Chapter 4
“Lang,” Peggy called softly as she tried to get her bearings. The footprint of the building that had been hers was still somewhat visible in the dirt and soil, tufts of brown, withered grass breaking through hard clods of dirt and concrete. Here and there, pipes and broken glass littered the ground, glittering in the cold, misty air. No one else seemed to be around, though, certainly not Lang. Panic gripped Peggy as she struggled up finally to her feet.
“Scott,” she called, dusting off the strange suit she was in. Fumbling, she found the button again, the one that seemed to control the suit, pressing it to recall the skittering nanobots that had surrounded her. They pulled off her clothes from under her rucksack and disappeared into the watch as if by magic. She stared at it for a long moment, dazed. It seemed to work, or so she was guessing from the fact her building was now gone. Lang had been beside her until they came to the fork in the lighted tunnel. He had...swerved, she supposed. But he had inputted the date himself, he should be here.
“Scott,” she called, a little more loudly, her voice echoing slightly against the other buildings. On the street, a car passed, but no other noise answered, not even to yell at her to shut up. She turned, wandering to the middle of the lot, hoping to see a huddled shape, a silver helmet, some sign of the man who had dragged her into the middle of all of this.
He wasn’t there - and Peggy was lost in time in New York City all on her own.
“Honey, are you alright?” A voice behind her, definitely not Lang's, had her whirling, spinning in her stance, thrown off balance, embarrassingly, by her entire life’s possessions on her back, nearly causing her to topple. That she didn’t was perhaps a credit to her training, but it was the only saving grace she had from making a fool of herself.
“Um...I’m sorry?” Peggy pulled a polite smile from somewhere, wanting to seem non-threatening to...whoever it was speaking to her. On the other side of the sidewalk, in the middle of the fencing, stood a slight, slender man, a bright umbrella mushrooming over his head, watching her with kindly concern.
“I was just checking to see if you were okay. I heard you calling and thought, ‘That girl sounds like she got trouble,’ and I wasn’t about to let some damsel in distress get attacked on my block!” The accent was strange, words slurred together in odd ways, almost like the American Southern accent but a bit more lilting. “How did you get in that fence anyway?”
Peggy flushed, glancing up and down the length of it. “I...er... it’s a long story?”
“Psht, night after New Year's, honey. Don’t we all got those stories! I don’t judge!” He laughed brightly, wagging a finger as he looked up and down the fence himself. “I think there’s a hole down at that corner. Hold up, I’ll come help you out.”
Down the chain-length fence, where the garbage cans had once stood, there was an opening, a hole that someone had cut, one that Peggy easily fit through. The man closed his umbrella, setting it aside enough to hold open the fencing and allow her to crawl out, shaking his head and clucking as he regarded her pallid and likely flushed state. “Honey, did you party a bit too much last night?”
She panted, considering. It certainly felt like the sort of horrific dream one had on mind-altering substances, and she’d been subjected to a few. “No, unfortunately, I seem to have run into a bit of an accident.”
That brought true worry to the fellow, who immediately started reaching for her head as if checking for lumps. “Did someone attack you?”
Peggy scrambled for a cover story, some reason as to why a crazy woman would be standing in the middle of an empty lot calling someone’s name at the crack of dawn. “No...I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t remember really.”
“There’s been some scary assholes in this neighborhood of late. Just last week, my husband was mugged at gunpoint for his bike and tennis shoes. Day after Christmas! Some holiday spirit, huh? But he kicked their ass before they could lay a finger on him.” He touched gentle fingers to the side of her head, probing carefully. “I don’t feel bumps or anything, but you should maybe go to the hospital all the same, get checked out.”
Did he just say husband? She blinked, trying to shake her head. “No! I had an appointment today. I have to get to the office.”
“You are in no shape to be going anywhere.” He clucked again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, I’ll get you up to my place, get you something hot to drink, and maybe warm you up a bit. Let Juan take care of you, sweetie.”
Few and far between were the men that Peggy let lay hands on her, but she felt too scattered to shake the seemingly well-meaning man off, and she could have. He was only her height and as skinny as a lamp post. But he seemed well-meaning enough, and she supposed the ruse of a damsel in distress who had run into a bit of trouble on New Year's Eve night wasn’t too far off from the truth. Besides, it was a good enough cover to explain her disorientation and confusion, not to mention a way to get the help she would need to figure out the next steps.
She glanced around, looking for Scott Lang and seeing no sign of him.
“What is today’s date?” She breathed as she stared at the slick streets, shivering against the bitter cold.
Juan shook his dark head. “Dear, you are out of it. It’s the start of a new year and a new decade, January 1, 2010!”
Peggy blinked. That was two years off her mark. Lang was supposed to have deposited her in 2012! He had said he would and said he was going to input that into the device. Frantically, she looked at it in the ever-brightening light. The silvery-white numbers that appeared on the display did indeed read 1-1-2010. She would have cried if she could have wrapped her head around it. She was stuck at the wrong time, too early for whatever his plan was. Damn it!
“You sure you don’t want the hospital? You aren’t looking so good.”
Peggy could only imagine what a hospital would have to say. Lang was supposed to be there with her to help her navigate, find a place to get to, and people to reach out to in a future she little understood. He was supposed to help her get to SHIELD...
“I need to get to SHIELD headquarters here in New York.” She prayed to God that they still had offices in the city. The Camp Lehigh facility had still only been research and Howard’s pet projects, but they had kept the Bell building until they could further the Lehigh campus. Heaven knew where they were now.
“The one in Times Square? That place is a wreck after last night, what with the ball drop and party and all.”
Times Square? Why would they have moved offices there? “Doesn’t matter, I have to get to my office there. It’s vital.”
His eyebrows crept higher at that proclamation. “What, like life or death?”
What did a teensy lie hurt? “Yes...maybe.”
“Oh, serious?” He gaped at her, torn between shock and delight. “This is like one of those spy shows, isn’t it, where it turns out you are fighting the Russians or something?”
Heaven help her, she would likely regret hinting at this. “Something like that. I must get there.”
“Well, let me see if Papi will let me borrow the car then, get you there faster.”
Who in the world drove their personal car in this city? “Seriously, all I need is a cab.”
“The way they gouge prices on New Year's? No! I’ll get you there myself. Civic duty, you know, I take that seriously as a proud Puerto Rican-American.” He took her arm and led her down the block, to a brownstone she remembered just the day before as being the home of an older Jewish couple who were throwing a party for the holiday. “Meantime, let’s get you cleaned up and warmed up, mija! I knew you weren’t just some drunk or junkie having a bad trip after too much party. I got a real, goddamn, honest-to-goodness spy on my hands!”
Peggy was too addled to do anything but go with it.
She spent the next hour being made to bear witness to a brief and not-so-silent argument between Juan and his partner, Julio, most of which was in a dialect of Caribbean Spanish she didn’t have the heart to tell them she understood. The crux of the argument seemed to be Julio’s concern over just who she was and wasn’t. Julio, a sensible man who appeared to work in the mayor’s office, seemed to be irritated with Juan’s habit of “finding strays” and bringing them home in the hopes of rehabilitating them, often with disastrous consequences. Juan felt that Julio was overreacting and that she was a spy as her accent was a dead giveaway. While they whispered at each other in the other room, Peggy managed to choke down some frankly fabulous coffee offered to her by Julio, along with toast and jam so delicious she could have cried if she weren’t already overwhelmed. All the while, she stared at the device on her wrist, wondering if Lang’s magic phone could somehow connect to it, if he could call her and find her. Did he go to 2012? Where was he? Could she convince anyone at SHIELD of who she was? Should she even try?
“How you feeling?” Juan was exuberant as he sashayed back in with only the barest hint of a glare back at Julio. The other man, taller, more fit, and certainly handsome, only rolled his eyes affectionately and ignored him.
“Better, thank you.” She swallowed the last of her toast and washed it down with the last dregs of coffee. “This was amazing! The best cup of coffee I’ve had! Thank you.”
“Papi worked as a barista to put himself through law school,” Juan offered brightly, earning another glare from Julio. “What?”
The more cautious Julio was the levelheaded one of this pair and was wise enough to not want to share everything about himself with a perfect stranger. “Ms. Carter, Nito says you want to go to SHIELD. Do you work for them?”
Peggy temporized, glancing at Juan, who was conspicuously busying himself with making a thermos of coffee. “I do.”
“And you were out in the middle of that empty lot down the street doing...what?”
He was a smart man, this Julio. “Look, Mister…”
“Vargas,” he supplied. “Julio Vargas, I work in the Office of the Mayor.”
And not William O'Dwyer, she reminded herself. “Mr. Vargas, I am sure you can appreciate it when I tell you that I am not at liberty to discuss the particulars. I can assure you, however, that I work for SHIELD and that Juan will not be breaking any laws or be put in any danger just driving me to the offices.”
“Seriously, Papi, I’m more in danger from the tourists than anything else.” Juan opened the sleek, brushed metal refrigerator to put the cream back inside of it. From the fleeting glimpse she got, she could see why Lang had been so fascinated by hers. They even made them light up inside!
Julio was less than amused. “I’m just saying that if you’re up to something, just know I have influence. Nito is good-hearted, but I am not above coming down on anyone who takes advantage of that.”
“My big, strong man,” Juan crooned, somewhat sarcastically, as he leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Seriously, you act as if everyone I bring in is a serial killer!”
There was a story there, and, judging from poor Julio Vargas’ long-suffering expression, Juan may not bring home serial killers but he did have a track record of rescuing perhaps more suspect types. Peggy at least gave the other man the benefit of the doubt, knowing she was in no position to disprove him at the moment. He didn’t seem to mean to be rude, merely protective. Perhaps in this brave new world where a relationship like his was just open like that, he’d had to learn to be.
“Come on, Peggy!” Juan unceremoniously grabbed her hand, stopping long enough to help her grab her rucksack, and pulling her out to the stairs and down to a subterranean parking garage filled with sleek and shining cars. A far cry from the boxy, metal ones she was used to, these were rounded and smooth, ranging from large ones the size of covered jeeps to smaller ones so tiny they could only fit two. Juan wandered to a black car with the silver name “Lexus” emblazoned on it, clicking on some fob he had in his hand. As he did, the lights of the car began to blink. He touched a finger to the underside of the back of the car and it opened to the boot, roomy enough for her overly large rucksack.
“Get in, it will take me a minute with the coffee.”
She did as she was told, surprised that the door was open so she could slide into the soft, supple leather seat. It was a car far nicer than any she had ever seen, even the ones that Howard owned. She stared in fascination at the dashboard with its dials and buttons, none of which made sense to her. Juan slid behind the wheel, carefully putting his thermos into a special holder in a console between where she sat and where he sat. They had holders just for drinks in future cars?
“Hope you don’t mind a little pick me up this morning!” Juan pressed a button on the dashboard, right by the steering wheel. With a gentle purr, the car came to life, lights flickering on as numbers lit up and a panel in the middle came to life. Words and numbers flickered across it and Juan began tapping at the screen much as Lang had on his phone the night before. It took her a moment to realize it was connected to some sort of radio, as out of the speakers rhythmic, Caribbean music began to play, filling the entire cabin with sound. It was as if someone took the sort of music Lang had turned on her radio the night before, cranked up the speed, turned it up to its full volume, and let it loose. It was bright and colorful in comparison to the still relatively early hour of the day, and Peggy found her head ached with it but was too grateful for this stranger’s help to say otherwise about it.
“Sorry for Papi back there, he says I need to quit picking up strays.” Juan was unrepentant as he navigated the car through the tight parking garage and out of a barricade onto the slowly awakening streets. “You know, politics. He’s afraid I’ll bring home someone who will steal our stuff and sell the goods online or something.”
Peggy only nodded vaguely as they pulled into the world around them, only partially understanding what any of what Juan said meant. She was far too focused on the scenes playing out around her. The world of 2010 was so far removed from the one she had lived in just a day ago, that her brain nearly melted with it. Many buildings were the same, or at least similar, but the city was far different. Grimier, dirtier, but still very New York, crowded to the gills with the sleek vehicles they drove. Lights were shining from everywhere, from signs with moving text to screens that had actual moving pictures, like the films, but in color, replacing the glare of neon she had known in her time.
And the buildings! She stared off in the distance at the tall mountains crawling against the sky, the cavern she found herself in. New York had always had skyscrapers, with caverns of concrete and brick, but these new buildings were towers of glass, like something out of a fairy story, shimmering in the cold, gray light of winter. At least the Empire State Building remained, an anchor to the life she had just walked away from.
And then there were the people, who looked as different to her as she was sure she would have looked to them in her blue velvet dress from Howard's party the night before. Gone were the sturdy wool coats and the sea of battered, gray fedoras that had been the standard for her time. Everyone dressed in a motley of clothes bundled against the chill in puffy, colorful coats, woolen caps on their heads, some in the long, sweeping great coats she remembered, but others in jackets of leather or nylon. The trousers and skirts of yesterday had turned into worn and faded blue jeans or casual slacks, underdressed in terms of what she was used to. The women, in particular, caught her eye, as most were in trousers - tight and well formed to their legs - while the few that braved skirts in this weather wore them short and form-fitting, their legs covered in tights and boots with heels that surely must be far too high to be walking in comfortably.
This world was mad, colorful, busy, and brilliant, in its way.
“Did you just come from overseas?” Juan beside her eyed her speculatively as traffic crawled along 46th Street. It took Peggy a long moment to realize why he asked.
“Uh, no, I’ve been in the city for a while.”
“Just, your accent is so cute. You’re from England, right?”
The American fascination with the way she spoke at least hadn’t changed. “London born and bred.”
“Oh, I love London. I went there two years ago with Papí. We loved it! Did the London Eye and the palace, of course. We hoped to catch Will or Harry, but you know, not like you see royal princes every day!”
She had no idea who Will or Harry were, outside of princes, which likely meant the British monarchy was still in power. “It’s been a long time since I was home.”
“I bet you miss it.”
She didn’t know. The London she had left behind in 1945 was a bombed-out shell of its former self, a city still proud even in its ruination. Like so many coming home from the war, she’d looked at it all and realized the life she had known before the war was gone. Destruction, hardship, and loss had changed her and everyone. She had already been with the SSR for years at that point and when Phillips had offered her a chance to transfer into the New York office, she had taken it, even though all of her deeds and the truth of her actions during the war would be classified. The indignity of being an over-glorified secretary stung, but it soothed the ache of going back to a home where the ghost of memories of what had come before still haunted its streets. Not that New York hadn’t been haunted in its own way, she reminded herself, thinking of Steve and Bucky.
They pulled into the madness of Times Square and for Peggy, whose mind was already reeling, she quite openly gaped. From wall-to-wall it was covered with giant screens, not unlike the phone Lang had carried, with full-color, moving adverts, so lifelike it was frightening. And when there weren’t these magic screens, there were billboards, all for brands and products, some she thought were theater shows, so loud and big it nearly left one breathless. The seediness and somewhat benevolent criminality of the area she knew in the 1940s, which had been a delicious mix of above and below the board, had been replaced by a loud, over-the-top slickness that seemed to draw crowds of all sorts. The Times Square of her time had not been filled with crowds of people she saw now, tourists likely, with their strange phones out, holding them up, she assumed to take photos of each other.
“So what you going to do? Just walk in the front door looking like that and hope they are cool with it?” Juan still eyed her as if she might just fall over if he let her out of her sight. It had been quite the argument to get him talked out of taking her to the hospital or calling the police.
“Yes, actually” she muttered, glancing down the block, past a pizza parlor and a theater advertising a show called In the Heights, to the next block where an imposing black basalt structure was. The glass windows were etched with a stylized eagle on the front, not dissimilar to the eagle that had once marked the SSR.
Juan honked his way to the curb, cursing fluently in a mix of English and Spanish, a mish-mosh of pidgin that she found utterly fascinating and musical. When he pulled to a stop he pushed several buttons, one of which she knew popped the back open as she heard it click.
“Best get out before they think we got a bomb or something,” he muttered, climbing out of the car despite the fact it sat in the lane of traffic. Predictably, cars slowed behind him, stopping and honking, but Juan blithely ignored them as he helped Peggy pull her bag out and slip it on over her shoulders. “Damn, woman, what you got, your entire house in here?”
“Practically,” she smiled, adjusting as she stared at the intimidating building in front of her. This could either end very strangely or very badly, it was hard to decide which. Damn Lang for dragging her into all of this!
“You want me to wait? I can wait if you need.” He was truly concerned and Peggy couldn’t help but be touched by the kindness of a stranger who had found her standing in the middle of a field.
“That is very sweet, but perhaps not.”
“At least take my card, okay, just in case you need anything. I mean, I know, spying, so glamorous, but you know, lowkey, I can help.”
He shoved a card at her from the pocket of his dark, puffy coat and she took it gratefully. Much like the owner, it was colorful and vibrant, with a photograph of a woman in a daring and exotic-looking dress in wild colors, and the other side printed simply with his name, Juan Machado, designer and artist. For whatever reason - for it was a far cry from the very elegant and classic aesthetic of Mr. Jarvis - she thought of him and the unflappable kindness he had, the sort of guileless charm and acceptance, taking the world at face value. It made her heart ache.
“Thank you,” she responded, genuinely, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’ll call you this week and find a way to repay you for this.”
Juan flapped a hand at her. “Please, what one of us hasn’t gotten in a jam on New Year's? Pay it forward is what I say. But, you know, if you want to meet and have lunch, I work at a theater here, so I will never say no to free food.”
Considering she didn’t even know what food options there were in this brave new world, Peggy considered lunch with a native a brilliant way to learn. “Then consider it done, Mr. Machado!”
“Juan, please, Mister is Papí!” With a roguish wink and a grin, he rounded his car again to the open driver’s side door, swearing in Spanish again at some honking man in a large, white delivery truck. With a smile, she turned to the sidewalk to contemplate the plate glass doors in front of her. It was only then she got a good look at herself in the reflection of the windows and stopped in mild horror. She looked nothing like Peggy Carter, to be honest. Her hair, which had been pinned neatly at the start of this venture, was now frizzed after her madcap trip, her makeup smudged, and her lipstick faded with warm food and drink. She should have taken the time in Juan’s flat to tidy herself, she realized belatedly, at least to get out of the functional clothes she had put on last night and into the suit she packed tidily away. Too late for that, she supposed. Best bite this by the bullet and move forward.
She opened the heavy doors, stepping inside the warmth. The lobby itself was quiet with no people. It only hit her as her footsteps echoed on the pale marble that this was a national holiday, so there would be few people in any office in the city. A wide expanse greeted her, dotted here and there by leather chairs that blessedly didn’t look so different than some of the modern furniture in her own time, and a large desk at the far end, backed by the same basalt on the outer facade behind it. Emblazoned on it was the same stylized eagle she saw etched on the glass windows, done in silver chrome, with the name "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division" wrapping around it. It was still the name that she had brainstormed with Howard all those years ago. She could at least take some small comfort in that.
Behind the desk were a man and woman. Were they the security for the building? They wore what looked to be uniforms, dark blue blazers, and white shirts, the man with a tie worn loose and sloppy around his neck. She guessed they had to be employees and hoped her frazzled appearance and the story she was making up as she crossed to them wouldn’t have them calling the police. The woman was busily typing away on keys attached to a glass screen of some sort, flat like the television Juan had on in his home. The man was staring listlessly at a similar screen hanging on the far marble wall, far larger, which seemed to be playing some sort of sports programming, an American football game someplace where winter didn’t exist. The colors were vibrant and lifelike, even in the cold sterility of cream-colored marble.
“Excuse me.” She stepped to the desk, aware again of her strange outfit and scattered appearance. “I’m hoping the two of you might be able to help me.”
The woman perked up immediately, while the man somewhat turned his gaze from the sporting match on the screen. “Sure, if I can help. What do you need?”
The woman was American, though not a New Yorker with that accent. “Yes, I used to work here once, a long time ago, and am interested in seeing if I could speak to someone about my time here and potential opportunities.”
She hoped that didn’t sound too mad.
The woman blinked large, dark eyes at her under a fringe of perfectly trimmed, dark hair. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our offices are closed for the holiday. We will be properly open tomorrow at 9 am if you’d like to speak to someone.”
“No, I don’t know if I have time for that.” She sighed, frustrated. She should have thought this through, perhaps had Juan wait after all. “You see, I’ve only just arrived and I need to make some arrangements with an organization that understands what I have to offer.”
The woman, whose name tag declared her as “Kimberly” only met her with a blank, patented friendly look that was quite clearly practiced, though Peggy could tell behind the expression the gears were whirling. She glanced to the woman’s side and there was no weapon there, nor on the man’s hip, but perhaps on the back…
“I see.” The woman’s smile hadn’t dropped a centimeter, but she could see her posture stiffen as beside her the man - named Brandon as she read on his name tag - suddenly began paying more attention to the scene in front of him. “I suppose it is a bit chilly out there.”
Peggy considered. The statement was innocuous enough, given that she was a visitor presenting herself and the weather was cold outside, but she’d been in the game long enough to recognize the sort of language floating around, even in her time. It wasn’t precisely the truth about her, but she would take it. “Yes, I suppose it is nice to come in from out of the cold.”
The woman nodded as the man reached for a phone and began dialing a number, asking someone to come upstairs to the lobby, muttering a code at them. The woman didn’t even glance sideways at it.
“Could I have a name then, Miss…”
She could have given her name, but that would be a dead giveaway. She went with an alias instead. “Wexford, Katherine.”
“Miss Wexford.” She typed the name into the keyboard, staring at the screen in front of her. Whatever she was doing, it caused her to stop and stare, first at the screen, then up at Peggy again, eyes wide as she tried to keep her composure.
“Uh...errr...was that Wexford?”
Feeling she had suddenly somehow committed a faux pas she was going to need to somehow work her way around she nodded. “Yes.”
The man leaned over, peeked at the screen, then back up at Peggy, his expression becoming more like the woman’s. They both looked at each other as Kimberly uttered “Oh my God” just as a door by the desk opened and five men, all with some sort of long batons, poured out, surrounding her and the desk. The man at the furthest end, the leader she supposed, barked an order for her to hold her hands up and cooperate if she wouldn’t mind.
What else could she do?
The two agents behind the desk stared at her as she complied, one of the other black-clad fellows immediately patting her down as she felt something click around her right wrist. She sighed. It wasn’t the first time she was arrested in her life. She only hadn’t expected it to happen her first few hours in a new century.
“Well, bugger,” she muttered as they gently, but firmly, led her away, the two agents behind the desk staring at her as if they had seen a ghost.