A Shared History

January 14, 2017:

Slade Wilson sees a young Peggy Carter on the street and, believing her to be a fake, decides to fix the mistake.

Peggy's Apartment

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: None.


Fade In…

Proving that Slade Wilson is Deathstroke is exceedingly difficult. /Knowing/ they are one in the same, that's somewhat easier, it's something of an open secret among a certain set of heroes and governmental officials with security clearence somewhere north of the President's. Proving it. That's really the hard part. It's how, despite racking up a record breaking body count, he's still allowed to do things like… walk down a perfectly pleasent street in upper Manhattan on a Sunday evening free of harassement. Well. Usually. Luckily, this evening is proving to be spectacularly usual.

With a cup of steaming tea in one hand, Slade stands near the corner, waiting patiently on lights to change as taxi's and bike messengers and traffic in general whiz about the city of New York with a ferver unique to it's tempo. He's a large man, well over six feet, broad shouldered, his build heavy with muscle but an athlete's grace. His hair is white, as is the carefully trimmed goatee on his chin, but his features are surprisingly youthful for the platinum locks, making his age hard to place. He's wearing very New York Upper Crust clothing, gray slacks, black cable knit sweater, a long camel hair coat, black leather gloves, the whole bit. The only part of the outfit that seems somewhat out of place are the boots on his feet, which are stylish, but seem a bit sturdy for ordinary walk around shoes, they're like… dress combat boots, if such a thing exsisted. And if someone were familiar enouch with boots to know.

—-

It's a good thing too, because the boots protect his toes from splatter as the cup of steaming tea slips from his gloved hand, his eye narrowing slightly, "Can't be…" he says to no one at all as he focuses in on a woman's face in the crowd. Then she's gone. His eye narrows further… and his lips slowly part in a grin. Someone is fucking with him. Good. He was starting to get bored.

—-

Down that same street is Peggy Carter. Despite the fact that she is supposedly incredibly well known in espionage circles and especially in SHIELD, she is unknown to the general citizen. She is also something of an anomaly, as everyone who would know her assumes she is a retired 90-something year old. Some assume she is a daughter, a clone, a granddaughter. Others don't ask questions. However, Peggy Carter walks the streets of Manhattan.

Currently without the pincurls or any sort of vintage wear, she looks like a normal businesswoman, so often found in Upper Manhattan. Usually, these days, she's had an agreement with Captain Rogers for the past few days to leave the Triskelion together, however today she has a few more files to search through and has decided to go through them in the privacy of her own home. Looking even more like a typical modern New Yorker, she pulls out her phone to send a text to Steve now that she's already away from the building to let him know plans have changed.

The presence of Slade in the crowd is either completely unnoticed as she turns a corner toward her apartment building.

—-

Slade ignores the spilled tea and begins to move through the crowd the instant the light turns green. The crowd seems to part before him, unconscious realizations of a predator in their midst causing people to step aside without thinking about it, making his forward progress shockingly unimpeded. He rolls a shoulder and bunches the muscles of his forearms beneath the heavy sleeves of his coat, loosening them, though it's hardly necessary. He pauses outside the apartment building, glancing at it, and then continues on his way, past it's front door and down the street. One moment he's there, amid the press of people, the next he's gone.

In the alley beside the building he puts pretence aside. He begins scaling the outside of the apartment building with leaps and bounds from one nigh impossible toe hold to another as if they were the steps of a staircase. She went in here. She must be in here. He taps his coat lapel, "Peabody." he says softly, "I need an apartment number for a woman, white, brunette, late twenties, early thirties, may go by Carter, Margaret 'Peggy'. Begin search at my current location." «Sure thing boss.»

—-

As Slade passes by the front door, they may see Peggy inside waiting for the elevator, calm and collected, most likely unaware of his vested interest in her. The elevator dings and she steps inside.

Peabody will most likely take awhile with his results. There's not quite a lot of information on Carter, Margaret at his current location. However, eventually, he will find a mailing address, a penthouse apartment.

Should Slade make it to the roof and attempt to spy inside, he will see Peggy sitting at her kitchen table, leafing through a file. Her bag has been slung over a couch, jacket hung on a stand nearby the door. She looks very involved in her work.

—-

Make it to the roof? If? "I don't know who this woman is, but she's not Peggy Carter." he says softly, "These windows are polycarbonate, and I can feel the safety film over them." his bare fingertips barely brushing over the very edge of the glass with the preasure of a butterfly's wing. "Anchor points in the frame. Either for further strength or there is added steel sheeting in the walls." He took the barest glimpse of her in the kitchen before he began scouting out the rest of the apartment, expertly avoiding anything even remotely recording device. "She's not who she's pretending to be." he speaks his thoughts aloud, "Security is good, but not good enough. Not for her." there's a long pause as he dangles from the buildings roof by his fingertips, connecting a small device to a well hidden wire running in the shadow under the roof's lip. He secures it with clips and waits until the light on the device goes green before pulling himself back up. «Okay… you know you're talking to yourself but left the mic open, right?» says the voice in his ear. «Who the hell is this lady anyway?»

Slade enters the building on the floor beneath the penthouse, slipping into someone's apartment through their window and passing through it out into the hall without being discovered. He pauses at the question, then continues to the elevator, "She's a nintey year old relic." Slade responds, «Boss. You're a seventy-something year old relic.» "Yeah. But I'm not also living in a retirement home in Brooklyn." he counters as he punches the button for the penthouse, "Going Com-Silent. Only break it if something looks wonky." and he cuts the line with a press of his collar.

And then there came a tapping, as if someone gently wrapping, wrapping at Peggy's chamber door. Or uh… her penthouse apartment door. Whatever.

—-

As Slade looks at the security of her windows, Peggy remains at the table. However, by the time he raps at the door the answer is rather quick. There is a pause as it seems she looks through the peephole to see Slade standing there. Even if she is not The Peggy Carter, she is sensible enough to check the door before opening it. Then, he must wait through the requisite sound of locks being turned and chains being taken off before the door opens and Slade finds himself looking right at a Walther PPK pointed to his chest.

Agent Peggy Carter's expression is hardened as she studies him without recognition. In that prim London Accent, her voice holds a no-nonsense tone, "I am not sure who you are, but I don't appreciate being followed from the street or spied upon from windows. I suggest you either state your business or get the hell out of my building."

—-

Slade doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the pistol nor the less then stellar greeting. "My name is Slade Wilson." he says evenly, his voice is a pleasent rolling baritone though his expression darkens, "And pointing that thing at me is all the proof I needed." his hand snakes out in a blur, swatting at the weapon even as he turns the other direction and steps well inside the doorway, the single smooth motion happening all at once with a dancer's grace.

—-

The weapon goes scattering onto the hardwood floor and spins out away from the pair. There is no look of surprise when he springs into action. She is the one that came to the door expecting a fight. Instead as he steps into the doorway, she doesn't hesitate to kick at the door in an attempt to try and slam it into him and push it backward.

Then, with that momentum, she backs up, stooping for the gun. Her movement is only slightly slower than usual. Her injuries from the New Year's Day auction have healed significantly, but there's still a stiffness to her muscles. The quickness of Slade's movement reminds her of both Steve and Barnes' abilities. Not exactly the best sign.

—-

It's like kicking the door into a truck, the door just stops cold, his hand held up, catching the frame mid swing. He steps inside and closes it behind him with a purposeful motion, letting it click shut. He then rolls his shoulders, letting the coat fall from them and folding it with an almost lazy motions, tossing it over the back of a near by chair. There's a .45 1911 holstered there against his ribs in snug rig, professional job, and a large combat knife snugged up against his spine at his back, both weapons are old fashioned in this day and age which likely isn't exactly comforting. "I knew Captain Carter." he says, his tone still rolling and almost conversational, though his single eye remains locked on her with intensity, "And you little girl, are no Captain Carter." and then he's moving.

It /is/ like Steve. He's bigger then Steve, taller, a little thicker, but he moves the same way. To fast to catch up, somehow perfectly in balance, graceful and powerful all at once. It's creepily like Steve. His hand snakes out at her, a calloused flattened palm meant to hit her like a hammer blow even as his legs twist and spin, dropping him low in a sweep meant to kick the gun further away.

—-

Not good. The more that Peggy fights against Slade, the more her techniques update. She's sparred with Steve - she helped teach him some of the moves he still uses. There's a sinister sound in the door clicking shut before her. "Agent Carter," Peggy tells Slade. Her eyes quickly move to the gun and the knife - certainly not comforting. "If you knew me you would know I am an Agent."

Between the gun and the blow, Peggy relinquishes the gun. As the palm snakes out, the woman tosses herself backward, allowing the gun to fly across the apartment, now too far out of reach. While Slade may move with a dancer's grace, her own movement is that of a brawler. She doesn't fight against the gravity as her back hits against her bookshelf. Instead, she rolls and with a grunt of strength shoves it forward, attempting to knock it and its books over onto Slade.

—-

Slade watches the way she moves, and there's a feeling of being peeled that comes from being under the gaze. As if he were judgeing everything all the time, tearing it down and working through it's peices. He's cold. That part isn't like Steve at all. Steve is calm, controlled, but never cold. This man is all three. The book case coming down causes him to raise a hand and catch it at it's lip, which causes it to stop mid fall before dumping it's contents onto the floor in a heap. He then drops it down on it's own pile of debris and walks around it as if it were a nuciance.

"Margaret Elizabeth Carter, Captain, British Royal Marines, Service Number 101-679-42, Military Intelligence, Division 6, late of the U.N. backed Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division." his lips twist in distaste as he speaks the words. He says all of this by rote, reciting it as if it were fact, like the way a child says ABC's. "I have never had many friends, I don't forget them." the knife appears in his hand, rolling through his fingers like it were a lover and setteling in his fist in a reverse grip. "You're going to tell me who you are." this also has that statement of fact tone to it, "You're going to tell me who you're working for." he moves forward suddenly, the non-knife hand snapping out in a quick jab followed by a rotating heel kick that would probably take her head off if she let it land, "And then I'm going to decide whether or not I kill you."

—-

Though unnerved, Peggy does not wilt under Slade's gaze. She spent years having every movement and decision of hers put under a microscope. Any slip would have put her out of a job and out of service. While she that has not been quite the case in this time period, the expectation still remains. Usually, though, that happens in the work place and not an intruder in her home.

What unsettles her more is this stranger rattling off her service record - service number and all. Her eyes narrow as she watches him grab the bookcase in one hand and then let it drop to the floor. It's clear this person has information on her, a man who claims himself a friend of Peggy Carter. However, that's practically in the same breath as telling him he might kill her. "I'll tell you nothing. I've apparently got quite the record, but I doubt I would stoop to becoming friends with a murderer."

As he moves forward, she's ready. He's so fast, she knows that she'll have to mitigate the blows rather than dodge them completely. As such, she closes the space between them as the jab hits, but by reducing the distance, it doesn't hit quite as hard. It will still leave quite the bruise. In that space, though, she allows the jab toss her to the side, which allows the kick to just miss her.

—-

Slade's lips quirk at the edges, "Becoming friends with-" he grins wider at that and continues the spin, his momentum taking him off of the ground and launching him forward, his attack leading with a knee that's clearly meant to cruch her chest like a vase. There's another thing very much not like Steve. He has all the skill, but his style is infinitely more brutal, more efficient. Every move is meant to maim or kill, there is not taking prisoners in his attacks, nothing soft or forgiving, only hard cruel edges.

"She was instrumental in making me what I am." when his knee misses her by a scant fraction of an inch and instead splinters some of her cabinetry into kindling, he changes direction, dropping low and rolling out away from the counters as if expecting a counter blow from her to come instantly. "To be fair though, I was a murderer long before I met her. Survival demands sacrifice." He plucks a jagged bit of wood from his pant leg and flicks it at her, the two inch long splinter turned into a weapon all it's own. Which frankly just isn't even playing fair.

—-

Instrumental into making this man into who is he? Peggy frowns, not liking the sound of that. But, there's little time to worry about it. Out of the way of the punishing kick that almost certainly would have knocked her out - if not killed her - she feints an attack forward before flinging herself over the couch and into the recessed floor of the living room. It's a very sixties living room feel, but for now she's glad for the barrier between herself and Slade.

As the wood splinter is flung at her, she snatches a couch cushion and brings it up like a shield, letting the wood slow and embed itself in the stuffing and fabric. "You're saying Peggy Carter is the woman who made you into a stalker, an intruder and a more refined killer? I would never have done that. Never. I don't care how the world changed. I will ensure you're put away so that you'll never see the light of day."

This is not a speech done standing still. Instead, she's still moving, this time toward the kitchen. Grabbing knick knacks off the coffee table, she flings them as she moves. It may not hurt him, but it will hopefully slow him down. Never turning her back on him, she snatches her bag off the couch, dumping its contents and grabbing her phone.

—-

Slade follows after her with all the inevitability of a hurricane, "Captain Carter made me a better soldier." he says flatly, "She made me the /best/ soldier." He ignores the odds and ends flung at him, merely moving his head the fraction of an inch or so required to let them sail harmlessly by, or on two occasions, allowing them to bounce off of his chest ineffectually. The phone vanishes from her hand the instant she plucks it up, jerked free cleanly, followed by a KRA-THUNK noise. Imbedded in the wood of a window frame is the knife he was holding, 4 inches of the blade sunk deep into the oak, the phone neatly skewered by it's center.

"You're correct, you wouldn't do that. You're not capable. But she was." he glares down at her, moving so that to exit the kitchen she'll have to get past him, "Whoever gave you her face failed to give you her purpose. They trained you to fight like her, but not. Talk like her, but not. Even act like her… but not. You're all fluff and softness. It's like watching a child play at wa-" and he stops, his eye narrowing as he stares harder at her, his gaze darting around her face, something in his expression calculating even as his words trail off.

—-

Despite the flurry of things being thrown and the phone being immediately taken from her, Peggy does not panic. That's for later. She's fought foes stronger than her before. His coldness, though, his complete unswerving desire to harm her for something he believes that she has done is something that ups her adrenaline and desperation in this fight.

As she backs up, some real fear starting to show on her face along with a sucker's bet. She allows his stalk forward and his speech. Though he flung her phone away, her other hand reaches to the counter. It's not much a stretch, in fact it looks like she's just steadying herself against his advance.

Countering his arguments, her eyes narrow as she refuses to back down. "Captain Rogers is the best soldier. You're a cold copy, a pale comparison: brute strength with no ethic. You're the imposter in this flat. I may not be the Peggy Carter you knew, but I am Agent Peggy Carter."

As soon as he's close enough, in fact just as he's talking about child's play, she takes the metal burner cover of the stove and flings it straight at Slade's temple. Continuing with that momentum, she kicks sideways in an attempt to shove her way past him and punctuates the attack with a hissed, "You ass."

—-

Captain Rogers. God he hates that man. The dual shock of dawning is starting to settel in on him, his eye picking up the minute details about her features and comparing them to his perfect memory of a time nearly fifty years past, and mention of the Captain leave him a fraction off his game, and the burner clocks him just across the side of the head, causing him to stumble to the side, a stumble helped along by the impact of her kick. He growls, catching himself quickly and snapping his head around to glare at her, a drop of blood working it's way down his cheek, "Roger's military career was laughably short, if admitedly impressive. He /was/ the best."

He moves with a burst of speed, moving not after her so much as around her, literally running up the side of her wall and launching himself into a twisting spin as he sails over her head in an animal like leap, clearing more ground then any man should be able to in a single bound. He lands like a ninja, silent and on his toes, his knees bending to take the impact until he appears almost gargoyle like, perched before her door. And he's still staring at her. "You have no surgical scars." he says at last, ignoring the drop of blood slowly meandering it's way down his cheek, "Your eyes," he tilts his head, "the exact same flecks of green. Impressive attention to detail." tilt the other way, "You're to young though. They didn't put any gray in your hair, left out the laugh lines." he seems to consider, "Exceptional work. Who did it? Who sent you?" he sounds less murderous now and frankly more impressed, more curious, "The Russians? Koreans? Seems… a long way to get my attention." it's clearly all about him.

—-

Fast, too fast. It's like attempting to get around Mr. Fantastic. Peggy backs away again once he lands right in front of her and blocking her exit to the door. There's the windows and the fire escape - always an option. In fact, she starts to make her way toward there.

"Self absorbed, too, how unsurprising," is her dry retort. "A rather poor plan to simply create another young Peggy Carter, have her work a job and a flat for months, just on the off chance she may happen upon you in the street without even knowing who you are. And to what end? Your reaction is clearly murderous rampage with no information to be gotten or received. Do you truly think the epitome of someone's master idea that would take enormous amount of time and money was simply to poke a rabid bear and see what he does? If that is what an elder Peggy Carter deems her 'best', then that is a sad state of affairs. "

The metal stove top cover remains in her hand, held slightly behind her in preparation to clock him somewhere should he advance with another attack. "No one did this other than a cockamamie Howard Stark idea."

—-

Slade shrugs, "I lead a shockingly nonsensical life." he states unappologetically, "I mean, realistically speaking we're talking about a world where a man dresses up in spider themed pajamas and swings through the city and no one bats an eye. Or an alien who can bench press islands zips about the stratosphere and people sell t-shirts about it. Honestly, the idea of recreating a Captain Carter with the intent of throwing me off my game isn't that far of a stretch." his smile fades slightly, "Stark." he says flatly.

Well. It would appear /thats/ also a name he recognizes, "The question isn't if it's possible, it's /why/ go to all these lengths? I have no interest in the global scene anymore, I'm neutral, unaffiliated. I don't fight their wars for them, don't meddle in their affairs. I'm not even on a job right now." he stares at her, "So why send you?" again the curiosity, "This is ridiculous. You can't out fight me, you can't out run me, and if you try to make for the fireplace I'll shoot you in the foot. I can literally hear the air hissing through the seal around the trap door." he points at the chair nearest her, "Sit. Talk. I have no interest in killing catspaws. I want your employer."

—-

"Yes, I know the feeling," Peggy replies, tone almost mirroring him. "Goodness, exceedingly self absorbed. In a world of Batmans, Spider-Mans and Captain Americas you believe someone that interested in upsetting you they've gone to this trouble. As you said, you're out of the game, why bother?"

There's a roll of her eyes, "Yes, exactly, why send me? You've just answered your own question. You can shoot me in the foot, you can threaten me, but you'll get nothing else. I am who I say I am." She steadfastly refuses to sit when ordered. He may be able to outfight and outrun her, be he's not about to give her orders. "You want my employer? SHIELD? You're welcome to them. They'll have you in a cell within minutes. I'd gladly do your interrogation."

—-

Slade just stares at her, then he smirks a bit, then grins wider, "You think SHIELD would arrest me?" he asks flatly, clear amusement on his features. He straightens a bit and walks over to his coat, standing from his perched gargoylian possition of only a moment ago. He plucks a cell phone from his coat pocket and then tosses it to her lightly, "There ya go. Call them." he says, moving over to a fallen chair and with his toe kicking it up into the air. He catches it and sets it aright on the floor with a soft thump. He then takes a seat, reverse style, and rests his arms across it's back lazily. "Fair warning though, I don't think that call's gonna go how you think it's gonna go." he's back to being amused again.

—-

Peggy catches the phone one handed, eyeing it. "I'm not contacting SHIELD on an unknown phone," she tells him, eyes narrowing at him. Now she wonders if this is a set up on his part. Play the attacker, attempt to scare her and then have her call from a tapped cell. She's heard the things that Fitz and Simmons can do with access through a line. In the time she's been in the present day, she's clearly picked things up rather quickly.

"You clearly know who I am and what access I may have to SHIELD, for all I know this is a way to gain some form of access." While she has the urge to cross her arms, she does not do that. The last thing she needs is to add an extra step to defending herself.

—-

Slade nods his head at that and motions for her to toss the phone back to him if she's not gonna use it, "Fair enough, though I feel like only moments ago you were acting as if /I/ were the paranoid one. I'll call them, if that will make you feel better. Unless of course you're /not/ who you say you are and SHIELD /isn't/ who you work for. Might put you a bit on the spot."

—-

This time, it's Peggy that smirks. "If you'd like to verify my employment and feel comfortable calling SHIELD, be my guest, Wilson." Slinging the phone back at him with precise aim, she adds - in a tone matching his exactly, "But, I don't think that call's going to go how you think it is."

—-

Slade snatches the phone out of the air and flips it open, instantly beginning to press buttons. With his other hand he reaches up to shuck the .45 that was kept against his ribs, and with his thumb alone he draws the slide back enough to check for brass in the pipe. Upon seeing it he merely flicks off the safety and continues to stare at her as the phone rings. It only rings once, "Alpha epsilon omega omega four seven niner niner seven two." he says into the phone, waiting a tick. "Request agent identification verification to avoid termination." smirk, "Yes. I'll hold."

—-

There is no tensing as Peggy stands there. She knows that SHIELD will identify her. However, this is a strange man who has been violent and unpredictable since she opened the door. Just because her own will vouch for her doesn't mean he'll stop. A plan starts to form in her mind for what she'll do should he not stand down. There's the best place to get hit by a bullet and also a dive through a window. None of those are really the best options, but they will do in a pinch. There's the slightest shift of her weight to her left foot - one that she can use to launch herself backward and to the side in case of emergency.

—-

Slade waits, staring at her. The shift in her weight causes him to sigh and shake his head, waving the barrel of the gun in the direction of her chosen window and offer a dissappointed expression. She's not that sneaky. Or he's just that atuned to reading body language. One or the other. The phone peeks up again and he speaks, "Aleged agent identifies as Margaret Elizabeth Carter, current intel suggests Carter is a 90 year old woman living out her last days in assisted living. Require verification." he listens to something, then cocks his head to the side, obviously slightly surprised. He eyes her, "They want your ID number." he says, holding the phone out so she can speak in it's direction, likely allowing them a voice pattern rec as well as a number match.

—-

With a sigh, Peggy says loudly enough for the phone to hopefully pick up her words. "Verification Number Victor Dog Queen Three Three One, Agent Margaret Carter." The fact that he's gotten this far to get her verification number likely says something as to Slade's own story. He had a code word clearance. Eyes narrow as she watches the man. The surprise there is met with a small amount of pleasure, perhaps to just find out that he can have an emotion other than 'blank slate' and 'angry'. Her arms remain where they are and she keeps her weight on that foot - undeterred by his sigh and shake of his head.

—-

Slade mouths 'thank you' (at least hes polite?) and puts the phone back up to his ear, listening. "LMD verification?" pause, he blinks, "Acknowledged. Asset will be left in play." and then he flicks the phone shut and continues to eye her, "So." he says, letting the word hang there for a minute, "Either, SHIELD is lying to me, which is unlikely, or you are who you say you are." the gun flips around in his hand and slides into it's holster firmly, "Which is going to require some explination."

—-

LMD? Is that their story on what she is? Peggy was never truly clear on it, she just worked and lived as she wished without lying. There's a raised eyebrow as to SHIELD not likely to lie to him. From what she's seen of SHIELD in the modern day, it seems as if that could be a distinct possibility. When the gun is slid back into the holster, the Agent does not relax. The metal grate remains gripped firmly in her hand.

She doesn't answer his demand. Instead, she jerks her chin a bit toward the phone. "You weren't lying before, you worked with SHIELD? And Peggy Carter? When was this?"

—-

Slade tucks the phone away into a pocket and leans once more on the back of the chair. He doesn't appear violent anymore, more… intrigued. He answers her question with a question, "They say you're not an LMD, nor a clone, verify your ID. I /know/ Captain Carter. So, if you pardon me, who the fuck are /you/?" Well. This is helpful.

—-

"Agent. Agent Carter. I'm not a Captain." Peggy tells him, still tense, still watching his movements. Even if he is no longer violent, that doesn't mean that she trusts it. "I am Peggy Carter. I'm a version of her, at least. So, who the hell are you? Some SHIELD Agent gone neutral?"

—-

Slade snorts at that, "That bunch of half-measures? No." he smirks slightly, "I joined the real fight." he seems to consider this for a long moment before nodding as if to himself, "You've got enough clearence to get the basics so I'll save you the data dive when you get back to the Triskelion. I was a soldier," he holds up a hand, "check that, I was the /best/ soldier. I would attempt modesty here, but you'll see the file so why bother. I'd give you the grissly details, but they're not in any file anywhere anymore, suffice to say I was effective. I don't do well with failure." which isn't unlike Rogers, though the motivations are likely different. "I trained harder, longer, better then anyone. Two hundred and seventy-five unclassified combat missions, only failed one." his eye ticks at that addmition but he makes it all the same.

"My team and me were saving the world, back before people did that sort of thing in colorful tights, and I took a wound you don't come back from." he bares his teeth at the memory, "Didn't fail that mission. Wouldn't allow it." his gaze is gone, lost to some other time the way all of Them seem to do when they talk about the past. They actually can /see/ it, and it shows if you familiar enough with one of Them to know what to look for. "My people kept me alive, barely, shipped me off to a lab. Needed me on my feet," he offers a chuckle at that, "there was another mission." he shoots a look at her, "You were there. All RM'd to the deck, few years after you'd left SHIELD, chest full of metals, fancy beret on your head. More wrinckles, few more gray hairs." he traces a finger in the air over her face as if painting the missing things into place in his mind. "She was there." he corrects himself after a second.

—-

"Apparently I was the head of that bunch of half-measures for awhile," Peggy reminds Slade with a snort and a roll of her eyes. Of course she will be looking him up more when she gets back to the Triskelion. Perhaps she will get the gist from him, but she prefers to do things thoroughly. The more he speaks, the more her eyebrow raises. These are things she did? If true, that is harder to look up. She certainly recognizes that thousand yard stare as he recalls the events of those days and retells them to her.

Despite the shift of this conversation, she remains standing, still not comfortable relaxing just yet. "I must say, I never thought I would attempt a beret," is her response to this at first. It's quite a bit to take in. Being involved in experiments? "And so they gave you some form of serum? And it enhanced your strength? Your dexterity? Your ability to heal?"

—-

Slade just eyes her and reaches up with his thumb to wipe at the blood on the side of his head where she knocked him with the stove burner. There's nothing beneath it. It's not Wolverine or anything, but it's nothing to shake a stick at either, "Something like that." he admits to her. "My physical changes were less dramatic then Rogers, but the end result was similar enough no one cared." he leans back a bit in his chair, "She was one of my rehab officers, charged with my recouperation. One of the finest soldier's I've ever known." his tone suggests the compliment should be taken with great appreciation. He doesn't strike one as the sort to hand them out often. Or ya know, ever. He then adds, "The beret is a Brit Marine thing, don't look at me, I wasn't your fashion advisor."

—-

Peggy finally folds her arms in front of her as she studies Slade. She knows there are things about the Peggy Carter she turned out to be that she hasn't exactly come to terms with. This may be one of those things. Her brows knit in contemplation as she considers this. The metal bludgeoning tool remains in her hand for now. The compliments, the ones that belong to woman that this man knows - she's in a retirement home. It's - increasingly - a woman that she doesn't know or understand.

There's a smirk. "Yes, the Corps of the Royal Marines. They wear green berets. From what I know of my future, I remained with SHIELD. I was a RAF, SSR, SHIELD." However, it would not surprise her to find there were layers to her history she still has no idea about. Espionage is usually quite a messy business. "Obviously, I do not know any of this. My memory stops a few years after the War."

—-

Slade quirks a brow, "Your memory." he says flatly before waving a hand in a 'well that's going to need explination' gesture.

—-

There's another roll of her eyes at the gesture. "Yes, my memory. As you've stated multiple times, I am not the woman you know. I am too young and do not remember you. It is not a feint." Though, to her point of view, she would be rather good at the lies should she wish it. "I don't believe I owe you an explanation. You are the one that came into my flat threatening to kill me without any other information at your disposal, despite - as you have so demonstrated - a call to SHIELD may have alleviated the matter. I am not a clone, nor an LMD. I am a Peggy Carter who has no idea who you are. I believe you can make your own assumptions from there."

—-

Slade quirks a single brow from there, "Time travel, dimentional doppleganger, shape shifting alien and or mutant, telepathic projection, digital reproductive world complete with familiar face." he says, listing off all of the 'easy' things he could think of that would explain her presence here. "As I said, very interesting life." none of the stated options seem to phase him. "Which do you think you are?"

—-

Those are the easy things? Peggy simply quirks an eyebrow as he lists off all the manner of things that Peggy Carter could be in his mind. It's quite an impressive one. There's a smirk and a roll of her eyes. Without turning her back on him, she backs up toward the bookshelf to right it again. There's quite a mess she'll have to clean up after the fight in here.

"I know what I am. Time travel was involved, or so I was told. As far as I know, this could be an alternate dimension."

—-

Slade tilts his head to the side, "Or not." he says simply. "There could be a chance that this was supposed to happen, had already happened." he points out.

—-

Peggy raises an eyebrow. "You believe in fate?" With a lift, the banged up bookshelf is shoved upward again. It will take awhile to reorganize her books, but she'll manage. "That seems quite out of place for a man out of the game and willing to kill discriminately."

—-

Slade shakes his head, "I believe in science and patterns." he says watching her clean up, he does not offer to help, "You spent your professional career attempting to put a stop to recreating the experiment that made Rogers, it wasn't exactly a secret in the community. There were joke about it. A lot of them." once again his tone doesn't suggest that joking was his cup of tea so much as he was just aware of their exsistence, "And then suddenly you show up signing off on what was done to me. Leads me to wonder."

—-

There's no expectation that Slade will help clean up the mess that he instigated. She's gauged that much from him. The piles of books are kicked and sorted from the debris. For now she doesn't crouch or sit - again, too many steps to defend herself from that position. "You're suggesting that there may be multiple versions of me out there somewhere?" It might make some sense, however it's clear she doesn't trust Slade. "Or maybe the person you knew wasn't actually Peggy Carter."

—-

Slade shrugs, "Both are theoretically possible, but there's another option you havn't seen yet." he says evenly, staring at her with a new expression he hasn't had yet. Interest. Genuine interest. He pushes himself to his feet, "I wonder how long it would take you to catch up, I'm actually intrigued." he sounds surprised, "I don't often become invested."

—-

As Slade attempts to prod her into a point of thought, the woman rolls her eyes with a sigh. "I'm not interested in your insults or thoughts as to who the woman you knew was." As Slade stands, she turns, ensuring that she doesn't have her back fully turned to him. Her gaze narrows at him. "Is that supposed to make me feel invested? News flash, it does not." Peggy holds up a hardcover book in one hand the metal grating in the other. "You think I may turn into that woman. The one you know. I assure you, that is not me. As I said before. I am Peggy Carter, I am not the woman you knew. I will never be."

—-

Slade continues to eye her with that clearly new interest and he allows the smallest of smiles to flirt at the edges of his lips, "But what if you are?" he asks curiously. "Change of topic real quick, a question for you. If you couldn't handle it anymore, would you quit? If the dirt got to dirty, if the filth got a little to deep, would you step down? Trust someone else to make the hard calls? Let another pick up the standard and march on? I'm curious Carter, you got any quit in you?" it's not judgemental, he's actually wondering if she has what it would take to step away before the darkness subsumed her.

—-

There is something in the stance of Peggy Carter as she stands there, hand on one of her tumbled books and makeshift weapon. Her eyes narrow on Slade as he asks his question. "Were my actions to run detriment to the common good? Were it to be too much for me to handle? I would step down." Her chin tilts upward, proudly. However, Slade - the practiced soldier and spy that he is - might just notice the doubt in her eyes. The fear that that is exactly what might be her slippery slope.

"I don't believe it quitting to step down before you harm more than you help." Her shoulders are set, tense. Knuckles white on her two makeshift weapons. However, there is still the doubt there. The thought that, maybe she would be that woman. The fact that she has made the choice in the past that may lead her down the path. Truthfully, it sounds more like she is attempting to convince herself than Slade Wilson in that moment.

—-

Slade eyes her, "I was never like you." he says after a long moment, "I don't know what drives you, but I know what awaits you. This world you're in? With the return of Rogers and all the aliens with the fanciful colored underwear and the spandex stretching for all it's worth? It's all a stage show, not unlike the one He put on before. You remember that, right? The song and dance number? It's all flash and distraction while a mile away some poor bastard is trying to hold his guts in with his bare hands." he lets out a breath, "All this hero nonsense? It's just the show. The world, the /real/ world, where people do proper work? It's darker then it's ever been and there's no place in the shade for heroes."

He pulls his coat off of her chair where it's been resting all the while, and he shrugs himself into it idly, "I'm not a hero Carter, never have been. I /was/ a soldier, but I gave that up too when I realized the people handing out the orders were just as bad as the ones I was killing. When you read my file at SHIELD, assuming they let you get some parts of it, you'll see a lot of titles and threat assessments. Allow me bullet point it for you. I was one a war hero and then I vanished into the land of redacted files. I did things you won't be allowed to read about, and I did them all over. I did them for /decades/. And then they made me into this." he straightens the lapels of his coat, "Then I tendered my resignation in spectacular fasion and went it alone. I call no man master, I follow no laws by my own. I am villain to good men, hero to foolish ones, but to those that matter I am a weapon, a scalple or a broadsword depending on what is needed. I am a murderer. I am the best." he smiles a bit more, though the expression doesn't reach his eye, "And SHIELD gave me call clearence." he points out. "The world is darker then you know and heroes can't work in the shadows. Sometimes, just sometimes, you need someone who doesn't bend or break, someone of ethics but not morals, someone reliable to do what needs doing." he heads for her door, "Take care Carter. You should have a good think, I suggest the earl gray with lemon. It's what she always said would help clear my mind. Next time we meet… I'll call first."

—-

Peggy warily watches as Slade both warns her and picks up his jacket. "There's not only darkness," she tells him. This is still a Peggy from after World War II. A woman who knows loss, but believes that there is meaning, truth and trust. She never lived through the Cold War, nor Vietnam.

"Perhaps," she concedes, slowly, not exactly willingly. "I know there is history that I am missing and context that is beyond this." She sighs and shakes her head. "I will always hope for the better way," she tells him, even if he knows that she may not in the future. That is a different time and place. They may be the same woman, but circumstance may hopefully have some say in her eyes.

Obviously, there is not attempt to stop Slade as he takes his leave. Instead, she merely watches. "Unless I call you first," she tells him. Perhaps he thinks she may not be able to do so, but she has her own ways. It's clear she has access in SHIELD.

—-

Slade offers a 'huh' as she speaks and he opens her door before stopping there. He turns to face her, "Light believes it is the fastest thing in the universe," he says, not turning so she can't fully see his face, only the outline of him cast in shadows and glinting white locks and eyepatch, "but no matter how fast it is it will always arrive to find the darkness got there first." he then slips out and closes the door behind him with a click.

He's back outside on the sidewalk in an improbably short period of time, walking away and turning his collar up against the stiff chill winter wind. He thumbs the mic, "Peabody, I want her life torn apart, do you understand me? You dredge every lake, every /puddle/ of her. I don't care if you have to steal Fury's own diary from his nightstand. I need to know if she's real." there's a long pause, <Um. Yeah. Sure. You okay? I havn't heard you sound like this since um… well…> Slade's jaw clenches, "Just get it done." he snarls into the coms, "And find me a job, something interesting." he thumbs off the coms and continues to walk away down the block.

Sitting in his engineering room Peabody leans back in his chair, stareing at the monitors that surround him, trying to remember the last time Slade sounded like he was… well, like he had feelings. The real kind. "Shit." the man says, rubbing his face with his hands, "Dad… where /are/ you?" the last barely a whisper as Alex 'Peabody' Wintergreen leans forward over the keys and begins to hammer away at them.

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