Lincoln National Forest, New Mexico, 4 September 1947
Howard breaks the silence, "Does anyone want to say something?"
The raiding party had grabbed whatever they could and retreated back to the firewatch tower. Now among the pines, they'd dug a grave and buried Dottie Underwood's blanket-shrouded body in it. A sombre end to a hard fight.
And what is there to say? No one truly knew her. Was there any family to miss her? Weep for her?
"For everything she's done, I hope she finds peace," Peggy says after a long moment.
"She deserved better," Emily says bitterly. "Just never got the chance for it."
Peggy glances over at the other woman. Her hands are stuffed in her trousers pockets, jaw clenched, and even with her eyes covered by sunglasses, Emily is clearly struggling against her tears. Or at least she thinks so.
It's hard to weep for someone so lost and doomed as Dottie. There's pain and sorrow and regret. They might have won the day, but the taste is bittersweet.
"She never had a chance to begin with," Peggy says.
Dottie Underwood saved the world and all she got was a lonely, unmarked grave that no one will ever visit.
As they make their way back to the watchtower, Peggy and Michael fall in with each other. Matching their strides like they used to.
Like they used to. Things had changed so much that it's still hard to see how they used to be so close. And yet, they seem to have reached…something.
"I guess you'll be leaving soon?" she asks.
He nods, "Can't say it's safe for us to stay here much longer."
"Where will you go?"
"Wherever the fight takes us."
Peggy rolls her eyes. "So cagey! It's not like I'm reporting to anyone now. Is there a way I can contact you? Or is it some sort of official secret thing you're still bound to?"
Michael looks at her, uncertain about what to say. Surprised that she would desire contact at all.
"...no," he finally replies, trying to soothe any hurt feelings. Things had been going decently well between them. "No, absolutely not. Do you have anything to write with?"
She fishes a small notepad and golf pencil from her pockets.
He scribbles out the address and hands the notepad back. "We're in Tangiers now. It's a safe enough city, but you can never be too discreet."
"'Discreet'?" The address was for a chemist's shop in the medina. And then he remembers that Peggy is well aware of his first term at Oxford. "I suppose you fancy yourself a hashishin now?"
Michael can't help the creeping feeling of embarrassment, and mutters, "I don't see anything wrong with mixing some hashish with tobacco in the morning and honestly, you are starting to sound like Mother."
Peggy playfully punches him in the arm, grinning like a schoolgirl. "You ass!" Then she adds more seriously, "But write to me. Please. I need to hear from you. At least to figure out how we move forward."
He nods. "I've been a stranger for far too long, haven't I?"
"So does Moscow have its proof?"
Emily found Ivan in the watchtower switching off a radio. He had helped with digging Dottie's grave and still had the dirt stains on his shirt and trousers
He looks at her. There's enough shade that Emily can take off her sunglasses, and her eyes seem as green as moss. Yet, there is something sharp and flinty behind them. The stoney mask is back on, if only for herself. But it's best to keep a respectful distance, (even if the lookout cabin couldn't provide the space) and keep the fire finder table between them.
Looking away he says, "They will only get what they ask for. Nothing more, and nothing less."
"And your men?"
"I'll show the grave, that will be enough."
Emily lets out a breath, her throat feeling thick, and rubs her eyes. The mask falls away as quickly as she puts it on. She's too tired to keep it on. "I'm sorry. I'm just being angry. I'm not mad at you. It's just…we were so close to the finish line, you know." She's trying not to cry, especially in front of Ivan - it's not pretty when she cries. Rather ugly, really.
"Well, that is good to know," he replies. He seems to try to say it in jest, yet all she can muster is a weak smile. Ivan steps around the fire finder, adding. "It is frustrating to feel that nothing you do matters. That all of your effort is useless and that this war we are still fighting is a losing one. But I believe that the very fact that you tried matters. We make mistakes. We fall. We fail. We grieve and weep as we must. Then we pick ourselves up, learn our lessons, and move forward. And try again. Even if you never see its fruits."
They're words that could have come from Edith. Words that Emily wants to hold onto. Words she really wants to put her faith in. Maybe he was just trying to placate her, or perhaps he was a secret optimist. The truth is still there: she gave Dottie hope and then ripped it away. "Maybe if I tell myself that enough, I'll believe it."
"I hope you do. No one can bear undeclared grief, Emily." He reaches out and very gently grips her shoulder - the way an old comrade would - and is struck dumb.
"So I guess you guys will be pushing off soon?" Daniel asks. They're standing by the cars next to the watchtower.
Roger shrugs, "Of course. We have to catch up with the rest of the gang, you know."
"Yeah."
"Go to our private island in the Caribbean that pirates used to hide their treasure. It's where we keep that train load of gold bullion we stole from HYDRA."
"You can't be serious."
"There's even a volcano!"
"Would you knock it off?" Daniel says. Smiling despite himself.
"A volcano you say? Sounds fun!" Howard replies as he walks up to them.
Roger turns his attention to the other man, quipping, "Don't you have a private island? I thought you were a mad scientist."
"Working on it. My next big purchase."
"Howard Stark, living the American Dream," Daniel mutters.
He looks over his shoulder and spots Peggy and Michael walking along, deep in conversation. They seem to have buried the hatchet - or are starting to. There's not as much tension as there had been when they first saw each other. Daniel should be happy for them. He's trying to be. He never liked fighting with his own sisters, and he can't imagine the pain of the sort of separation the Carters have endured for years.
Yet, Daniel just can't shake off the shadow over it. Dottie Underwood wasn't the only person who had to be buried because of this whole HYDRA plot. What about Jack Thompson? He feels guilty for how quickly Jack has slipped his mind. So much has been going on, there wasn't any room to think about him. Jack wasn't a good or great man - flawed to his very core - but he tried. He at least wanted to do some good. Now he'll never have the chance. He's moldering away in the Thompson family plot (or mausoleum, the family's still wealthy). He and Underwood were cut down early. Underwood's death has some finality to it, at least. Some justice. Thompson's killer, on the other hand, is standing no more than a hundred yards from Daniel, talking to Peggy.
"I say, where is Emily?" Roger says, bringing Daniel out of his reverie.
"And that Russian, too?" Stark adds, also turning to look down the road.
Roger had noticed that Emily and Ivan had snuck off a couple of times, now. And there was that whole tête-à-tête he'd walked in on back at the mansion. Curious.
"I'm here." He looks up to see her climbing down the stairs of the watchtower. Fast as the wind, silent like a cat, dear Emily. "Were you lot gossiping?"
"Oh, Em, do you really have such a low opinion of us?"
"Aubrey, you gossip as easily as you breathe."
He puts an arm around her shoulder once she reaches the floor. "How are you holding up, sweetheart?"
She shrugs, "I'll be alright. Eventually." Not the most assuring answer, but it's something.
"And you?" Roger gestures up to Ivan, remaining on the watchtower stares.
"Not relevant to you."
"Fair enough." Oh, that ever mysterious Russian.
Michael and Peggy amble over, still talking.
"- I heard from Grandmère that Matthew's planning to go to British Honduras for a dig in January," Peggy says.
"Good for him!" replies Michael. Then he sighs, "Wouldn't mind swapping some dig stories with him. Christ, he's old enough to drink."
"I know," Peggy says. Time flies relentlessly. "But we can make it right. I hope."
"We'll see each other again. All of us. And it'll be alright. I promise."
They hug, finally. It doesn't fix the past. But perhaps it signals a better future.
Howard stretches out in the back of Packard, "Once we get back, I think we need a vacation. I heard Tahiti is quite the sight. Magical, even. Wonder if Angie might be interested."
"Perhaps." Sousa replies, a little incredulous before he muses, "It's funny how you brought up Tahiti. My grandfather was a whaler - it's how he got from the Azores to New Bedford - and he used to tell us stories of the voyages he went on. They would round Cape Horn and enter the Pacific, and go to places like Tahiti, Hawaii, Selkirk, the Juan Fernánez Islands."
"Sounds like Melville," Peggy says.
"Yeah. I read Moby Dick in school, but I can say that grandpa's stories were better," Sousa replies. They crest a hill and can now see the green valley of Las Cruces and the Rio Grande in front of them. "Anyway, I was thinking about how he'd talk about the ocean. He had a lot of respect for it. It's size and power. How the ocean could swallow ships whole. It puts a lot of things into perspective."
"How so?" Peggy asks.
"Lets you know that man's not as big as we like to think we are."
She nods in agreement. The world - the universe - seems to get bigger and stranger with every passing day. Every answer prompts more questions, and their ocean seems to grow deeper and darker.
"Does it scare you? The Deep Ones? Zero Matter? All of this?"
Daniel contemplates the question for a moment. "I mean, you have to be. It's only natural. I guess the problem is, well…we're human. We're used to being top dog, right? It's a shock to the system. But after a while, you just have to deal with it."
"Good," Peggy says. Her mind's been set alight. "And you Howard?
"Hah! I've been scared shitless for the past while, but I've gotta admit, my curiosity is winning out. I have to know what's out there," Howard replies.
Peggy cracks a big smile. She has the seed of an idea and she's got receptive ears.
"Good." It's time to take the plunge. "This is just an idea. Barely one really. But there's an opportunity for us to really get back in the game. A way for us to fill a necessary role that no one else will be able to do."
"You mean, rebuilding the SSR?" Daniel asks.
"I mean, the SSR might be all but dissolved, but I think these last few days have demonstrated the importance of an organization that can deal with these kinds of…situations. Something not directly beholden to world governments, but working alongside them. Use their resources to protect people from threats they didn't think possible. What's more, hearing about Michael and the Invaders' feats gave me an idea. Imagine the ground we could cover if we brought together a team like theirs. Take a group of remarkable people, and make them into something more…"