Stark Estate, Hollywood, California, September, 1947
"Connect me to Mr. Dykstra, of the University of Los Angeles!" Howard calls into the phone as he stands in the middle of the study, clad in his robe and carrying the phone with him. "It's in Los Angeles!" he snaps to the operator. "I swear things have gone downhill since Peg stopped working at the phone company."
"You know Peg never actually did any phone work in New York", Rose comments as she enters, yawning but still looking ready for another work day despite the sun barely peeking up from the horizon.
"Yeah, well maybe she should've, she'd whip them into shape. Hello!" Howard calls back to the phone. "Clarence! Glad I caught you this morning…three hours, yourself?...Well you're the provost, you should expect these manner of calls. Now listen, I've got a girl here who I think would make a fine addition to the math department next semester…"
As the conversation goes on, Rose leans back on the sofa and takes a moment to catch her breath. She's not one to fall into a panic so easily, and she's been holding up fine during the initial Whitney Frost fiasco. But it really feels like there's no end in sight right now, and all she can do is brace herself for whatever comes next. The events of the past few days have been draining not just her, but everyone. One thing's for sure - she'll be asking Sousa for a significant vacation when this finally comes to a close.
She must've fallen asleep, because the next thing she realizes the sun is shining through the open blinds and the kitchen is filled with the noises of Stark's assorted guests gathering for morning coffee and tea. Rose checks her watch - only seven in the morning. Either they're all prepared for such an early start, or too shaken by the revelations from the previous night to sleep well at all. She leans towards the latter, but she gets up regardless to join them.
Jarvis is doing his best to dole out some manner of breakfast, but it's been some time since Stark had a full house and no catering staff to go along with them, so Sue has to volunteer herself to help him not be overwhelmed. Daniel and Roger grab a mug each, take a sip, grimace, and exchange their beverages.
"Bean water."
"Leaf sweat."
"So other than breakfast, how else can I be of assistance?" Sue asks once things are a little calmer.
"'Assistance'?" Peggy echoes. "Susan, you've been a key contributor to this whole thing, you've assisted us plenty. And if we come across any more scientific evidence of what Romulus is trying to accomplish, you'll be the first to hear it."
"Oh! Well, thank you," Sue says sheepishly. "It's just hard to adjust to the idea that you consider me a part of the team. For obvious reasons, I'm sure."
"Speaking from experience, the march of progress might seem slow, but it's always moving forward," Jason says assuredly. "And it's hard for anyone to not get ahead in the world with Howard Stark in their corner."
Sue shrugs. "It's a pretty idea, but I'll believe it when I see it. After all, he's been on the phone all morning."
"All morning?" Michael says, before downing the rest of his cup and hurrying to where Stark is ranting into the receiver.
" - and if we're on the subject of cards, I know you cheat at old maid, so don't act like you're a pinnacle of honorable society yourself!"
"Mr. Stark," Michael tries to interject, but Howard turns away from him. "Well I wouldn't talk to you like that if you took my proposal seriously! She's brilliant I tell you, she could make your two-bit university actually accomplish something!
"Mr. Stark, I am expecting quite an important call."
"Well I just happen to be busy today too!...No, you'll be expecting a call from my people!" He slams the phone down in a huff. "Entitled bastard. Morning Carter, hope the guest room treated you well."
"It was fine. Sir, the phone?"
"Yeah, yeah." He hands the phone over and grumbles under his breath all the way to the washroom. Michael sighs as he keeps an eye on the phone. Stark is a gracious host, and he is slowly starting to see why Peggy trusts him, but the man is an absolute handful. As he waits, reminding himself that Emily would have gotten herself free at any time had the situation called for it, he wonders if he or any of the Oxford Five could have turned out like that had they been able to spend half the war hiding behind their fortunes.
Finally, the phone rings and Michael picks it up before the first tone finishes. "Hello?"
"Mr. Jack," came the curt voice of Emily's host. "Glad you could take my call; the line was busy the first time I tried."
"Yes, well, Mr. Stark was attempting to wrap up some early-morning business when the time came for your call."
"I hope it was nothing to do with my operations?" the man asked. "If my men and I found ourselves at the wrong end of the FBI, I cannot imagine Emily and Aleksandra would be spared an exception."
"You wound me, comrade. I wouldn't be so foolish as to put my friends in the line of fire - especially not with the FBI. We're up against them as much as you are."
"I believe the second part. But you still left us alone with some manner of HYDRA experiment overnight - something I understand can turn quite deadly if left unaddressed."
A chill runs through Michael's heart. "Is Dottie alive? I told Emily to keep her hot and keep the noise up, and if you let her die then I can guarantee our dealings will be quite unpleasant by the time I get to you."
"Relax, Mr. Jack. Aleksandra Nikolaivna is alive - barely. And fortunately for you, so are my men. Unfortunately, so is the so-called 'Deep One' infesting her."
Damn, Michael thinks. He'd hoped they'd be able to put at least one part of this to bed, but apparently they'll have to keep fighting on multiple fronts. Well, what else is new. "Can you put Emily on the line?"
There's a brief shuffling on the other end, then Emily's voice comes through. "Michael?"
"Emily," Michael breathes with relief. "How did last night go?"
"Could've been worse," she says with a slight chuckle. Michael can hear the unsaid corollary. "Dottie's still breathing, and she's a little more lucid than before. We weakened the Deep One inside of her, drove quite a bit out, but couldn't get rid of the entire thing."
"I guess this specimen is stronger than it looks."
"True, but so's she. I'm still trying to explain the situation to her - she's a little more receptive than Ivan to these kinds of things, especially considering it's still in her."
Michael nods. "Small miracles, I suppose. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine."
"Emily."
There's a pause. "Tired," Emily finally says.
"Did they feed you?"
"You know they didn't need to," she sighs. "But yes, I got some eggs and beans in me."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
She takes a breath. "You know how it gets - one day you're ready to face the world, the next you just wish everything would stop." He can sense her listening to what she just said. "Not like that, Michael. I just - if our business could take a holiday, I'd jump at the opportunity."
"I can guarantee you're not the only one feeling that way. Chin up though; I have a feeling this particular mission is in its last act."
The phone changes hands again, and the host takes it up again. "I trust you are satisfied, Michael?" he says. It's a subtle way to let him know that Emily's let his name slip - but of course she said Ivan's name too. She must be tired.
"Satisfied that my companions are alive, but I'm sure you're aware that there's still work to be done."
"There always is."
"As we speak there's a HYDRA cell attempting to create more of those Deep Ones." Not the exact truth, but more than likely what the outcome of Romulus' schemes would become. "The woman in charge of them would unleash them on an unknowing populace that wouldn't have a chance at resisting. The people I'm working with have determined the what and the how, and we're hoping to know where and when soon."
"The people you're working with - that includes Howard Stark."
"Yes, the pinnacle of American capitalist excess."
"You take the words out of my mouth."
"It's not exactly a subjective description. But I can guarantee that he'll help us more than he'd help HYDRA or the FBI any day."
"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe."
"Listen Ivan - I know our goals do not align, but at this point in time they certainly overlap. We could use your men, and you could use our resources. Your superiors would never need to know - help us take down this HYDRA plot and we'll never have to speak again."
Ivan does not speak, and Michael is uncertain whether the other man is thinking his offer over, or just letting Michael stew in his own worries. If he doesn't take the offer then Emily might have to fight her way out on her own. He had no doubts that she could do so, but she'd have a hard time getting Dottie out too. And if they lost Dottie - it wouldn't be the same as losing any of the other Invaders, but Michael had promised her life. The pit in his stomach would grow even deeper if he had to break that vow too.
Finally Ivan speaks up. "Perhaps we should discuss this face to face."
"Indeed. Do you have a location in mind? Ideally public enough so that we blend in -"
"- but private enough to not be interrupted. I have been in this game as long as you have, Mr. Jack." Another pause, but he can hear Ivan calling something in Spanish in the distance. That's interesting. A muffled voice comes back. "Meet us at the tennis courts in Griffith Park on the east side in two hours. I trust you will recognize Emily and Aleksandra when you see them?"
"And they'll see me."
"Good." Ivan hangs up the phone - not even bidding him good day. Well, can't fault a Russian spy for being blunt.
Peggy's been listening in from the other room. She heard what Michael didn't - the hitch in his voice when Emily came on the line, his insistence that she be honest with how she is, asking whether she's been fed. Peggy doesn't want to be petty or petulant, she's a grown woman for god's sake. She understands things a little bit better now - she knows what Emily means to Michael. But the pang of jealousy comes regardless.
She stuffs it away as Michael comes back around the corner. "Good morning," he says politely.
"Morning. Everything alright on Emily's end?"
"Yes, we're going to rendezvous with her in a few hours."
"Maybe you shouldn't," Peggy suggests. Michael looks at her sharply, and she goes on. "As in, maybe not you specifically. We have several points we need to send our people to, and I need to divide things as best as I can. You might be strong, but I don't want to send you to the nest full of Russian marksmen if I can help it." As they rejoin the others, Peggy suddenly groans. "Oh piss it, we need to get Angie too."
"Who?" Michael asks.
"My friend from New York. She's in town to film a movie, but I don't want her sitting out in the open."
"I'm sure she can handle herself," Michael says.
"Not if Cassandra goes after her. Michael, if she knows who I am and who you are then she's probably looking into our known associates - and she strikes me as the kind of woman who loves to make things personal. It's only a matter of time before Angie gets dragged into this whether she wants to or not, and I'd rather she be here where Howard's security can keep an eye on things."
"We are on the clock Peg. Is it really necessary to take a detour just to grab a civilian who might be on Cassandra's radar?"
"I thought your secret team was all about protecting civilians who might be on the enemy's radar." Peggy jabs. "Or are you just surprised that I can care for a person outside of the family? It seems like you accomplished that quite well on your own."
It's a cold knife to an open wound and the whole room can feel the temperature drop, but Peggy's not about to let an awkward silence delay things. "Howard and I will pick up Angie, and we'll take a radio so we can stay in contact. Michael, take Sue and Jason to the R&D lab. Get the Rift Generator and anything else we might need to upgrade it - I imagine alterations could keep a rift closed if necessary?"
"I - well, I suppose -" Samberly stutters.
"Shouldn't be an issue," Sue confirms.
"Good. Roger, Sousa, you should rendezvous with Emily and her…cohorts. Make sure Dottie is doing alright, and get them out of there if things go sour. Rose and Jarvis, I want you to get in contact with Nonna Clothilde."
"The crime boss?" Jarvis sputters.
"Yes. She deserves to know what happened to Joseph - or at least, the details that she'll believe. Get her on our side, and maybe they can back us up should it come to that."
"But why me?" Jarvis asks.
"Because she won't see you as a threat or a Fed," Peggy says bluntly. "And Rose can knock the lights out of the enforcers if you need to make a getaway."
"Sounds like a plan," Rose says with determination.
"One more stop," Michael says. "The Arena Club. Apparently the pin you got from Dottie is the key to everything - literally."
Peggy nods. "It keeps coming back to that blasted pin. Okay, we'll stop there after we get Angie - I'm sure Howard can schmooze his way in." She looks over her shoulder. "If he ever finishes making himself look pretty."
"What can I do?" Samberly asks.
"Stay here and mind the radios. We'll need you to hold down the fort and let us know if anything else comes up."
Samberly's eye twitches ever so slightly at the unofficial demotion, but he nods anyway. "Sure - sure thing."
The teams group up and start getting ready, but Sousa comes right up to Peggy. "Do you have to send me with Aubrey?"
"I don't want Michael getting stuck in the line of fire. But Roger's abilities would suit the scenario well if the Russians decide to take things further - and if I'm not sending Michael, I need to send Roger so that there's someone Emily can trust."
"Sure, but I imagine he can accomplish all of that on his own."
Peggy looks right at him. "Daniel, I need you there because you're my good eye. I'm at the point where I'm willing to work with him and his friends, but I need someone I trust there so that I know exactly what's going on. And I know you'll never let me down."
Sousa nods, a slight blush on his cheeks. "Well, I can appreciate that. It's just that Aubrey…he's…"
The word dies on Sousa's tongue, but Peggy can hear it just the same. "A homosexual? Daniel, don't tell me you're worried he'll make a pass at you. Far as I can tell he and Michael are practically married - and in hindsight that explains a lot of things."
"No, Peg, it's not…look, I can handle a regular homosexual. I know I crossed paths with plenty of them during the war. But if I can be frank, Aubrey is the most homosexual man I've ever seen. He is arrogant, flamboyant, extravagant, and I feel like every sentence out of his mouth is a joke aimed at me. I'd be uncomfortable with him even if he was a normal fellow; hell if he was he'd be like…like…"
Howard enters the room, dressed in what looked like his fanciest suit, all shiny and golden with crimson accoutrement. "All right, let's get this show on the road. Where are we going?" He catches Peggy and Sousa's looks. "What? if we're going up against HYDRA spacemen then I want to look good doing it."
Peggy turns back to Sousa. "You've handled him for the past two years, you can handle Roger for a few hours. Suck it up, soldier." She, he pats his cheek then leads Howard to the car and explains the game plan, while Sousa sighs and trots to where Roger is waiting.
"Michael tells me we're headed to Griffith Park. Lovely place, I hear. I'm sure two fine young men like us will make all the ladies' heads turn. Maybe not just the ladies, if we're lucky."
Malabar Foundry Company, Vernon, California
"You understand that, Miss Gower?" Ivan asks after hanging up the phone.
"Perfectly," she replies.
Gower leans against the desk. If it weren't for the singed clothes, one wouldn't know that she'd been in combat with a strange monster made of living liquid. Her skin returned to its porcelain complexion, leaving no scratch or mark that wasn't an old scar. Though he sees faint shadows under her eyes, reminding Ivan of how tired he feels. Spent far too long convincing the fire department that they only had a small fire and it was extinguished and please take the 200 dollars and fuck off.
He takes out his cigarette packet, Mexican Faros with their strong tobacco in rice paper. Ya chupó faros y se fue al cielo they say down south for anyone or anything that's died.
Ivan offers one to Gower, asking, "Do you and Volkova have anything decent to wear?"
She takes the cigarette, throwing back at him, "Why? You worried Union Jack won't like how you've treated Alya and I?"
"I do take pride in being, as you said last night, a 'proper gentleman,'" he answers, lighting her cigarette. Gower looks up at him, fixing Ivan with those watchful, hazel eyes. All greens and browns and steady as a cat. She's anticipating his next move. She just takes a pull of the cigarette and somehow doesn't let out the cough so many, himself included, are prone to.
Who are you, Emily Gower?
"I came prepared," she replies with a shrug. "Just need access to the saddlebags."
"Consider it done."
She nods and takes another drag. Ivan's noticed the teeth, but has so far elected to say nothing. It's one of the many puzzle pieces that refuses to fit neatly together - he wonders if some came from a completely different box. A china doll of a woman, yet stronger and faster than any human or animal he'd ever seen. Confident with knife and gun and motorcycle. Suicidally fearless in the face of a monster. Loyal to her man and tender-hearted to Volkova. And perhaps not as naive in her defense of the latter as he has thought.
"I am sure your man will be looking forward to seeing you again."
Then there's whoever this "Union Jack", this Michael, is. The Ghost of the Balkans is an arrogant English aristocrat, and Ivan half expected his woman would be a duchess of some sort. A great beauty in her own right. Not that Miss Gower lacks charm, but she is not the usual type to catch such a man's attention. Ivan remembers the subtle note of desperation in the man's voice. The feelings run deeper than a casual arrangement or a business partnership.
The smile is coy and gives nothing away, "I'm sure he will be." Jealous, are we? That's at least the implication.
Except he still remembers what she said barely ten minutes earlier. One day you're ready to face the world, the next you just wish everything would stop.
Emily's glad she had packed extra clothes for Dottie and herself on the off-chance they wouldn't return to the Venice safehouse that night. It's a decision that proves somewhat useful given the particularly sorry state they found themselves in. If they were rendezvousing with Michael, Roger, and the rest, she presumes, it's best to look at least a little put together. The last thing they need is coppers bothering them because the women look a mess. And it helps to play a little into Comrade Ivan's expectations.
Still, she feels a fright, and Dottie looks it. She's drawn, her features hollowed out. Despite a decent brushing out, her hair hangs rather limp. The Deep One took a lot out of her. Didn't take the fire in her eyes, though. Emily can take heart in that.
"Ready to go?" she asks.
"Ready for battle," Dottie replies.
"Oh, we're just meeting Michael. Maybe Roger will be there, too."
Dottie flashes a wicked smile, "Oh, Emily, love, if you're right about Michael joining up with Stark, then that means Peggy Carter might be there!"
Emily schools her face and replies like an ever patient mother, "We'll see when we get there"
The door swings open and one of Ivan's men escorts them out. Dottie stubbornly tries to walk on her own, but Emily keeps close. Then when they get to the stairs, she does lean on Emily as they descend.
But her mind wanders back to Peggy Carter. Michael's sister was brought up from time to time by the Oxford set were reminiscing on the pre-war days. She seems nice enough, and came off as an ambitious and adventurous young woman. It was like hearing about everyone else's siblings, they had their quirks and foibles, and most came off as a decent sort. But Michael never talks about her much. He doesn't talk about his own family and childhood all that often, either playing it off as rather ordinary or switching to some other topic. There's always been this air of sadness and shame about the whole thing.
Seeing Peggy's picture jogged a memory. It's a foggy one, half forgotten and parts of which Emily thinks she's just filling in the blanks.
She remembers her days as a courier and coming into one of the hutches at Bletchley. Someone was always there to take the intercepts and there was this one day a striking brunette was there. Offered Emily tea because it was so cold that day. For some strange reason, her mind puts Peggy in that role.
Funny how her brain works, sometimes.
Dottie elbows her in the ribs, bringing Emily back to earth, "Did you hear anything I said?"
"Sorry," she mumbles. "Long night and all."
Dottie pouts but goes on nattering about Peggy Carter and weapons as Ivan and his comrades finish packing the cars. A large box catches her eye as they load it into the trunk of one of the cars, prompting Dottie to sneer in Russian to Ivan, "Planning for a battle, comrade?"
"I'd rather go in prepared," he replies. He turns to Emily and says in English, "I am trusting you, Miss Gower. Your word is everything."
"Same," she replies, with a steely expression. "We both know the consequences of treachery. There's no advantage for us, anyway. Though I would feel more at ease if I had my knife and pistol back."
Ivan steps closer, "Absolutely not." She catches a slight smile playing on his lips.
She doesn't like Comrade Ivan.
Emily turns away, saying to Dottie, "Worth a try."
The men finish up and they're escorted into the back of an older, burgundy car, Dottie notices the slight blush on Emily's cheeks. A hot flash of jealous anger runs through her.
As she progressed through her training in the Red Room, Dottie was taught the finer points of flirtation and seduction; all in service for her role as spy and assassin. All the better to get close and dispatch a target. And she knows when two people, even for a fleeting moment, express some interest in each other.
This could all be a ploy by Comrade Ivan. Lull Emily into a false sense of security. All the easier to betray them all.
No. You're just paranoid. Emily's no fool. She'd kill him before he could twitch that stupid mustache of his. Curse that beast, she'd do it herself if she weren't so weak. She must trust Emily.
Still, Dottie tightens her grip on Emily's arm. She doesn't like the idea of sharing.
Hollywood Studio Club, Hollywood
"You sure your friend might be in danger?" Howard asks as Peggy drives down the road.
"Honestly? It could go either way." She turns the corner into a parking lot. "But I'd rather grab Angie and be paranoid than leave her and be proven wrong."
"Fair enough. What is this place anyway?" Howard asks as Peggy parks the car in front of a charming, albeit humble, building. "Some kind of glorified YWCA?"
"It's the Hollywood Studio Club, Howard. I thought you'd be familiar with it - plenty of movie stars have stayed in it while filming. And it's right by the Paramount lot, so it's no surprise Angie's staying here."
"Oh yeah, I do know this place." Howard chuckles. "Tried sneaking in to see a girl one time. They caught me and threw me out the front door - literally!"
"What a shock," Peggy deadpans.
"Still, if this Angie doll is the hot commodity you say she is, I would've splurged. Send her to the Roosevelt."
Peggy rolls her eyes. "I'm no critic, but Angie is a proper actress. If everything goes well this could be the big break she's looking for. And I'm not about to let some homegrown fascist with delusions of grandeur ruin things for her."
"Still, I imagine she's plenty safe here. Hell, she's only down the road from the studio."
Peggy levels a glare at Howard. "Forgive me for not being keen about the state of hotel security these days."
Howard flinches, but follows her anyway.
Inside is a bustle of activity, with plenty of women coming and going. Howard spots a few faces he thinks he's seen in the pictures, but they're too focused on their own business to pay him any mind. Still, they're all dames to die for and he's too distracted by all the lovely faces to notice Peggy stop at the front desk. He almost collides with her, catching himself at the last minute and stumbling next to her.
"From what I understand, Miss Martinelli is not due on set until tomorrow," the receptionist is saying. "She did ask me to hold any calls not coming from the studio, however."
"I'm an old friend," Peggy replies. "Peggy Carter? I imagine she'd be happy to see me."
The receptionist looks Peggy up and down, judging her…what? Class? Femininity? It certainly feels like the kind of assessment that Peg is only barely going to scrape by - and likely only because she chose not to wear trousers today.
"You seem harmless enough to let through. Miss Martinelli is in room 104. But he -" she gestures pointedly at Howard, "- needs to stay in reception."
Howard pouts. "Aw, come on ma'am. I'm a friend too."
"We don't allow men to pass the foyer, especially men named Howard Stark."
Peggy smirks as she looks back at Howard. "It seems your reputation precedes you after all." She pats him on the shoulder. "Be a doll and wait for us out here. We shan't be more than a moment." And don't do anything stupid she thought as she walked to Angie's room.
It was just around the corner from the foyer, and Peggy quickly knocked on the door. "Who is it?" came Angie's voice from within.
"Angie, it's Peg."
"Peggy!" Angie squealed before the door was thrown open and Angie pulled Peggy into a hug. "Peg! Goodness, have you seen this place? It's a dream come true. There's this Norma Jean girl who's a complete doll who's been showing me the ropes! But she's signed with Fox."
"Really?! How exciting," Peggy says, trying not to seem too concerned. Angie seemed so happy and confident, and what brought Peggy here could wreck things as much as Romulus' plans. She had to focus on Angie being safe, not Angie ending up in a hospital bed - or worse.
Just like Thompson.
But Angie's grinning as she sits on the edge of her bed. "It's been such a whirlwind, I honestly haven't even had time to unpack - not sure if I even need to since I'll be in the studio's costumes most of the day anyway -"
"That might be for the best, actually," Peggy says, and she grabs one of the unopened suitcases by the door. "I think we need to take you somewhere safer, Angie."
Angie looks at Peggy in confusion - but not without trust. She's smart enough to know that when Peggy takes that tone, it's time for action. "What's wrong?"
Peggy steadies herself. "I'll be blunt Angie - somebody's after me, and they're the kind of person who's willing to go through my friends to get to me."
"And you think if they get wind of me being one of your friends, they might do something untoward?"
"Something deadly," Peggy confirms. "I know this place is probably safe from the usual people of concern, but it seems I've run afoul with some holdovers from the Reich."
"Nazis in Los Angeles? God, they really don't know when to stop, do they." Angie sighs in dejection. "Damn. I really was looking forward to going to this dance studio with Norma this week."
Peggy sits next to her. "I'm sorry too, Angie. I never wanted you to get dragged into this. Part of me is worried I'm doing so without reason. But I can't bear to think that you might get put in the crosshairs just to hurt me."
Angie takes Peggy's hand. "Hey, I get it. You've got an important job, keeping us normal folk safe from the loonies out there. And I appreciate you taking the time to think about me."
"Any time, Angie." Peggy smiles. "And I'm sure Howard Stark could convince Miss Monroe to visit you at his estate."
Angie's jaw drops. "You're inviting me to stay at Stark Manor?!" She jumps up and quickly begins packing the few personal belongings in her dorm. "Why didn't you lead with that, Peg?"
As Angie packs, Howard Stark himself is standing in a corner and trying not to be noticed - a difficult prospect, considering he was…well. Howard Stark. He certainly wasn't cut out for covert operations, that was for sure, and it wasn't long before a woman tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me?"
Howard turns and sees an absolute bombshell. Her skin is alabaster, and her face is gorgeous - though cold, like a reptile looking for its next meal. But she has a green and white dress on that looks so sheer it seems almost scandalous, and her eyes are piercing emerald. "Hello, miss. How may I help you?"
"Are you Howard Stark?" she asks curiously.
"Why yes, yes I am," Howard says as he reaches over and grabs the back of a nearby chair - the woman is so beautiful he feels like he's going to fall over. "In the, um, the flesh. And you are?"
The woman pauses, thinking. "Virginia, let's say."
"Lovely name for a lovely dame," Howard replied with a grin.
"Is it? Thank you. I've read so much about you and the scientific advances you helped the allies develop."
"Oh, why thank you! Are you a fan of -" he winks at her - "science?"
Virginia shakes her head. "No, but my master is."
"Well he seems like a swell guy," Howard replies giddily. He feels…not quite drunk, but woozy. "Say, I can't quite place your accent. Where are you from, Virginia?"
"Oh, up north." She reaches over and runs her hand up his arm. Howard has just enough time to notice her slender fingers have green nail polish as well - then his knees buckle and his entire world starts swimming. "Very far north." As she speaks, Howard sees her eyes and there's no mistake - they're glowing.
"You're here with Peggy Carter, aren't you?" she asks. Howard tries to shake his head, but it just lolls to the side uselessly. "Oh, I've hit you too hard, haven't I? Oh well. I'm sure I'll find it here somewhere."
Howard's world is flipping upside-down and inside-out, but his eyes manage to fall on the dame's leg - and he sees the pistol lashed there with her garter. His body might feel like it's melting, but his mind can put two-and-two together. He needs to warn Peggy. So even if he can't walk, he's going to go find her.
In Howard's heart, when he used the chair as leverage to hoist himself away from the strange woman and towards the threshold to the dormitories, he was a dramatic hero running to the rescue. In actuality, while he did have the momentum to get a good distance, those observing him would have thought him drunk out of his mind the way he groaned in confusion and spun in circles halfway across the room. He would have flung himself onto the floor in a heap if not for a woman walking out of the halls dropping her bags to catch him in her arms.
"My goodness, it appears I've fallen for you miss," Howard croaks out as he stares up in her face. She's beautiful too, but whereas that Virginia woman was icy cold, this dame is as warm as the sun and as wondrous too.
"So this is Howard Stark?" Angie asks of the pile of man strewn across her arms. "Maybe I was too hasty in my excitement."
"You'll get used to it," Peggy says, regretting bringing Howard into the building already. "Howard, there's no way you've managed to become this drunk in five minutes."
"I'm not drunk," Howard says as he tries struggling to his feet. Now that he's away from the previous lass, he can at the very least stand. "That woman - there's something up with her. She's got a gun."
Peggy's eyes shoot to where Howard is pointing, and she spots the lady in green. The lady spots her in turn, and raises her hand dramatically. Peggy may not know what's coming, but she knows a threat when she sees one. There's a tray for tea on the reception counter, and Peggy grabs it and holds it in front of her face. Angie and Howard crouch behind her, and just in time, because some manner of pulse passes over the entire foyer.
Suddenly everyone else is tripping over their own feet, fainting, and clutching nearby furniture to keep from collapsing. Peggy lowers the tray to see the woman looking frustrated and grabbing at her concealed gun. She doesn't get a chance to fire it, though, because Peggy hurls the tray hard enough to slam into the woman's stomach and momentarily wind her. Steve would be proud, Peggy thinks as she grabs Angie, Angie grabs Howard, and the three run out the front door.
"Was that one of the people after you?" Angie asks as she slides into the passenger seat.
"I assume so, though I've never met her," Peggy replies, starting the car. Howard slumps into the back and they're racing away at full speed by the time he's seated upright.
"Sorry our first meeting was under such circumstances," Howard says as he reaches a hand over to the new passenger. "Howard Stark, genius inventor."
"I assumed so," Angie says as she shakes his hand. "Angie Martinelli, future star."
The woman who called herself Virginia stumbles out of the Hollywood Studio Club a few minutes too late. She marches to another car and slams on the hood, waking the dozing driver. "Kodiak!" she snaps. "You lost them!"
"You lost them first," the man growls back. "Just get in. We know where they're going anyway."
Los Feliz
"So this Emily, what are we expecting?" Daniel asks, not knowing what else to ask.
Aubrey replies with a snort, "Well we're expecting Russians, are you asking what she's like?"
"Yeah, that's what I meant. What's so funny about that?"
"You sound like you're trying to ask about another woman without upsetting your sweetheart."
"And why would I be doing that?"
"I don't know, but I doubt you and dear Peg have been together very long. I understand not wanting to cock things up in a new relationship. I'm sure she's not fretting about your fidelity," Aubrey reassures Sousa. In a more serious tone, he adds, "To be fair, I think it's more to do with Michael."
Daniel shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He still doesn't know how to feel about Peggy's brother. He's strange to look at and has a strange effect on Peggy. Daniel's worried that Michael's presence is affecting her decisions. And it goes without saying that the only things keeping him from throwing hands is Peggy and the fact that Michael looks as solid as the marble he resembles. It's hard knowing he has to work with Thompson's killers.
"I mean it's weird if Carter's been the one doing these negotiations with this Russian guy and he doesn't show up," he replies.
"It's not a good look," Aubrey agrees, "But Peg's not one to care about such things. Especially when she's on a tare."
"Were they always like this?" Daniel asks. He thinks about his own sisters. He loves them all, yet they could be terrifying - either ganging up on him or trying to rip each other apart.
"Yes and no," he answers. "They were always close. Absolutely adored each other, don't get me wrong. They were each other's greatest source of strength. Can't blame them, the Carter household was never a happy one." Daniel exchanges a surprised look with Aubrey, who looks a little surprised. "Oh, you don't know?"
"No," he answers, shaking his head. "No, Peg's never really talked about her family. I didn't know she had brothers until recently."
"Well, can't blame her. It's not fun to admit that mother dear may as well be a ghost and father's a frosty tyrant. Speaking from experience, there's nothing worse than polite society seeing the dirty laundry. But it seems like she's done a good job moving past that. Built quite a life for herself."
"So her brother comes back, seemingly from the dead, everything gets thrown off…"
"And Peggy needs a punching bag. Michael's been a favourite given proximity," Aubrey explains. "Gave as good as he got, too. Lot more patient than her, though. She's not one for vendettas - at least not right away. But I'm sure you're aware that she usually does things on her own because no one's listening and then forces you to say that she was right all along. This situation is just more complex this time."
Daniel agrees. He remembers all too well the night Peggy called him, Thompson, and Dooley out for failing her. For not seeing her. For succumbing to their worst flaws. Flaws that got two of them killed in the end.
"Doesn't stop the urge to punch a wall," he replies.
"Exactly," Aubrey says, then cries out. "Oh, silly me, this all started with you asking about Emily! How could I forget?"
"Tangents, I guess. What exactly should I be looking for?" he asks.
"She's small, blonde, and Welsh. You'll hear it when she speaks. More red to her hair than mine. Usually wears sunglasses when she's out, her eyes are somewhat sensitive to bright light. Hazel, otherwise. Rather well dressed, at long last. Maddie Joyce-Frank helped with that - she's one of our good friends. I daresay Emily's decently pretty now that she's out of those dreadful khaki uniforms. Did nothing for her complexion."
"Okay," Daniel replies. Suddenly it feels like he's listening to gossip. "Attitude wise, what's she like?"
Aubrey hums, contemplating the question. "Hard to answer. She's something of a closed book - quiet, studious. Slow to warm up to people. She can be quite sweet once she's comfortable, but not a very talkative person. Sort of like if Jane Eyre were a regimental sergeant major."
"Does she have powers like you?"
"She's that vampiress I mentioned yesterday."
"Vampire… you mean… she drinks blood?"
Aubrey waves off the question, "She has iron clad control over her cravings. And that was a later development. She was strong, fast, and could heal from some otherwise deadly injuries before then. The vampirism enhanced that."
Daniel still feels like he hasn't been thrown into the deep end of a science-fantasy pool. He feels he's been thrown into the middle of the Pacific.
Stark Laboratory, Malibu, California
Sue stares in wonder at Mr. Stark's lab. It's so modern, with chrome and zinc fixtures, impeccably clean floors, and the hum of advanced machinery. "Golly," she says under her breath.
"I know, it's really quite something," Jason says as he heads in past her. "Feel free to look around. Um, a lot of stuff in here is still in the prototype stage, but I'm sure a girl like you can appreciate them anyway."
"But don't take too long," Michael adds, not straying too far from the door. "We're on the clock."
"Right," Sue confirms, but it's hard for her not to act like a kid in a candy shop. She's heard about plenty of the things Stark had made, either through the news or rumour, and now that she has a first hand view of the sorts of business he gets up to she can barely fathom what he's made that hasn't filtered into the public eye. She passes what looks like a broken down red car. "I remember that one," she muses, thinking about the footage from the Stark Expo back in '43.
Continuing through the rows and rows of work tables, she sees a mix of items that range from blueprints ("microwave storage disc", "electronic vascular pump") to scale models ("one-man flight suit", "aerial aircraft carrier") to proper prototypes ("photonic amplifier", "blitzkrieg button 2.0"). Another item Sue can't help but pick up and look more closely. "Is this just a normal typewriter?"
Jason's voice comes from a distant storage closet. "Not quite!" He appears pulling a dolly with something large underneath a sheet on it. "That's something Stark and Carter picked up a year or so ago."
Sue nods. Now that she's got a better look, she can see the difference. "Long-range communicator?" she asks.
Jason's impressed. "Exactly. How did you figure that out?"
"Well, there's parts in here that I've seen inside a radio. After that it's easy to guess the rest. I reckon it sends out a wave burst unique to each key, probably morse - I mean, it could be any code as long as the other end uses the same one, but why make a new alphabet when morse is right there? Anyway, it sends the pulses, and then anything it receives gets translated by these circuits here. It hits the keys it's told to, and the message from the other sender is typed right onto the paper."
Jason looks at her with the moon in his eyes. "That's exactly how it works."
"Right. I just can't find where the transceiver - oh, here it is!" She presses one of the keys and an antenna unfurls from the top of the typewriter.
"I thought you were just a mathematics genius," Jason says with a smile.
Sue blushes. "Well, I dabble in engineering. It kind of goes with the territory."
Michael cracks the door to the outside back open. Ever since they'd left Stark's house he'd had this terrible feeling that they were being watched. Call it a hunch or a buzzing in his ear, but paranoia has kept him and his people alive during the war and he's not about to let someone (or something) get the jump on them now. "Wilkes," he calls out. "The zero matter device?"
"Right," Jason says, and turns back to what he'd brought out of storage. "We honestly didn't think we'd need this again - probably would have harvested it for parts in a few months." The sheet is pulled away to reveal a blocky, cylindrical device. "May I present the Gamma Cannon. It fires a pulse of high-energy photons strong enough to expel zero matter from an individual. In theory we can refit it to expand the range and frequency, ideally closing the rift without getting too close. Better than our last plan."
"What was that?" Michael asks.
"Tossing an explosive into it from a flying car before it became a black hole."
Sue grimaces. "Yes, I can imagine that wouldn't be as feasible when surrounded by Nazi holdovers." She reaches out to touch it, then draws her hand back at the last moment. "Gamma…this fires radiation?"
Jason nods. "But it's perfectly safe. At least, it was when it took the zero matter out of Frost and myself."
Sue thinks that over. Perfectly safe…because the zero matter was there to take the hit for them. If a normal person were to be exposed to such a weapon, the results could savage them. It would be incredible, certainly…but savage.
Jason breaks her out of her thoughts by handing her a sheaf of papers. "Here's the schematics. You can calculate what we need, and I'll implement the adjustments with what we've got here."
Sue nods. "Whatever you say, boss."
"Samberley, you there?" comes Michael's voice over the radio.
Samberley sighs and picks up his receiver. "Roger that, Mr. Carter. You're coming through loud and clear."
"We should probably stick to 'copy that' if Roger's in on the mission. It's less confusing."
"Ro- copy that, Mr. Carter. How can I help?"
"Just a status report is all."
Samberley nods, accepting his current lot as a glorified receptionist. "Aubrey and Sousa should be arriving in Griffith Park shortly, and Rose and Jarvis the same with the Manfredi household. Your sister has picked up Miss Martinelli, but apparently she and Stark ran into some trouble down there."
There's a moment of tense silence. "What manner of trouble?" Michael finally asks.
"Apparently it was a woman with abilities. She made Stark and some other people dizzy."
"Shit. Try to get in contact with the others. They might have company soon. Over and out."
"Over and…right. Yes, of course, I'll get that all taken care of." But he still took a moment to look out the window. No villains out there, just a bunch of buzzing bees.
Would it kill him to get to take part in some of the action?