June 26, 2017:
The Carter siblings are reunited after a series of highly unusual circumstances.
Whitney Museum of American Art
Characters
![class="image1"](http://cmbeta.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images//class="image1"/medium.jpg)
NPCs: None.
Mentions: Phil Coulson
Plot:
Mood Music: [* None.]
Fade In…
Right off of the High Line, near the Hudson River, sits the Whitney Museum of American Art. It's a modern building, with lots of glass and steel. Inside, however, on the top floor is an show quite out of the past. When the elevator doors open, a white partition proclaims this exhibit to be:
Alexander Calder. Hypermobility.
Beyond the partition are multiple different sculptures and mobiles in bright colors as well as dark greys. Wires hang from the ceiling displaying gently swaying, but perfectly balanced works of art. They are both whimsical and works of an astounding engineering genius. A sign on the wall gives some history and context: "Elements of Calder's mobiles vibrate, sway, or unfurl, creating a captivating dynamism through structured yet improvisatory movements…their elements rotating independently and at times spurring chain reactions within their compositions."
Nearby that sign stands Peggy Carter, stationed in front of a mobile that almost looks like it was made of paper and hanger wire. It's delicate and monochrome in bright white circles dangling on the thin grey wires. Behind it, the wall and floor are painted the deep blue of a dark night. 'Blizzard (Roxbury Flurry), 1946: Sheet metal, wire, and paint' is type faced in white on floor near it. Even without the description, she can see the flurry of snowflakes, minimalistic but visceral. Gently, the structure twists in the puffs of air generated by passersby and people's breath. Moments ago, she watched with amusement as a child blew at it with surprising determination and lung capacity before he was pulled away by his father. Arms crossed in front of her, for a moment, she closes her eyes and she takes a breath, enjoying the moment.
She's always loved Calder, ever since her brother took her to see one of his sculptures, many many years ago. This exhibit was simply irresistible.
*
SHIELD was supposed to let Michael break things to her. But someone in the organization thought Peggy deserved a professional courtesy. She was told only that a family member wanted to see her and that SHIELD had verified his identity. The location given was the Calder exhibit.
He's a little late for the meet, but that's on purpose. He knew his sister would get absorbed in the sculptures. He uses the flow of a tour group to approach her without getting immediately made. At the last moment, he breaks off from the group and stands beside her. "It's amazing how he can communicate the feeling of a blizzard to people who might not have ever seen one." He's there, looking as he did long ago, though this time he's in an immaculate, cool blue and modern suit rather than an Army uniform.
*
Peggy can sense someone approaching her in a crowd: it's a highly tuned sense that she's practiced over the years. She is almost always aware of her surroundings, even when she gets lost in something like this. The fact that she would be meeting a family member was exactly the reason she chose this exhibit and this location: neutral, meaningful, a place with people and an easy escape should it become awkward. The man that breaks away from the tour group and stands behind her is noted for a moment, his figure catching her attention from the corner of her eye.
As she turns though, there is a long silence. A family member. Verified. Michael. He's dead. Long dead. Impossible. What is this, a trick? This all flickers across her face in an instant, easily readable for not only a skilled agent, but her brother - the one who knew her best.
Then, some logic, Steve is alive. James is alive. Why not Michael? No. He would have told her. He would have found her somehow. Anger is the immediate and continued expression on her face. It looks as if she might take a step back, but instead she holds her ground. "Who are you?" she hisses at him, eyes narrowed. "I assure you, I do not find this the least bit amusing."
*
Michael has a hell of a poker face. It's a requirement of the job. But it breaks on seeing his sister fully, and seeing the anger. He breaks into a smile and shakes his head. "No, it's not bloody funny, is it? You're supposed to be an old woman. And I'm supposed to be dead." And then the smile turns into a deep-throated chuckle. "…you have to admit it is a bit, innit? Your whole crew comes back from the dead after you slip through a crack in time."
She knows this about him. How he'll try to make a joke of a serious situation to diffuse it. He's done it his whole life. "It's me, Spitfire. I promise you." That's an ancient childhood nickname - one he stopped using when he was twelve or thirteen.
*
Spitfire. The term immediately bring tears to her eyes, despite Peggy's attempt to squash them. None of this makes any sense. Of course, her being here doesn't, either. But, at least there is reason - even if temporally confusing one - for her being here. Him? She cannot fathom it. Despite the wet eyes, there is still unmasked anger on her face as she watches him. Her shoulders and body language are as taut as the wiring on some of the sculptures surrounding them.
Above them, a simple mobile spins, from it dangle three objects, a large red disk, a large brass one, and a covered mallet. The head of the mallet swirls, passing by the thin gong-like brass circle in slow anticipation of an actual sound.
"No, you can't call me that." The stubborn little sister comes through there. "If you're actually…" she doesn't even say his name yet, she can't. "If you were him, you'd have told me you were alive. You wouldn't have vanished. What was it? A time portal? A block of ice? A memory wipe?" Her voice is soft, meant to not carry in an echoing, wood paneled art exhibit. However, there is still force behind her words, bitten off rage. "You died. I saw mother receive the telegram." She has been forgiving to many of the people she thought had died and returned to her life. To the man standing in front of her, however, there is nothing but anger.
*
Michael looks away and pushes his tongue against his cheek. He looks back to her and says, simply, "Duty." Which is a one-word explanation but one that should resonate. He has always been steadfast, unshakable, loyal. It is not out of the realm of what she knows of him to follow the order to not contact his family. And then he lowers his voice. "I can explan. If we can speak somewhere privately."
*
Duty. The word moves through her like magic passcode. Peggy watches the man who looks like her brother, frown still evident on her face. Without an assent or dissent, she moves with her arms still crossed away from him. But, she moves with a purpose, toward a destination. It's not for the elevators, but for the stairwell and to up a flight of stairs to service door. The lock is opened and she steps out onto a roof that overlooks much of Manhattan and New Jersey. There are museum goers and tourists on the balcony below them, but on this short ledge, they are by themselves.
Turning back toward him, Peggy raises an eyebrow, statement evident with the words: 'Well, we are alone now. Explain.'
*
Michael follows dutifully behind, without question. When he steps out onto the balcony and is faced with that look, he can't help but smile. He realizes as soon as he does that it's inappropriate. "I'm sorry. I've just…I've missed you, Peggy." The smile continues even as he tries to force it away.
Then he clears his throat. "Short version. I was part of Project Rebirth. Before Steve Rogers. But the serum didn't quite work properly."
*
The smile is not exactly met with amusement. However, it is so like Michael to smile inappropriately at her, to talk like this. It almost makes Peggy drop her guard. The words, the sentiment, they're all in the right place, but there is a part of her chest that remains stone. "I missed Michael," she tells him, clearly not convinced that this is him just yet. "He was my dearest friend and closest ally. Until he died." The last bit is stated forcefully.
The mention of being a part of project Rebirth is met with narrowed eyes. "There was no Project Rebirth before Steve Rogers. I rescued Abraham Erskine from Nazi territory in order to start it. I was there at the inception of it."
*
"There was, Peggy, you see. You may have been part of it from the start, but you weren't as high up the food chain as you believed." Michael straightens a little. "And I suppose I wasn't officially part of Rebirth. British Intelligence wanted one of ours to get the serum, you see. The Americans didn't have as much at stake. Why should one of theirs get this war-winning serum?" He shakes his head.
"I was given it against Erskine's wishes and before it was ready." He pauses and arches his brows. "Which is why I spent the better part of the nineteen sixties in stasis, and in and out of it constantly since then. Up until three years ago. Technology is finally such that it manages my various…side effects."
*
Peggy frowns, watching Michael. "So you were never killed in action?" she asks. A cornerstone to her own genesis story, possibly a lie. Not that she is upset that he's alive now. Though, there is still suspicion, clearly marked in her expression. "Clearly, you have no idea how low on the food chain I believed myself to be," she remarks dryly.
"And where were you before the nineteen sixties?"
*
"I was SOE, Peggy. They recruited me shortly after I joined. I was never a simple soldier. I was always an intelligence agent." Michael takes a breath and leans on the balcony. His hands flex. "My death was faked because information was leaked to the SS. If they hadn't, I would have been targeted." Then, "And so might have you. Or mum and dad."
*
"Being an SOE doesn't automatically mean that your death is faked to the world, Michael," Peggy snaps at him immediately. "I knew plenty of intelligence agents that returned at the end of the war after not faking their own deaths." It's a petty rejoinder, but one that she can't help.
"And yet I joined the SSR, just like you wanted and then became a part of Project Rebirth." The arms remain crossed and she turns from Michael, her face turning toward the even more southern parts of Manhattan and the gleaming glass buildings towering up from there. "And so you kept completely mum about it, letting us all believe you were dead? Dad never recovered, you know. Mum blamed you for breaking up my engagement."
*
"It wasn't my choice," says Michael quietly, after a moment's pause. He laces his fingers together and stares off the balcony at nothing in particular. "Duty, Peggy. Orders. I was in rough shape for a few decades. I came out of stasis mostly to perform missions. If I went home and hadn't aged, or if something happened, the security of the whole project would have been breached." He turns back to her, arms sliding off the balcony. "I don't know how much you've caught up, but we were attempting to avert nuclear war."
*
Duty. Orders. Things that Peggy knows deeply. However, on other occasions where that might pacify her, it does not this evening. She knows something about coming out of stasis to perform missions, that sounds a lot like James. To think that Britain had a similar program makes her sick to the stomach. "What were your missions?" she asks. "If you can say." Then, there's an annoyed roll of her eyes. "I've heard about the Cold War, yes."
*
"Informant extraction. Intelligence gathering." Michael hesitates, then, "Elimination, when required. I'm a spy. Essentially." He waggles a hand. "I would say, 'like James Bond' but I don't know if you've caught up on popular culture." There he goes trying to diffuse again.
*
"I've been catching up," Peggy says with a raised eyebrow. "Did you know I was here? The me that is…me." It's a lame statement, but she doesn't know exactly what or how Michael knows about her. The things that she's been not asking about suddenly burst forward. "How did the serum fail?" she can't help but ask.
*
"I heard, yes. But I didn't think a visit from your dead brother would help you deal with suddenly being in the future," Michael deadpans, pauses, then, "Agent Coulson visited me a few days ago in London. He told me about the situation you're currently facing and said that you would need my help."
*
"You met with Agent Coulson?" The raise in her voice is higher a bit, annoyed that Coulson knew about Michael before she did. Peggy looks back at him now. "What did he tell you about my 'situation', then? And do you have the sort of clearance for that?"
*
Michael can't quite hold back the chuckle at her question. "Mhmm, I do have the clearance, yes. And I've received a whole dossier on the situation." He steps towards her. "Peggy, I understand that you're angry at me. This is not an ideal situation. But here we are."
*
"Angry with you," Peggy's voice is a bit tighter as she says it. "I am. I am incredibly angry at you, Michael." Finally, she says his name. "I thought you were dead for - at the very least - ten years. And it's only now that there is a mission that you might help me with that you decide to tell me you are not dead? You still haven't answered my question. If you were the beginning of Project Rebirth, the serum did something to you. What is it?"
*
"I don't make decisions about those sorts of things. I follow orders." Michael looks at her levelly. "My very existence is classifed." A pause, then, "And you're assuming I never tried." He looks at her for a moment, then looks away. His jaw clenches. "I can give you my whole file if you'd like. You've been cleared to know everything about me except mission specifics." Then he mutters, "Finally."
*
Peggy knows a little about not being in charge of decisions, but she is also a product of taking matters into her own hands. "You tried," her voice is flat when she asks that - it's almost a statement. "You were always a man who got things done before," she tells him, a statement meant to wound. She's not forgiven him just yet, not decided to trust him. "I'll take the file," she tells him. Reading about it will, at least, give her something to work off.
"I'm honestly not sure what to think, seeing you here," she tells him. "I'm…I'm glad. But, so very angry at you. And, honestly, I am not even sure if it is you."
*
"You might understand a little more when you do read my file," says Michael, a bit tightly. "And I do understand your suspicions." He reaches into the pocket of his jacket. He withdraws a thumbdrive. "This has a fingerprint scanner so only you can open it. Each file will only open once, and then it will delete. These files are also very traceable. So if they get out, some very powerful people will be very angry and will know just who to blame." He uses the tone he used to use while he was encouraging Peggy's antics but pretending not to.
*
"I understand classified files," Peggy tells Michael with a look. "They used to be far harder to burn than now." So, she knows how to take care of highly classified documents without them leaking into the wrong hands, even should she wish them to do so. She takes the thumbdrive and holds it, not putting it into a pocket or purse just yet.
"Is there a way I can contact you? Phone? Blimp? Carrier pigeon?"
*
Michael reaches into his pocket and withdraws a black phone. He holds it up and waggles it with a wry little grin. "Telephone." He slides the phone back in and withdraws a nondescript card. It has the crest of British Intelligence, and a number. It's a New York one. He hands it to her and looks her in the eye. "Call me anytime. With questions, or just to talk."