Gratitude and Grief

March 26, 2018:

Peggy and Michael Carter reconnect after the death of Peggy Sr.

Peggy's Flfat


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It's been quite a few long days for Peggy Carter. It is not like her to stay at home and wallow and that is exactly what she is telling herself she is not doing. She is not wallowing, she is mourning. Or she thinks she is. What is the feeling of loss and strangeness when the woman who was you for decades dies? How do you process that?

For Peggy, it seems to be tea laced with Asgardian alcohol. It is a rather potent and probably apropos way of remembering - and possibly in the process forgetting - the other Peggy Carter.


It seems like Michael's been the one to get house calls in his tiny former SHIELD-safehouse flat. It's only fair that he gives a few. He knows his sister well enough to know that in times of trouble, she'd be at work or at home. And work right now, would remind her too much of her other. So by process of elimination…

There's the gentle sound of the door buzzer. Michael is standing outside, looking neater and a bit more put-together with a few overtures to his bespoke style, but nothing pristine. Just a collared shirt with a faint pattern, a dark blazer and dark slacks with a wool peacoat. He's carrying a bag emblazoned with the logo of a British shop.


It takes her a few moments to go to the buzzer. For a moment, she debated ignoring it. Either it's someone attempting to console or talk to her or it is someone who doesn't know what has happened. She has no desire to deal with either. However, she goes to look and sees that it is Michael standing outside the door. There's another, longer pause where she debates letting her brother into the building.

Finally, the door buzzes and Michael is allowed entry. The door is unlocked from its multiple pads and chains and left slightly ajar. That's rather unlike the very careful spy, but she has enough weapons hidden about that she feels safe in taking anyone down that may be here in her brother's visage.

Then, she settles back down on the sofa, pulling out a tablet and setting down the mug of tea on the coffee table. She looks very put together, almost like she just came home from the office.


Michael eyes the open door, but he pushes it open after a moment's hesitation. Then he walks in, looks at her, and then…wordlessly, moves to her kitchen. He sets the bag down, then starts to unload things from it. British canned goods, gravy mixes, biscuits, sweets. He finds a spot for each and tucks them away in her cupboards.

Then, he starts to rifle around for a pan, a cutting board, a knife. There's a butcher-wrapped package that he unwraps to reveal four plump bangers. Potatoes are chopped for mash.


As Michael wordlessly moves to the kitchen, Peggy gives him a bit of a raised eyebrow. She watches him pluck out canned goods and pans and then start to chop and prep. A bit of a frown crosses her face, but she makes no comment. Instead, she turns back to the tablet and leans back into the couch. If he wants to cook, she is certainly not going to say no. However, she is also not going to be the first one that say something, when it seems they have set a tone of silence in this particular visit.


Before too long, the flat smells like fried onions and sausage. He's even got a jar of good grainy mustard and a can of mushy peas. When it's finished, he plates everything up. The mashed potatoes have the skins on and they're specked with spring onion. They're drizzled with the onion gravy made from the sausages. He carries both plates over to Peggy.

"Please don't tell me you're not hungry. I'd be ever so crushed."

Years ago, when Michael came home from school for a visit one spring, Peggy made him a meal in one of her attempts to be a proper young lady. The food looked…questionable, and she gave the same line to him. He ate the food anyway, even with the burnt bits and off-flavours.


Taking one of the plates from Michael, Peggy sets it on her lap, putting the tablet to the side. Though she's not exactly sure if she is hungry or not, she takes a fork and starts to move some of the food about the plate. The quote is met with a smirk. She certainly remembers that day. Those exercises were generally done in a manner meant to drive their mother crazy. While she was trying to be a proper lady, it always seemed to grate at her.

Now if she tried the same meal, it would undoubtably be better. Peggy tends to succeed at the things she sets her mind to doing. "How could I say no to something that looks this delicious?" Her own response was his to her.

In a way that is not a quoted memory, she gestures at his clothes and his being outside of his flat. "It's good to see you out. I must say, I wasn't expecting to see you for a week or so."


Michael cracks a small, warm smile at the quote game. Some of their lines have been passed back and forth so much that they barely resemble their original selves. "I wanted to come and see you straight off, but I rather imagined you'd have a lot to process." For all he made the food, it takes him a minute to tuck in too.

"Mourning is…complicated. Because you're gone, but you're also still here. It seems insensitive to mourn, but impossible not to."


"Yes. As you said, it is complicated. I was her, but she was not me. Hence why I thought you might wish to take a little while." There is a shrug of Peggy's shoulders. "I didn't even know her or speak with her." She uses the food as a distraction for a few moments, shoveling some of the peas and potatoes onto her fork.

"I appreciate the concern, Michael. Truly, I do. However, I understand. Of course you should mourn. We are the same, but we are also separate. The woman who lived all those years…she died. I am not her."


"And I'm not the Michael you remember. He is to me what she is to you." It's taken him a lot of thinking to come to that revelation. He moves a little mashed potato around on his plate. "We spoke at length before she passed. Turned out she found out I was alive sometime in the mid seventies."


"True, however, you do not have the Michael I remember walking about as a doppelgänger. Not that I know about, of course." She could go see Peggy in her hospital. A head tilts as Michael talks about his visit to the other Peggy. "Oh? That sounds likely. This sounds rather self congratulatory, but by all accounts she was remarkably observant and smart. And she didn't reach out to try and reconnect?"


"No, because she was remarkably observant and smart. And it was the Cold War," says Michael. "And to be frank, had I been revealed during that time, it would have jeopardized her position as head of SHIELD. Or at least, there were those who would have used me as ammunition. Not to mention the damage it could have done to operations in progress had she attempted to do so." He takes a deep breath in, then exhales. "She seemed to have forgiven me. Which does give me hope that you might some day as well."


The explanation is given some time to sink in. Peggy cuts up a sausage, but much like Michael, she merely pushes it about. The plates and the food only seem to be there to give them something else to focus on. If they were only to look at each other, that would make the conversation much harder.

There's a sigh and finally, she sets the plate down. "Michael, you're my brother. I love you and I always will. I forgive you. We live a dangerous life. That's been made all the clearer lately. We have little luxury in holding grudges against loved ones."


Michael really did try to make the food look appetizing, as much for himself as for her. But the truth is, he hasn't had much of an appetite. He sets his plate aside as well. "Yes, I am your brother. And you are my sister. You mean as much to me as she did. I want you to know that. And I'm bloody blessed to have a chance to know you for far longer than I knew your counterpart."


The food looked much better than her attempt all those years ago. More than that, it did actually look delicious. However, she is not much in the mood for food, despite all the care that went into making it. "That's…good to hear." She would be lying if she said that she didn't worry that he saw her as Other, some strange science experiment of Howard's gone wrong. "Thank you."

Abruptly standing, she goes to pluck some mugs from the cupboard and moves to the small cask that is on her kitchen counter. Pouring one glass fuller than the other, she quickly stoppers it. Bringing it back to Michael, she holds out the fuller glass. "Asgardian booze. This will knock even your socks off. It seems only appropriate."

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