Chapter 24 – Stevie

January 11, 2014 – 3p.m.

It took Stevie longer than she'd imagined to get the color bleached out of her hair and dye it something approaching its original color. Plenty of time to think.

Natasha had left quickly after they'd finalized their plan, saying she needed to lay down some tracks. Stevie had learned from experience that the more she made of a departure, the more upset Maggie would become, so she kissed her daughter's head, took one last breath of her scent, and smiled as she said goodbye.

"See you soon," Natasha had replied.

Maggie had waved over Natasha's shoulder. Natasha had always been good with kids. Maggie had always loved her.

She'll be okay, Stevie thought, as the stylist blow-dried her hair. She felt a stab of guilt – she was using her own daughter as bait. Maybe she could have found another way…

No. There was no time to second-guess her decision. She had to focus. Please, Stevie prayed. Please, let Maggie be safe. Please, let this work.

"Alright. We're done!" The stylist said. She had a slight French accent, which made Stevie feel very nostalgic. "Let's take a look."

The woman spun Stevie to face the mirror. She remembered another mirror, yellow lamplight, seventy years ago, after a suicidal rescue. And now, here she sat, planning to rescue the same man.

Everything that's happened, everything I've gone through – and here I am, back in the same place.

Stevie realized that the stylist was looking over her shoulder anxiously, waiting to see if she liked the color.

"It looks great," she said. "Thanks."

Luckily, Natasha had given her enough money to leave a generous tip.

Stevie was fumbling her change back into her pocket when she saw the pay phone. She hadn't noticed it on the way into the salon. Pay phones used to be everywhere, before her seventy-year nap, but then people couldn't carry phones around in their pockets. Seeing one like this, well, it almost felt like a sign.

Is Hydra tapping Tony's phone? Is that possible? Stevie wasn't sure the kind of technology that would be required to do that. She did know, thanks to Wanda, that when the carrier under the Triskelion went up, one beneath the Hudson River would go up at the same time. The drones on the carrier would target Tony, Pepper, and thousands of other people in the city.

Worth the risk.

After a moment's thought, Stevie dialed Pepper's cell phone number, reasoning that she was less likely to be tapped and more likely to pick up.

"Hello?" Pepper's voice seemed to come out of another dimension, a past where Stevie's life had still made sense.

"Hey, Pepper."

"Stevie? Wait a second..." Stevie heard a door close in the background and when she spoke again, Pepper's voice was hushed. "Are you alright? Where are you? SHIELD put out a call for your arrest!"

"What?" Stevie said. She'd known Pierce was looking for her, but making it official took guts. What kind of excuse did he use? Surely not everyone in SHIELD could have bought it, whatever it was. My reputation has to count for something.

But that wasn't important.

"Actually, that doesn't matter," Stevie continued. "I don't have much time. Tell Tony to mobilize the Iron Legion. I know this sounds crazy, but he needs to be prepared for a drone strike of massive proportions. Are you in Stark Tower now?"

There was a pause. "No."

"Get there as soon as you can."

"I will," Pepper said. "Stevie...whatever you're doing...please be careful."

Stevie smiled. "I'll do my best."

"So I know you're a master strategist or something," Pietro said, eating a pretzel from a food truck down the street. "But I still don't see why you need this old uniform."

"Don't suppose I could ask you to take it on faith?" Stevie said.

They stood just outside the Smithsonian. A gray cement wall gave them a little cover from the door and the main staircase. The last visitors were coming out the doors, zipping up their coats. The sun had just set, and streetlights were coming on, cold and white. She needed the uniform for the same reason she needed her hair to be blonde. Because she didn't just want to save the world. She wanted to save Bucky.

And for that, he had to remember her.

The security guard hobbled out the door, calling out goodbyes to the departing stragglers. He looked at least eighty years old.

"Alright," Stevie said. "I'm going to introduce myself and ask for the uniform."

Pietro and Wanda didn't really look alike, but they had the same flat, incredulous expression.

"It is mine, after all," Stevie continued.

"Sure, good," Pietro said. "Or how about this."

He blurred. As he flashed past the guard, almost too fast to see, the resulting gust of wind made the elderly man fumble the key.

"Aw, shucks," he said, bending slowly to retrieve it.

Stevie jogged up the stairs in a few long strides.

"Here you are." She handed him the key.

"Oh, thank you miss." He adjusted his thick glasses and smiled up at her. "My goodness, you're tall. Has anyone ever told you - you look a bit like Captain America?"

"All the time," Stevie said.

There was another gust as Pietro flashed back out of the museum, and Stevie had to steady the guard to keep him from stumbling.

"Don't know what's going on with this weather," he grumbled. "Well, have a good night, miss."

"You, too."

Around the corner, Pietro was waiting with her uniform, stuffed into a gift-store tote bag embroidered with birds.

"Did you pay for that?" Stevie asked.

"A teremburádat!" Pietro stuffed the bag into her hands. "I can't get a break between the two of you!"

Sterling Cleaners was closed by the time they arrived, the white trucks lined up neatly behind the low building.

"What now?" Pietro asked.

Wanda rolled her eyes and she sipped her gas station coffee.

"My shield," Stevie answered. "I left it here for safe keeping."

"At a laundry?"

"I didn't have a lot of options at the time."

She left the twins at the corner. As she approached the dumpster where she'd hidden her shield, a light flared, a shadow loomed in the doorway. She started, before she recognized the face.

"Rovshan," she said.

He flicked his lighter closed, stuffed it in his pocket and took a deep drag on his cigarette.

"Figured you'd be back eventually," he said. "How're the hands?"

"Much better."

Stevie hadn't actually thought about them for a long time. She flexed them experimentally. Rovshan took one of her hands and ran his thumb over the skin of her palm. He raised his eyebrows.

"Huh. I guess you really are a superhero."

He reached behind the dumpster and pulled out her shield, wrapped in old sheets. Stevie unwrapped it, ran her hand over the star. It felt good to hold it again.

"Thank you," she said. He nodded silently, blew smoke into the air. She should just leave.

"Why did you stay?" She asked.

The man shrugged.

"I used to be a doctor," he said. "A mob doctor, but still. And I have the truck. Maybe I'll be able to help."

"It's happening tomorrow," Stevie said.

Rovshan nodded, took another drag.

"I figured," he said. "Or you wouldn't have come back for it."

"So, speaking of your truck..."

Rovshan gave her a half smile, raising his eyebrow.

"Can you give me another ride?"

He flicked the butt of his cigarette into the pavement, where it sparked and guttered.

"Thought you'd never ask."

So...I was checking some continuity details, and I realized the format of my chapter headings changes ever so slightly throughout this story. I'm too lazy to go back and change them so they all match, so sorry everyone. You and I will just have to live with it.

Preparations are in the works, and we see Rovshan again - who got a surprising amount of love from random readers, which would befuddle him, I'm sure.

Any similarity of museum guards to Stan Lee is entirely intentional.