peggy sighed. "And Howard Stark was helping him."

"Never should have trusted a Stark," Hank growled, crumpling up a suit and stuffing it into a corner of the suitcase.

"Hank, please, stop and think for a moment," Peggy urged. "You can't continue your research alone; you need S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources. I can enact whatever precautions you think are necessary, but-"

"There's nothing to think about," Hank snapped. "It's over. Decision's made. I'm going back to San Francisco."

"What about Hope?" Peggy demanded. "How are you going to care for her? You spend all day, every day in the lab... Be realistic, Hank, you're not even close to a breakthrough on the Quantum Realm!"

"That's why they invented boarding schools," Hank said.

"Please don't do that," Peggy said pleadingly. "Hope should be here, in a family setting. And you know how much she loves training with Grant, don't take that away from-"

"Believe it or not, they have martial arts instructors in San Francisco, too," Hank interrupted. He paused for a moment, and then said a little more gently, "I'm grateful for everything your family has done for Hope. But I don't want my lab within a thousand miles of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"What about Ant-Man?" Peggy said in disbelief. "How do you expect to do all that on your own?"

"I'm hanging up the suit," Hank said. "As of this moment, Ant-Man is retired. I'll finally be able to devote all my attention to my research again."

Peggy looked shocked. "But-"

"It was going to happen anyway," Hank said. "All those years of exposure to the particles, it took a toll on my body. You know that. It's time. Probably past time."

"Then you have a responsibility to find someone to take your place," Peggy said firmly.

"No!" Hank slammed his suitcase shut, his temper flaring again. "As long as I'm alive, nobody is going to get access to my formula!"

"How many lives did you save as Ant-Man?" Peggy demanded. "We need him... the world needs him! You can't just quit without naming a successor. Grant, tell him!"

"The Pym Particles aren't a tool, or even a weapon, to be handed off to the next runner like a baton in a race," Steve said quietly. "They have the potential to change the texture of reality. There's a lot of scope for abuse, and we don't know who at S.H.I.E.L.D. can or can't be trusted." He met Hank's eyes. "In the end, the safest hands are your own."

"Thank you!" Hank spread his hands meaningfully. "Finally, someone who understands!" He picked up his bags and strode up the stairs, barking at Hope to grab her bags and bring them out to the car.

Peggy leveled a furious look at Steve. "Yes, thank you so much for that," she said tightly.

Upstairs, they could hear Hope crying and arguing as Hank ushered her out the front door, while their grandchildren burst out with a chorus of confused questions and more than a few tears of their own. A few moments later, they heard car doors slam, the engine started, and then tires squealed as Hank's car pulled away from the curb and zoomed away. The two of them were left alone in a suddenly-quiet basement.

"You knew that was going to happen!" Peggy burst out, fixing an accusatory look at Steve.

"I knew he was going to leave for some reason," Steve said, "and that whatever it was, he blamed Howard for it. I didn't know Mitchell Carson was involved, too."

"Well, why didn't you-" Peggy started angrily, and then quickly bit off the words. She took a couple of calming breaths. "I suppose this is one of those things I asked you not to tell me," she said at last.

"You did say you didn't want to know the future of your career or Hank's. I hope I didn't misunderstand your wishes."

Peggy shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she said, although there was a hint of bitterness in her tone. "I couldn't have changed this any more than I could save Janet, could I? I've just lost my best operative, and there's nothing more to be said about it."

Steve put a hand on her shoulder. "I know it's hard to see Hank leave S.H.I.E.L.D. like this," he said gently, "but it isn't as disastrous as you think it is."

"Oh, don't you dare tell me that everything is working out like it should according to some great master plan," Peggy said furiously, getting up to pace the floor. "You can't seriously think that will make me feel any better about what just happened."

Steve sighed, and held his tongue.

"Well?" Peggy demanded.

"You just told me I couldn't say what I was about to say," Steve pointed out.

Peggy looked at him for a long moment, and finally her shoulders sagged. She sank down onto the bed, looking utterly defeated.

"I'm sorry, Steve," she said. "It's just... I've completely lost control of my own agency."

He sat down beside her and took her hand in his. "Control is an illusion," he responded. "In the end, all you can control is yourself."

"Did I compromise too much?" Peggy asked herself softly, eyes distant. "Did I let the monster in?"

"You compromised where you could," Steve reminded her. "And where you couldn't, you didn't. You stood firm. Just because one man-"

"It wasn't one man," Peggy said flatly. "It was an entire lab full of men and women, working on a project that I never approved, using S.H.I.E.L.D. resources under the direction of two of my top people. That's completely out of bounds, and I won't stand for it." Her tone grew fierce. "It ends here and now. I am going to search every nook and cranny until I find every single bad actor in every department of my agency, and I am going to purge them from S.H.I.E.L.D. It's time for a house-cleaning."

Steve felt a surge of pride. That was the Peggy he knew and loved. Her hair was now liberally streaked with gray, but she still carried so much strength and beauty inside her that at times he still wondered how he had gotten so lucky as to share a life with her.

"Now," Peggy continued more quietly, squeezing Steve's hand. "Tell me why it isn't so bad that I just lost Hank Pym."

Taking a deep breath, he began to tell her everything he knew about Hank's future. About Pym Laboratories and the fortune Hank made with his inventions there, although his Ant-Man suit and his particles remained locked away, unused. About his estrangement from Hope and his expulsion from his own company, followed by his belated but welcome choice of a worthy successor in Scott Lang. How he and Hope had eventually reconciled. And finally, he told her about the Quantum Tunnel Hank was able to build after more than 20 years of researching the Quantum Realm.

"He used the Quantum Tunnel to bring Janet back to him," Steve explained softly. "The Avengers adapted it to travel through time to collect the Infinity Stones. And I used it to come back to you. Without it..."

Peggy drew in a slow breath. "All right. You've made your point. As far as mitigating circumstances go, that isn't bad."

Just then they heard the thump of the front door upstairs, and a few moments later Mike jogged down the stairs. He looked at them both and said tersely: "We have a serious problem."

Peggy stood to face him. "Did you get anything out of Dr. Greiling?"

"Dr. Greiling?" Steve asked.

"She worked under Mitchell Carson at the defense lab," Peggy quickly explained. "I asked Mike to question her, find out if she and her team knew they were acting without my authorization when they were trying to replicate the Pym Particles, or if Carson lied to them, too." She glanced back at Mike. "What did she say?"

"Nothing," Mike said.

Peggy paused. "She refused to answer?" she said with some surprise.

"It's not that," Mike said. "She's dead."

"Dead?" Peggy repeated in disbelief. "How?"

"Killed herself."

"What?" Peggy stared at him. "Are you certain?"

"Pretty certain. I watched her do it."

"Are you saying," Peggy said, eyes wide, "that you pulled Dr. Greiling aside to accuse her of industrial espionage, and her immediate response was to kill herself right in front of you?"

Mike was pale. "You did tell me to put the pressure on her..."

Peggy's eyes darted around his face. "Well, what did you say to her? Exactly?"

Mike sighed, looking troubled. "I just said something like, 'we know what you've been doing, we know whose orders you're taking, and I'm not going to leave until you give me the names of everyone involved.' And then she popped a false tooth out of her mouth, bit it, and died."

"What?" Peggy said sharply, and Steve felt a sudden jolt go through him. Peggy stared at their son, confusion written all over her face. "But... that's a Hydra trick!"

Steve found himself breathing quickly, his mind racing along a new and unexpected track. In the future, Hank Pym had been so bitter toward the Starks that he had assumed the falling-out with S.H.I.E.L.D. had come down to Howard's greed. Howard did have a long history of "borrowing" other inventors' ideas and presenting them as if they were all his own, a distressing tendency that had always puzzled Peggy and Steve because he certainly had no shortage of his own genius.

"Dr. Greiling thought you meant something else," Steve said to Mike, the truth sinking in like a revelation. "She thought you knew more than you actually did."

"You mean Dr. Greiling is Hydra?" Peggy demanded. "And Mitchell Carson? Steve, why on earth didn't you say something? You warned me about Zola!"

"I didn't know," Steve said, feeling more than a little unsettled himself. "Hank spent his whole life hating Howard over this." Mentally, he kicked himself for being so complacent, for thinking that just because he knew some of the future, he therefore knew everything important. He'd been working around a blind spot all this time, he just hadn't known it. But of course Hydra would have wanted to get their hands on Hank's formula, and they'd manipulated Howard's greed toward that end. A chill shot through Steve, thinking of how close they had gotten.

"Heaven help us," Peggy said, looking stunned. "How did we let this slip past us? I thought we had an eye on all the Hydra operatives. We never pegged Carson as a threat. Mike-"

"We've kept an eye on everyone since Zola died," Mike said vehemently. "Me and my team. Including Carson and Greiling. We checked up on them." He shook his head, looking furious with himself. "We missed it. We must have been blind."

"I was blind, too," Peggy admitted. "I've been working with Carson for years. I have to give Hydra credit, they seem to be getting more slippery as time goes on." She set her jaw and inhaled deeply through her nose, moving past her shock and replacing it with rock-solid determination in a well-practiced maneuver.

"Well, what are we going to do about it?" she said to them both. "How are we going to fix this?"

TO BE CONTINUED

Author's note: I'd love to know what you think!