Chapter 6 - Stevie

January 9, 2014, 10 p.m.

Maggie always gave Stevie a hard time when she came back from an overnight mission, and tonight was no exception. As soon as Stevie put her down in the crib, she pulled herself up and wailed, little face screwed up into such an expression of sorrow that Stevie couldn't help picking her up again. Clint had advised her to "sleep train" Maggie. Just wait fifteen, twenty minutes, he'd said. She'll cry herself out and be fine. But Stevie couldn't stand to hear her daughter cry, so she walked back and forth in the small nursery room, humming old, half-remembered songs.

She had picked up Maggie after storming out of Fury's office – with a quick stop for a shower and change of clothes. The seawater had left crusts of salt in her hair and uniform. And I probably smell like a fishwife.

She took Maggie out to breakfast at their favorite coffee house, and tried to enjoy being with her daughter. But her instincts were screaming at her. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Fury had threatened her. He had shown her that...beast...in the hangar. Why? Why was he stealing information about it? He was the Director of SHIELD, why was he sneaking around? What could be frightening him, of all people?

And what should I do about it?

There was no question – allowing Insight to happen would be a huge mistake. But who could she tell? Who could she go to for advice? She remembered Natasha's smirk in the light of the computer screens.

She already knows.

Clint and Banner weren't skilled in this particular area. Tony? Maybe. Although Fury had mentioned his contribution to the carriers. Maybe he'd thought it was a good idea. Stevie had shook herself.

If you can't trust Tony, you can't trust anyone. But Tony was...impetuous. His help might cause more problems than it would solve.

Finally, Stevie had gone to see Peggy.

They had gone to the trouble of making her room homey – lace curtains in the window, family photos on a mahogany nightstand. Stevie was grateful for that. She couldn't bear to think of Peggy, her Peggy, stuffed in some cement-walled institution that smelled like industrial cleaners. As Peggy dozed, Stevie looked at her photos. There was young Peggy in her wedding dress, spectacular even in monochrome, standing next to a tall, dark-haired man leaning on a cane. Peggy and the husband proceeded into color photographs, stood beside Howard Stark at his own wedding, grew gray and wrinkled, and then, finally, Peggy was alone. In Stevie's arms, Maggie squirmed, wanting to be let down to explore.

"Shush-shush-shush," Stevie said, bouncing the girl in her arms, even though she was already too big to be put off by such old tricks.

Stevie stroked her old friend's hair. It had gone silver, but was still thick and soft. Whoever took care of her had styled it for her into gentle waves. Peggy had kept her hair impeccable all through the war. It would have been terrible if something as commonplace as old age could rob her of her incredible poise.

Peggy's eyelids fluttered.

"Stevie," she breathed. Her voice, gentled by age, was still beautiful.

Stevie smiled. "Hi Peg."

Would she remember this time?

"You're alive." Peggy's voice thrummed with emotion. The sorrow of years. Like a knife in Stevie's heart, every time. "You came back."

"Of course I did," she said, her own sorrow hidden behind her practiced smile. "I promised we'd get an apartment together didn't I? They're putting my bed next to yours. Hope you don't mind roommates."

Peggy chuckled. "As long as you don't snore." Then she noticed Maggie in Stevie's arms. Her eyes widened. "Stevie...Is that…?"

"Her name is Margaret."

Peggy's eye's filled with tears. "Oh, Stevie. I'm so sorry."

Stevie shook her head. "Here." She sat down on the edge of the bed and gently set the stocky toddler in her namesake's arms, helping Peggy hold her.

"My, she's a big one, isn't she? She looks just like him." The girl, surprisingly, stopped squirming and reached out to touch Peggy's silvery hair. "She's beautiful, Stevie. What a life she'll have. I only wish I could have shared it with you both."

"I just hope she's half as brave as you." Stevie gently untangled her daughter's fingers from Peggy's hair.

"What is it?" Peggy asked.

Still reading me like a book.

"For as long as I could remember, I just wanted to do what's right." Stevie bounced Maggie on her knee, soothing the child to cover her own nervousness. "But something's happened, and I'm not sure what that is anymore. I thought I could throw myself back into it. Follow orders. But it isn't the same."

Peggy arched an eyebrow. "Since when did you follow orders?"

She took Stevie's hand in hers.

"Look," she said. "You saved the world. We rather...mucked it up, I'm afraid."

Stevie snorted. "You didn't. Knowing you founded SHIELD was half the reason I stayed. I could have run away to be an art teacher."

"The world has changed." Peggy's grip on her hand was surprisingly firm, her gaze piercing. "None of us can go back. All we can do is take the world as it is...and do our best..."

Like the sun going behind a cloud, her fire went out. As if that moment had exhausted her, Peggy drifted off to sleep, still holding Stevie's hand.

The world as it is. She thought. Does that mean I should accept Fury's project? The surveillance state?

Stevie gently kissed Peggy's forehead before she left.

Maggie had fallen asleep in the car after lunch, and Stevie found herself driving in circles.

When she first moved to DC, she had loved the sight of the monuments. They gave her a sense of timelessness, of history - a place where past and present met - but today, they didn't soothe her as they had before. She considered turning right back around and going to New York, to Tony. But that felt like running away. She passed the Smithsonian.

Why the hell not? She didn't have anywhere else to be.

By the time she found a free meter, Maggie was waking up. Stevie left the stroller in the car and held her daughter in her arms. At first it had been awkward, when the museum people approached her and said they were planning an exhibit about her life. They had even found some of her old journals, with her sketches. They wanted to use them in the exhibit. She'd thought they were lost. She had been tempted to refuse, but asked only that they leave out the most...personal ...sections. They had agreed. They even returned the originals. She had stuffed them on a shelf in the apartment between Lincoln and His Generals and The Time Machine.

She had made an appearance at the opening, but never since. If anyone recognized her now, she thought she'd die of embarrassment. Stevie pulled up the hood of her jacket and tried to lose herself in the flow of tourists as a serious, newscaster-like voice recited her life story from artfully concealed speakers. It hurt, seeing the pictures of the commandos. Their old uniforms, and hers, on mannequins. The old filmstrips she had made. The picture of herself sitting on top of the tiger tank at La Gleize, hand up in the V for Victory. Maggie began to fuss, probably hungry after her nap. After checking her diaper, Stevie put her down so she could toddle around.

Why did I come here?

She looked up, and there he was, larger than life. Glaring out of the photo sullenly. Bucky. The voiceover continued heartlessly, triggered by her proximity.

"Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Stephanie Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country."

On a screen next to Bucky's photo, black and white clips played on loop. She and Bucky leaned over a table, pointing at maps. They stood side by side. She said something, and he laughed. There was no sound. She couldn't remember him laughing very much, after Kreichsburg. What had she said? She couldn't remember.

Buck. She thought. What would you do, if you were here? What would you say? She could picture him, smoking of course, collar turned up.

Fuck Fury, said the Bucky in her head, with his typical bluntness. And fuck SHIELD. You know what you have to do. When have you ever been afraid to call a man out?

Stevie smiled to herself. And he'd go with me. To the bitter end.

Maggie was swaying beside her, taking little waddling steps. Stevie swept the girl up and held her in her arms, lips pressed to her plump cheek.

Thank you, Bucky.

Maggie finally fell asleep on Stevie's shoulder, head heavy, warm breath tickling Stevie's neck. She hummed and paced for a while longer, then laid Maggie down as carefully as if she were a live explosive. The girl sighed and rolled over in her crib, but stayed asleep. Stevie gave her own sigh of relief. Maggie's little face was so utterly relaxed.

For her the world is safe. Stevie thought. And I'll keep it that way.

She had decided. She would call Fury, tell him where to stick his consultant job. She would go back to New York and stay at Stark Tower. Then she would contact the press, the government, whoever would listen. She had no illusions of mass outcry – whistleblowers weren't universally well received in this modern age – but at least the people would know. They deserved that. They deserved to choose what kind of world they wanted to live in. The exhibit had called her "a symbol to the world". That had to mean something. At least, she would be difficult to ignore.

Stevie shut the door softly behind her and stretched her arms above her head until her shoulders popped. She was in the mood for a bedtime snack. Would Maggie wake up if she made popcorn?

She was walking to her kitchen, when, in the darkened living room, someone turned on her record player.

Peggy! I love and miss you so! :-(

But she's still a source of inspiration for our Stevie. Maybe, when I write that Falsworth spinoff series, I'll make Peggy a recurring character...