Always Set the Timer for A Cup of Tea

by TheAsexualofSpades

Summary:

Prompt for small-gay-hufflepuff: Smart sciencey reader(not from mcu) works in some sort of lab, invents time travel, tests it on herself. She disappears and ends up in the mcu in the 40s (think this is more likely to work for season 2 plot), reader meets peggy(starstruck, gay, holy shit it's the peggy carter), Peggy lowkey gets a crush, reader goes back and goes on a rant about how she feels and how she knows peg probably thinks it's wrong to feel like this towards another woman but peggy just cuts her off with a kiss and ends all soft and lovely and Jarvis is just there like you're welcome

You're a scientist in our 2020, working on time travel. Your machine malfunctions and you end up plopped in Howard Stark's lab in 1947. Obviously, when you rip apart the multiverse, things happen. You've got to try and figure out how to make sure all of existence doesn't get wiped out.

Oh and you've got a serious crush on Peggy Carter.

Notes:

thanks so much to small-gay-hufflepuff on tumblr for the idea and for working with me!!! go check them out they're great

I own nothing you recognize :)

also!! there's a nifty difty extension called 'Interactive Fics' where you can replace y/n and l/n with your real name and your last name or whatever you'd like!!!

Chapter 1: Woman Out of Time

Honestly, for someone about to attempt time travel, you really should have set the timer for your tea. 

 

You grimace as you put the cup down. Steeped for way too long. Even pouring honey in and only taking a sip with the rest of your ‘breakfast’ doesn’t help, the bitter taste lingering for ages. Ah, well, when you’re about to invent time travel you can afford to overlook the small things. 

 

“Alright,” you mutter, clicking on the digital recorder you keep in your pocket, “here goes nothing. Testing, testing.”

 

The sound waves register. You’re good to go. 

 

“This is Dr. Y/N, audio log #54, May 8th, 2020. First attempt at activating the machine is about to happen.”

 

“As you will know unless you just skipped to this log,” you continue, prodding the dials and tapping a few keys to make sure everything is just right, “this machine works by analyzing the relationship between a particle and the fabric of spacetime, pulling it out and reinserting it at another point by modifying its gravitational weight in spacetime. Kind of like pulling a single thread out of a rug and sewing it back in at a different point.”

 

The machine whines and you step back. “You may get some pretty funky stitchwork, but hey, it’ll still look cool.”

 

“Now,” you continue, “again, we’re using this recorder so that it doesn’t get messed up by the machine’s feedback, and we’re not gonna do something stupid like throwing a person in here. That’s just dumb.”

 

The laugh track in your head is rolling on the floor. It’s fine. At some point, you’ll refine these down to something that can actually be presented in front of a board but for right now you’re having fun. 

 

“So, all we’re gonna do is take a little piece of paper with the number ‘zero’ written on it,” you say, drawing the symbol on a post-it, “and try and send it so it’ll be right here, on the floor, for Dorothy to pick up when she came through last night.”

 

You and your team know the premise works. You’ve done small scale experiments with photons and electrons and you’ve got very promising results. Of course, time for elementary particles is very different for massive particles, but hey, progress is progress. You can’t deny the slight tremble in your fingers as you place the post-it on the machine’s bed. Stepping back, you take your place behind the console and hover your finger over the START button. 

 

“Energy levels stabilizing...mass registered...spacetime interval set…”

 

Here goes nothing. 

 

Get it? ‘Cause you wrote a zero on the post-it?

 

Everyone’s a critic. 

 

“Initiating test in three...two...one.”

 

You press the button. 

 

There’s a spike on the readouts. 

 

An alarm goes off. 

 

There’s a bright flash of light. 

 

Your digital recorder ticks away and you look up, raising it to your lips so you can immediately report the results of the test. 

 

The post-it is gone. 

 

“Okay…” It takes a few seconds for the sheer immensity of what might’ve just happened to register, your finger almost fumbling the recorder. “Okay, so bright flash, bunch of stuff, and the post-it is gone. Let’s go ahead and...call Dorothy...oh my god, guys, we might’ve just did that—okay, hold on, here we go…”

 

Your fingers shake on the buttons as you type a quick text to Dorothy, asking if she found a post-it near the machine last night. 

 

“Okay...the text has been sent...now we wait for her to respond...oh my god, I can’t believe we did this, guys, this is gonna be so weird...god damnit Dorothy please text me back.”

 

Your phone buzzes. 

 

Dorothy: Sorry, dear, I don’t think I did. I swept that place quite thoroughly and I didn’t see any post-its. 

 

Damnit. 

 

“Well, uh, false alarm, guys,” you say into the recorder, unable to keep the disappointment out of your voice, “no time travel. Though, uh, I guess it’s a good thing? ‘Cause if we did this right first try we’d be out of a job.”

 

The laugh track didn’t like that one as much. 

 

“End log.”

 

You shut off the recorder and tuck it into your pocket. You shouldn’t be disappointed. After all, you’re trying to invent time travel here. It’s not like you were just gonna flick a switch and have it work, it’s gonna—well, it’s gonna take time. And you weren’t stupid enough to try and goad yourself into making a paradox or anything like that. No ‘we agree that if we ever do this our first stop will be here in five seconds,’ none of that nonsense. If you were gonna build this science you were gonna do it from scratch, no hand-holding your past self. As you tap a few keys to start the quantum scrub-down, you take another sip of your tea, wincing. You’d forgotten in your excitement that you steeped it too long. 

 

“Ah, yes, the bitter taste of failure,” you muse to yourself, “how fitting.”

 

In all likelihood, what probably happened is the surge of energy required to separate the particle from its place in spacetime vaporized the paper on contact. Probably means you’ll have to adjust the frequency, reevaluate the charge that buffers between the interactions, make sure the Higgs Field doesn’t screw you over…

 

Sighing, you push yourself off the console and strap on your goggles. No need to get any more moping done before you have to get yourself in gear and figure out what to do next.  You pick up your calculator and sit at your desk. Okay...let’s take this reading and see what’s going on…

 

Your digital recorder whines. 

 

Your hand goes to your pocket, trying to make it shut up. It persists, growing higher, and higher. Frowning, you pull it out. What the hell is it doing? You push back from your desk, standing up, thinking maybe it’s got something wrong with the way you turned it off, maybe there’s some sort of resonance coming from the machine, and it stops. 

 

Well, uh, that was weird. 

 

Maybe it’s just on the fritz for some reason. 

 

You shrug. Eh, it still works, should be fine. You go to sit back down at your desk, head still whirring with numbers and equations, and why the heck we haven’t discovered emergent gravity yet when your fingers touch nothing but air. 

 

You blink. 

 

Uh...where did your chair go?

 

Matter of fact, what the hell happened to the lights? Why is it all yellow in here? Did one of the...fuses...blow…

 

Oh. 

 

Oh, oh no, no, no, no, this…

 

Oh, jeez. 

 

There’s a desk in front of you, sure, but it’s not the slab of metal with the fifty thousand monitors that you plug away at. It’s a wooden thing that looks like it’s way out of your price range. There’s a gizmo sitting on it that has enough bells and whistles to fit right into a steampunk revival. As your gaze travels around, you see the dingy bulbs lighting up the walls, the other gadgets perched haphazardly on every surface telling you that you sure as hell ain’t in Kansas anymore. The room looks about the same, well, in size, the configuration is way different. The walls aren’t metal; they’re peeling plaster, some ridiculously elaborate pipes running along the top part of the wall near the ceiling and down to the floor. The brick ceiling looks...pretty secure, at least you’re not about to get crushed under a ton of falling bricks. The smell of burning rubber assaults your nostrils, making your eyes water. 

 

You shake your head slowly, trying to figure out if this is just some incredibly vivid hallucination brought on by the tea. Nope. The image stays right where it is. 

 

There’s a tinny whistling coming from somewhere. You glance around, trying to figure out where it’s coming from when you freeze. 

 

Given that you—apparently—just popped out of freaking nowhere it shouldn’t surprise you that you’re not alone. 

 

That’s not the shocking bit. 

 

The man at the other end of the room stands up slowly, switching off the blowtorch— that’s why it smelled like burning rubber—and raising his face shield. 

 

“No...no way,” you murmur under your breath, taking a step backward, “no freaking way.”

 

“Hey, J,” the man called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off you, “uh, you seeing this?”

 

Another man—god, you didn’t even see him—pops his head out from behind a stack of books. 

 

“I assume you are referring to the woman that’s just appeared out of thin air.”

 

“Yep.” The first man shifts his weight from one side to the other. “She real?”

 

“She certainly looks real.”

 

“ She is standing right here, thank you very much,” you say, the two men ogling you like some zoo creature starting to piss you off just a bit , “and she would like to know what the hell’s going on.”

 

“Funny,” the man says, straightening his tucked-in tie—they’d both startled horribly when you spoke— “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

 

“Well, I just finished recalculating the heavy-ion fuser when my recorder decided to whistle like a broken train—” you spread your arms wide— “and now I’m here. Wherever the hell ‘here’ is.”

 

Please let me be wrong. Please, please let me be wrong. 

 

“Now that I can answer for you.” The man steps around the table, holding his hand out. “My name is Howard Stark. That fella over there is Mr. Jarvis. You’re in my lab in the great city of Los Angeles.”

 

You hesitate before you take his hand. “And what year is it?”

 

He frowns. “1947. What,” he chuckles, “you not gonna tell me you’re a time traveler, are you?”

 

You take a deep breath. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Chapter 2: A Queer Conundrum

Summary:

Howard Stark is many things, but easily impressed isn't one of them. You manage to do just fine. The 1940s may be a little easier with him around.

Notes:

if you try and tell me Howard Stark is completely and utterly heterosexual I will laugh in your face

Howard’s eyes widen and he laughs nervously. “No, really.”

 

“No, really.” You shake his hand, even though it’s gone limp, and glance around to wave at Jarvis. 

 

“Wait, so you—” Howard shakes his head, still processing what you just said. To be fair, so are you. “You—you invented time travel?”

 

“Apparently.” You peer around at the various things on the tables. “Unless you’re lying to me.”

 

“How can I be sure you ain’t lying to me ?”

 

You shoot a ‘come on, dude’ look over your shoulder. “I just appeared out of thin air. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. Burden of proof’s in your corner, dude.”

 

“That’s fair.” Howard glances around his lab, grabbing something off the table and offering it to you. “Have a look. Passport, issued last year. Proper mint and everything.”

 

You look. Yeah, that’s a passport. Jeez, did they really used to have—well, you guess they didn’t use to have anything. You’re in the forties. 

 

Holy crap, you’re in the forties. 

 

“Whoa, hey!” Howard shoots forward to catch you as your knees buckle. A loud clang rings in your ears as your hip collides with a sharp corner. “Jarvis, come on, gimme a hand here!”

 

“Right away, sir.” 

 

You’re vaguely aware of Jarvis leaving but you’re still kind of preoccupied because hey, you’re in the forties. Time travel. Huh. Hey. It worked. Because you’re in the forties. 

 

Oh, wait, crap, you’re in the forties. 

 

That means not only does no one know what the heck has happened to you, because it ain’t like they’re gonna find out until they come in the next day, but you don’t have the technology to get back because you know. It’s the forties. 

 

Oh, wait hold on it’s the forties. 

 

“Hey, hey, come on, sweetheart.”

 

“I’m not your sweetheart,” you mumble. Oh right, Howard’s holding you on the floor of his lab in the forties.

 

“Okay then, doll, but you gotta breathe.” 

 

Oh, hey. You’re hyperventilating. That’s, uh, not great. 

 

“There you go,” Howard says, “come on. Oxygen. Great stuff.”

 

Okay. Breathe. Come on, Y/N, you can breathe. Breathing is good. You focus on taking deep inhales, feeling the air move in and out of your lungs. The smell of burning rubber is going away, that’s good. Alright. Get your brain back online. Let’s try and explain what’s going on. 

 

“Here,” comes Jarvis’ voice from somewhere above you, “sit up, please.”

 

You let them guide you into a seated position, Jarvis pressing a glass of water into your hands. Drinking gives you more time to think. 

 

“So,” you murmur, “I’m in the forties.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“I’m afraid so.”

 

“I’m from 2020.”

 

Howard whistles. “No kidding. What’ve they got going on?”

 

“Oh, you know, government’s not doing enough to keep people safe, scientists are screaming that we need to do something before we destroy the planet, and no one ever has enough respect for being a kind person.”

 

Howard snorts. “So nothing’s changed.”

 

“Phones are computers and they fit in your pocket, that’s cool.”

 

“Well, that is cool. They got flying cars yet?”

 

Oh right. Shit. This is...this is another problem. 

 

“Right. Um...god, how do I explain this.”

 

Howard raises an eyebrow. “‘S a simple question. Flying cars, yes or no?”

 

“No.” You steel yourself, taking a deep breath. “But, uh, I’m not from...your...future.”

 

“Well, no, I’ve got a feelin’ I’d remember something like this down the line.”

 

You shake your head. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

“What, my kids ain’t hanging around you?”

 

“You’re making some assumptions, there.” 

 

“Well, there must be a reason you ended up here,” Howard says, winking, “can’t just be a coincidence.”

 

“No, really, it could be.”

 

“Oh, come on—”

 

“Mr. Stark now is not the time.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis,” you sigh. “The point I was trying to make is that I’m not from this timeline. ”

 

“Well, yeah, that’s how time travel works, you can’t—”

 

“Will you stop talking for two goddamn seconds?”

 

The force of your shout echoes around the room. If you weren’t so irritated, the gobsmacked look on Howard’s face would’ve made you burst out laughing. As it is, you glare at him until his eyes stop bugging out of his head and his mouth snaps shut. 

 

“Now, here’s the thing,” you say slowly, making sure you get your words out in the right order, “I am from a place and time where you, Howard Stark, are a fictional character. You exist in the pages of comic books and on the screens for television shows and movies. I am not from a universe where you are real. ”

 

Saying it out loud makes it worse, somehow. Because not only have you time traveled, you went ahead and completely jumped ship. You’re in another universe now. And it’s the forties. 

 

No matter how many times you say it, it still hasn’t sunk in yet. 

 

“...so…” Your attention snaps back to Howard, who’s still thinking through what you’ve just said. “...no flying cars?”

 

You groan, burying your head in your hands as Howard laughs. 

 

“Hey, I’m just pulling your leg.”

 

“I am afraid you’ll have to get used to it,” Jarvis says, and hey, at least you’ve got a partner to commiserate with. 

 

“So, new dimension. New universe. Time travel.” Howard squints at you. “You think you can do it again?”

 

You return the look. “Really? You’re just gonna buy that? Right off the bat?”

 

He shrugs. “You did just appear outta nowhere. And I sure as hell ain’t seen any clothes like that anywhere else.”

 

Oh, right. 

 

“That’s pretty extraordinary evidence to me.” He winks. “You ain’t lookin’ so bad yourself either.”

 

“Nope.” You hold your finger up. “None of that. Heading that off at the pass right now.”

 

“Aw, come on,” Howard pouts, “you saying I ain’t your type?”

 

“Not even close.”

 

“What is it, then, you like blonds? Big guys? Redheads?”

 

“How,” you mutter, “how did we get here, why are we having this conversation right now.”

 

“Familiarity.”

 

You pause. “Huh?”

 

Howard smiles at you and it’s...nice. It’s just a smile. “Come on. You’re freaking out—which is totally understandable, by the way—so I’m givin’ you something to talk about that isn’t...that stuff.”

 

Okay, yeah. You’re gonna give him that one. It’s a good idea. 

 

“...thanks.”

 

“Sure thing, doll.”

 

“Is the pet name necessary?”

 

“You haven’t given me the pleasure of knowing your real name.”

 

You roll your eyes. “If I tell you my name, will you knock that off?”

 

“It’s impossible for him to truly cease all flirtation,” Jarvis sighs, “believe me, attempts have been made.”

 

“I am so sorry.”

 

“Luckily it is not directed at me. ”

 

“No, but you’ve gotta listen to it.”

 

“That is correct. You learn to tune it out.”

 

“Hey!” You both look at Howard who waves indignantly. “I’m right here!”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“Whatever happened to having a normal conversation?”

 

You blink innocently at Jarvis. “We were having one. Perfectly nice, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Jarvis?”

 

“Oh, I was quite enjoying it.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright you two,” Howard grumbles, “you still haven’t told me your name.”

 

“No, I haven’t,” you say, enjoying the slowly-getting-more-annoyed Howard Stark in front of you before relenting. “Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

 

“Pretty name for a pretty dame.” Howard chuckles when you roll your eyes. “So come on, if I ain’t your type—”

 

“You aren’t.”

 

“Then what is? Can’t be rich and famous, I’m both of those things.”

 

“And it definitely won't be humble either, huh.”

“Hey, facts are facts.” Howard makes himself more comfortable on the—oh yeah, you’re all still on the floor. Huh. “Is it the mustache?”

 

“Partly.”

 

Howard groans, and wow it seems his melodrama knows no bounds. “You’re killing me here, Y/N.”

 

“Male.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Male,” you repeat, watching realization dawn on his face. He sits up, expression morphing into something more sympathetic. 

 

“You’re a fan of lavenders, huh.”

 

“What?”

 

“Ah, right,” Howard says, “you ain’t from this time, you’re...probably not used to the slang.”

 

“I believe what Mr. Stark is trying to say,” Jarvis pipes up, “is that you...prefer to seek partnerships with members of your own sex.”

 

“What he said, ‘cept that’s a mouthful.”

 

You nod, throat running dry. You’re pretty familiar with Howard’s character, and you’re like 90% he ain’t completely straight-laced either, but…

 

“Hey,” Howard says quietly, giving your shoulder a little nudge, “don’t worry, I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

 

He gives you a reassuring smile when you look up. “Trust me, I, uh, ain’t exactly heavy in my loafers either.”

 

You blink. “You what in your what?”

 

Another long-suffering sigh from Jarvis—man, they really dumbed it down for the shows, huh—and he says: “he’s queer as well.”

 

“What the heck did you just say instead?”

 

“Light in my loafers.” 

 

“What does that have to do with—you know what,” you say, raising a hand to your head, “it’s fine. I don’t wanna know.”

 

“What’re you callin’ it in your time?”

 

“We just say ‘gay,’” you say, “or lesbian. Or bisexual. Or pan, or ace, or just queer, even though fewer people are comfortable with that one.”

 

Howard nods. “Bisexual...yeah, that one’s me.”

 

“Not many surprises there.”

 

“Hey,” he says, spreading his hands, “everyone else is missin’ half the fun.”

 

“I can assure you, Miss L/N,” Jarvis says, “that you are quite safe in the residence of Mr. Stark. You will not be prosecuted for being who you are under this roof.”

 

“Johnny Law ain’t gonna touch you,” Howard agrees, “even if someone did find out.”

 

“Wait, so…” You look back and forth between the two of them. “I can stay?”

 

“Well, you ain’t going anywhere else,” Howard says, “not before I ask you all the other questions I have.”

 

Despite his tone, you can see through the look on his face that he’s being genuine. You can stay. He’ll help you. 

 

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. 

Chapter 3: A Few Too Many Questions

Summary:

Howard has questions. You don't really have answers.

In hindsight, you can definitely excuse the fact that you all sat on the floor for longer than maybe strictly acceptable, given you figured out hey, not only did you time travel, but you hopped dimensions and not only that, but you appeared smack dab in the middle of Howard Stark’s lab. You know, as one does. 

 

“Might I suggest we get our guest settled for the night, Mr. Stark?”

 

“Of course, of course.” Howard jumps to his feet and holds out a hand. “Come on, Y/N. Lemme give you the tour.”

 

“Uh —” You glance back and forth between the two of them. 

 

“Come on, please?” Howard starts pulling you toward the door. “Won’t be any trouble. Plus, I’ve got more questions for you.”

 

“You know I’m not really a luxury kind of gal —”

 

“Well, you’ve been missing out!” That only seems to encourage him, bounding outside and dragging you with him. 

 

“Wait —”

 

“Mr. Stark, might I ask that you be considerate of your guest’s wishes —” Jarvis, whatever he’s paying you, it ain’t enough  — “or at the very least, refrain from dragging them around like a ragdoll.”

 

“You’re no fun.” But it gets Howard to slow down and let go of your hand. “Tell you what. I’ll give her the tour, you go tell the chef to fix us up a little something, huh?”

 

“What time is it,” you interrupt, “because for me it’s late as heck and I’d quite like to see if all of this is just a vivid fever dream before I do anything else.”

 

Howard opens his mouth then seems to realize he also has no idea what time it is. A quick glance at Jarvis and the man sighs. 

 

“Currently, it is a quarter past two.”

 

“In the afternoon?”

 

“In the morning.”

 

You bury your face in your hands. “Yep. No, I’m not answering any questions before I go to sleep.”

 

“But Y/N —”

 

“Mr. Stark.” Ooh, the disappointed tone of butlery voice, now we’re getting somewhere. “Might I suggest you go to the kitchen and begin preparations for the two of you to eat something. As I recall, you have not eaten since three o’clock yesterday.”

 

And the little bit of emphasis on ‘yesterday’ sends Howard down the hall. 

 

“You’ve gotta teach me how to do that,” you mutter to Jarvis as the two of you watch him go. 

 

“I believe all you would have to do is scold him as you did before,” Jarvis says back, “it seemed very effective.”

 

“Are you two talking about me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes.”

 

You glance up at Jarvis who doesn’t even look embarrassed and that’s good enough for you. Howard shakes his head. 

 

“Hey, Y/N, will you answer one question for me?”

 

“Depends on what it is?”

 

“What do you want to eat? Chef enjoys a challenge, you want it, we’ll get it.”

 

You’re not in the mood for anything fancy and his point about familiarity from earlier still rings in your head. “Burger and french fries, lettuce, and onion. Well done. No pickles.”

 

Howard wrinkles his nose. “Who doesn’t like pickles with a burger?”

 

“Me.” You stare him down until he shrugs. 

 

“Hey, it’s your funeral. Besides,” he adds with a wink, “I like a girl who can eat.”

 

You frown. “What did your last one do, photosynthesize?”

 

Howard throws his head back and roars with laughter. Okay jeez, dude, it wasn’t that funny. Just, you know, don’t be an asshat?

 

“You,” he says finally when he’s calmed down enough to talk, “I like you.”

 

And...he’s gone. 

 

“I have a feeling I already know the answer to this,” you say, staring down the hall, “but is he always like that?”

 

“Either that,” Jarvis sighs, “or he’s elbow deep in calculations that would boggle the noblest of scientists. Though perhaps you would be able to keep up better than I.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Of course. Now, please, if you would allow me to show you around…”

 

Somehow it’s easier with Jarvis showing you around, probably because he has the air of someone who’s done this many times before and can probably do it by rote if you asked him. The way he shows you from room to room has an ease to it that you can almost pretend you’re just on a tour through a remarkably accurate reconstruction of a mansion from the 1940s. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t entertain the idea of dressing in period finery and sweeping from room to room. A proper set of pearls —that don’t shatter when you pull the string because it’s actually made of leather and there are knots in between each pearl to keep them from rubbing thank you  —a sweeping skirt, proper shoes...

 

“You will notice the influence of French architecture and yet the layout is distinctly German,” Jarvis continues, leading you through an archway —why do you need archways in this place — “and there is clear evidence of a desire to remain faithful to the art nouveau aesthetic.”

 

“Mr. Jarvis,” you say, coming to a stop beside the —yep, it’s a swimming pool — “not that I’m not grateful for the fascinating description but I’m afraid it’s all going over my head.”

 

“Quite right,” Jarvis says, “my apologies. I...confess this has become a bit of a rote.”

 

“I’m impressed.”

 

“If you think that is impressive you should see my recollection of other things.”

 

“Please,” you say, holding a hand out to forestall any other recitations, “not tonight? Or this morning?”

 

“Of course, Ms. L/N.” Jarvis leads you up a staircase and down another hall. “I can assure you that there will be a lack of recitations for the rest of the night. Well,” he pauses when your mouth falls open at the sight of the bedroom, “perhaps with one more.”

 

“No, no,” you mutter, far too enthralled at the idea of a bed, “I don’t need to know what it’s made out of or how expensive it was, it’s a bed. I’m very appreciative.”

 

“There is an en suite bathroom for your usage,” Jarvis says instead, “breakfast is at nine, though I’m sure you’ll be quite satisfied with your meal before you retire. If, in fact, you still want it.”

 

Mm. Food. 

 

“Um, yes please.” You take one more look around the bedroom and step back. “Which way is the kitchen again?”

 

“Right this way.”

 

The kitchen, of course, is extravagant. You wince as you step over the threshold. Jarvis, of course, doesn’t hesitate, walking right over to the breakfast bar and ducking into some hidden pantry. The marble countertops, the vinyl bar stools...it’s like a restaurant in here where you get to watch the chef prepare your food before you eat it. A pair of double doors leads to what you presume is the actual kitchen. 

 

“Y/N! You made it!” Howard waves you over to a steaming plate of a burger and fries. Your mouth starts to water. Jeez, when was the last time you had a good burger. 

 

“Jarvis get you all settled?”

 

You nod, too focused on the food in front of you. Howard seems to get the fact that you’re not gonna say anything before you eat. Well, he doesn’t have to wait. 

 

“Wow,” he mutters as you sigh, “that burger didn’t last long.”

 

“It was delicious,” you gush. “Please, tell your chef they’re incredible.”

 

“He knows.” Howard pushes the rest of the fries toward you. “So, the room? All good? Right color scheme?”

 

“You can’t be serious.”

 

“What? Carpet not nice? You prefer wood floors?”

“Okay, Gatsby, calm down over there,” you say, eating a fry, “the room is gorgeous. This whole house is.”

 

“Well, I aim to please.” Howard spins around on the stool, leaning against the counter. “So, this universe you come from. What’s the ‘me’ like there?”

 

“Rich.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Famous.”

 

“That’s a given.”

 

“Genius scientist and inventor with a flair for the dramatic.”

 

“Handsome too?”

 

“Eh.” You giggle at his outrage. “I mean, you look like this...roughly.”

 

“So that’s a yes, then,” Howard says, ignoring your laughing in favor of taking more fries, “you said it’s a comic book? TV show? Movie?”

 

“Movie and TV shows based on the comic book.”

 

Howard snaps his fingers. “I knew it was a good idea. So, what’s it called?”

 

“What?”

 

Howard waves his hand. “The comic book.”

 

“Oh, it’s part of a larger series. Universe. You know. It’s called ‘Marvel Comics.’”

 

“Ah, because I’m such a marvel?”

 

“No.” Howard pouts, munching on the fries. “I don’t know why it’s called that, I haven’t looked.”

 

“So who’s the main character?”

 

See, now, here’s the tricky part. Because you’re not about to spoil the entirety of Marvel Comics here. You tell him as much and he nods, even if he looks a little disappointed. 

 

“Figures. I shouldn’t spoil too much for myself, it’ll take the fun out of it.” He nudges your shoulder. “But you can tell me who the main character is.”

 

“It’s not you.”

 

“Oh, well, then don’t tell me.” 

 

You lapse into silence as you polish off the fries. Howard slides you a glass of water and you sit for a moment. It still hasn’t really hit you that you’ve time-traveled and dimension-traveled. But it’s getting there. 

 

“So, your room is fine?”

 

“Yes, Howard,” you say, “it’s more than fine. And it’s not like I’ll be imposing on you for long, so —”

 

“Whoa, hey, hey,” Howard cuts you off, “whattya mean? You ain’t thinking of trying to tell the world you’re a time traveler without me, are you?”

 

“No, I —wait, why would I do it with you?”

 

Howard gestures around as if to say ‘have you looked around recently?’ “You landed in my lab, that gives me something.”

 

“No, it doesn’t.”

 

“Sure it does! Make all the headlines, get you the proper press. Hell, we’ll make a tour out of it. ‘Stark Industries presents: The Time Traveler.’”

 

“That’s an awful title.”

 

“Well gimme some time, I’ve only just started.”

 

“That’s —you know what, no.” You put the glass down. “I mean, I’m not going to be staying in this time for long.”

 

“Why not? You just got here!”

 

“And I’m carrying god knows how many new diseases and antibodies that could kill all of you,” you argue, “plus, there are so many implications behind the fact that I jumped universes, I mean, physics is gonna go ballistic, not to mention the fact that…”

 

You trail off, a lump blocking your throat. Howard leans a little closer, concerned. 

 

“The fact that…” he prompts. 

 

You take a deep breath. “I want to go home, Howard.”

 

Your words land like a solid rock in the middle of the kitchen. The clock ticking is too loud. The burger and fries you just ate sit in the pit of your stomach. Finally, Howard nods. 

 

“Okay,” he says, laying a hand on your arm, “we’ll get you home.”

 

“Plus,” you say, trying to muster up some confidence you really don’t have, “it’s not a breakthrough if you can only do it once. Replicable results. That’s what I need.”

 

Howard grins. “Guess we’d better get some shut-eye. We’ve got work to do.”

Chapter 4: Let's Get This Bread

Summary:

Talking about the structure of the universe isn't how you'd thought you'd spend the morning, but here you are.

The sunlight wakes you up. 

 

Groaning, you roll over in bed, your arm flopped over to block out some of that pesky brightness, wondering why the hell you left your blinds open last night, honestly what were you—

 

You freeze. Muffled footsteps. Someone’s in your room. 

 

“Ms. L/N?”

 

Your eyes blink open, squinting up against the light to see someone standing by your bedside. You scramble against the covers, startled, only for the other person to raise their hands in a placating manner. 

 

“I apologize for frightening you,” they say, “but Mr. Stark wished for you to be woken so that you could begin working as soon as possible.”

 

Mr. Stark. Work. Right. 

 

“Sorry, Mr. Jarvis,” you mumble, a little ashamed that you reacted like that, “I’ll be up in a moment.”

 

“Splendid.” He gestures towards the closet in the corner. “There is an assortment of clothes that you may choose from if you wish. You may, of course, wear the same clothes you...arrived in.”

 

Judging by the carefully hidden tone that really isn’t that carefully hidden, you’re pretty sure which option he’s pushing you towards. 

 

“I’m not sure they’ll fit,” you mumble, “I’m not exactly straight-sized for this time period.”

 

“I can assure you, Ms. L/N,” Jarvis says, “that they will fit you. Shall I inform Mr. Stark that you will join him in the dining room in a few moments?”

 

“Um…” You toy with the edge of the blanket. “Would you mind—I don’t—uh—”

 

Jarvis smiles kindly at you. “I will be happy to accompany you. Mr. Stark’s residences can be something of a labyrinth until you grow accustomed to them.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis.”

 

“Of course. I will wait for you outside.” With that, he sweeps around the bed and out the door, shutting it noiselessly behind him. 

 

Well, better get to it. 

 

You pry yourself out of the very comfortable bed and into the bathroom. Your clothes from yesterday lie draped over the hamper with the exception of the overshirt you chose to sleep in. Sighing, you go about your morning routine as best you can before making your way to the closet. You weren’t joking about the clothing not fitting, you’re aware that the silhouettes were—well, are more feminine in appearance and it’s not like you’re anywhere near fashion model standards here. 

 

You open the closet. 

 

Yep. Those are all dresses and skirts. Not that you have a big problem with dresses and skirts, but they’re not, well, they’re not necessarily the dresses and skirts you’re used to. Luckily for you, a lot of them seem to fit a little looser around the body than you were expecting, which means it’s highly unlikely you’ll strain any seams. You flick through the hangers until you find a soft gray dress that hangs just past your knees with pale cream cuffs and collar. 

 

“As I said,” Jarvis says when you step outside, “no need to worry.”

 

“Guess not.” 

 

“Right this way, Ms. L/N.” Jarvis takes you through the corridors and down the stairs until you reach another room, just as elaborate as anywhere else in the house. “Here you are.”

 

“Hey, Y/N!” Howard waves you over to the table. “Good morning! How’d you sleep?”

 

“I slept,” you say, thanking Jarvis for walking you and taking a seat at the table, “thanks.”

 

“Eat up,” Howard says, pushing the many plates of breakfast food towards you. “Wasn’t sure what you wanted so I had ‘em make some of everything.”

 

“Yep, that’s...that’s a lot of everything.”

 

There are eggs done at least three different ways, there are four different kinds of toast, there’s sausage, there’s bacon, there’s a lot of fruit, some pastries you couldn’t name or pronounce if you tried, there’s a lot of food.

 

“Just grab what you want,” Howard prompts, smiling when you serve yourself some of the fruit and a pastry, “atta girl.”

 

“Please tell me you don’t waste what you don’t eat,” you mutter. 

 

Howard takes a swig of what you’re pretty sure is alcohol and shakes his head. “‘Course not. What I don’t eat goes to the rest of the household staff or gets driven to the local shelter. But if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be. You’re not inconveniencing anyone.”

 

Reassured, you pile a little more on your plate and reach for the orange juice. The breeze ruffles the collar of your dress a little, smacking you in the face with it. You flatten it back down as you pour the juice. 

 

“You know,” Howard says, “we can get you some clothes you’d prefer if you didn’t like those.”

 

You shake your head. “They’ll do.”

 

“We can do better than that.”

 

“It’s not like I’m planning on staying,” you insist, biting into a pastry. 

 

“Right.” Howard sets aside his drink. “So, how’d you do it?”

 

“Time travel?”

 

“No, win the Olympic Gold. Yes, time travel.” Howard waves his hand impatiently. “Unless you did that too?”

 

“No, I definitely did not.” You swallow your mouthful and take a drink. “So, uh, I can’t tell you exactly what happened because I’m still not entirely sure what did . I wasn’t even trying to do something, the machine just kind of did its own thing.”

 

“You mean you invented time travel by accident?”

 

“No, I was working on time travel, just not dimension travel.” 

 

Howard lifts his glass in a mock salute. “Either way, that’s one hell of a job.”

 

“Thanks,” you mutter, returning the gesture halfheartedly. “So I’m guessing you want the science behind it.” Howard nods eagerly. “Okay, hang on.”

 

You take a deep breath. Disclaimer time. 

 

“So, I’m gonna tell you what we worked out, you’re gonna stop me when you don’t understand something or when I’m over-explaining something, and we’re both gonna remember I’m from another universe.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” Howard sits back in his chair, hands folded, making a show of how hard he’s listening. 

 

“Okay. So, the universe is not made up of absolute space and absolute time. It’s made up of a four-dimensional fabric known as spacetime.” Howard nods. “Within this spacetime, we don’t have universal agreement on when or where things happen, we can only determine their spacetime intervals to get a causal structure using the principle of special relativity.”

 

“Time moves slower the faster you go relative to another observer.”

 

“Right. Every thing, every particle, has a ‘thread’ in the fabric of spacetime that it travels along, moving from one event to the next through the causal structure.”

 

“Wait—” Howard holds up a hand— “so it’s a predetermined thing? Everything that’s gonna happen already exists and all that?”

 

You wince. “Kind of...there’s an element of randomness to it just by nature of how quantum mechanics and quantum field theory function but there is a future we can detect.”

 

Howard blinks at you. “You’re contradicting yourself there.”

 

You glance around, spotting an unsliced loaf of bread. “Pass me that and a knife.”

 

“If you want more toast, it’s already over there—” 

 

“Please?”

 

Howard gives you a strange look but does as you ask, setting the loaf of bread between you. 

 

“Okay. This—” you gesture to the loaf— “is the universe.”

 

“Don’t you think it’d be a different type of loaf?” Howard winks. “I much prefer a good sourdough.” You give him a look and he shuts up. 

 

“So, like I was saying, this is the universe. Every moment in spacetime is contained within it. We perceive it,” you say as you move the knife in a perpendicular line across the loaf, “like this. One moment at a time.”

 

“But if we were moving faster,” Howard starts, catching on, “we wouldn’t be doing it at the same angle.”

 

“Exactly.” You angle the knife so that you would slice the bread at a diagonal. “If I’m moving relative to you, my slice isn’t going to agree with what happens at any given moment of your slice. If I’m traveling away from you, I’m going to see your past.”

 

Howard reaches over to rest his hand on yours, moving to angle the knife the opposite way. “And if you were traveling towards me, you’d see my future.”

 

“Right. There’s enough random chance we can’t account for that we don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, and we’ve not done enough experiments at near lightspeed over great enough distances to know for sure, but that’s the theory anyway.”

 

“Huh.” Howard lets go of your hand. You put the knife down and move the loaf out of the way so you can get back to the rest of your breakfast. “So then how’d you manage to mess with it?”

 

You take a few moments to swallow another bite of your food before speaking. “Each piece of matter or antimatter has its own thread in the fabric of spacetime. We were trying to figure out how to isolate the specific particle’s thread and reinsert it somewhere else.”

 

“So…” Howard muses, chewing on a piece of bacon, “like if you were sewing something and you plucked one of the threads out of the fabric and pulled it out?”

 

“Not out completely, we’re not trying to remove the thread, we’re just taking a bit of the thread and putting it somewhere else along it.”

 

“I’m confused.”

 

You sigh. “God, I miss Holly, she’s so good at explaining this stuff.”

 

“You’re doing great,” Howard reassures, “this stuff ain’t easy. Lemme see if I get it.”

 

You sit back, grateful for the chance to eat some more. Seriously, this food is good. 

 

“So,” Howard says, using his hands to create a ‘space,’ “you’re analyzing the ‘threads’ particles move along through spacetime to determine the relationship each particle has to the overall fabric.” You nod. “Then you’re trying to...isolate the individual particle so you can move it to anywhere along that thread?”

 

“Yeah, that’s it!”

 

Howard drops his hands and gives you a once over. “I think I’m in love.”

 

“You’re not,” you deadpan, “I promise.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Absolutely positive.” You munch down another piece of fruit. “You’re excited about time travel and projecting.”

 

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

 

You raise an eyebrow. “Those are two very different things.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Howard helps himself to an apple, taking a huge bite. “Wait, so...then how does the hopping universes fit into it?”

 

You smile. “I have absolutely no idea.”

 

Jarvis comes out to see the two of you grinning like maniacs. “Good lord,” you hear him mutter, “there are two of them.”

 

 Howard downs his glass and stands up. “Come on, then. We got work to do.”

“Can we not finish eating first?”

 

Howard stares at you like you’ve grown another head. “You want to eat instead of work on time travel ?”

 

“I’m not about to try anything that could rip the universe apart on an empty stomach.”

 

“Well,” Jarvis says from behind, making you jump, “at least one of you has some common sense.”

 

Howard sulks back to the table, picking up his knife and fork to finish his food. “You two are no fun.”

 

“I can assure you, Mr. Stark, that it will be a great deal more fun if you do try and keep yourself alive long enough to do whatever it is.”

 

You agree with Jarvis, to which Howard announces both of you are no fun. 

 

“So we’re not working on time travel?”

 

“Shut up and eat.”

Chapter 5: Uncomfortable Comfort

Summary:

Working with Howard is one thing; you're used to putting your nose to the grindstone. Being reminded of where, or more precisely, when you are, is another.

Well, never let it be said that Howard Stark didn’t know how to make things move fast when he wanted them to. 

 

By the time you’d finished eating and went down to the lab—Howard had gotten impatient when you’d reached for the bacon and sausage—he’d cleared the tables and spread books open on every available surface. He glances up when you come in, waving you over and pointing to a scrap of graph paper, a compass, and a stack of other drawing tools. 

 

“So, I’m looking at the data from some of my other inventions and I think I’ve pinpointed the moment you arrived,” he starts, “but I need a schematic of what your machine looked like to get any further.”

 

“Uh…” You pick up one of the pencils and turn it over in your hands. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

 

“What?” Howard shoves one book aside and picks up another. “Can’t hear you.”

 

“I’m not the one who designed the machine, and even if I did, I’m not sure I could draw it by hand.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“We work on computers, Howard, more advanced than anything you’ve ever seen,” you argue, “I can give you a really rough idea of what it is and I can explain how it works, but I’m not sure I can give you anything more than that.”

 

Howard waves a hand. “That’s fine. I’m not expecting anything super precise. It’d be nice, but I just need to know what I’m working with.”

 

Sighing, you sit down and start drawing what you remember. There’s a box here, a tunnel here, the bed’s here, it connects to the monitors via a channel over here…

 

“How do you want the connections represented?”

 

“Can’t you just draw them?”

 

“They’re not physical.”

 

“Oh. Here—” he tosses a pack of colored tape at you— “use that.”

 

“Thanks.”

It takes much longer than you’d like, and it’s far sloppier than just about every report you’ve seen bar the doodle Erin scrawled on a napkin when you two went out for coffee once, but it’s your machine. You scribble down the equations you can remember and stick it up on a wall. Howard comes to stand behind you. 

 

“Well, that’s...a lot rougher than I was expecting.”

 

You shrug helplessly. “It’s not like I have anything I’d normally be using!”

 

“Eh,” he says, “we’ll figure it out.” He starts looking between your drawing and the notebook currently in his hands. 

 

“Alright,” he mutters, “so...if you used that to do that...and if this measurement corresponds to this…”

 

You peer over his shoulder. It looks like the measurements came from some kind of quantum field resonator or an incredibly sensitive magnetic scope. “I think it’s giving us an idea of how the two spacetime grids overlapped. Look—” you point to one of the results— “see how it matches up with what this would’ve produced?”

 

“Nah, quantum signature’s off.”

 

“Not if you factor in the universe difference.”

 

Howard squints at it again. “You’re right.” 

 

“Score one for Everret.”

 

“Who?”

 

You wave a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Y/N…” Howard looks up at you with a triumphant grin spreading across his face, affectionately clapping you on the shoulder, “I think you’ve invented time travel.”

 

“I did?” You glance back and forth between the different scribblings. “I did!”

 

Howard whoops and sweeps you into a tight hug. You hug him back. Holy crap, you just invented time travel. And dimensional travel! 

 

“If you were someone else,” Howard says, letting go, “I’d kiss you right now.”

 

“But you won’t.”

 

“No, I don’t really feel like getting smacked across the face right now.”

 

“Smart man.” You peer at your drawing again. “Okay...so, if we realign the coil here…”

 

The next few hours fly by as the two of you try and figure out how you can make a similar machine with 1940s technology. Luckily for the both of you, Howard Stark never was a man to let himself be limited by the technology of the rest of the time, so you’ve got your work cut out for you but it won’t be impossible. Much to Jarvis’ chagrin, it seems that once you get swept up in a project, you’re no better than Howard at remembering to eat and sleep and do all the other pesky human tasks to keep going. As such, it feels like you blink and suddenly it’s been half a week. 

 

“I can assure you,” Jarvis says one morning as you frantically stammer out an apology for imposing for so long, “your stay is causing us no inconvenience whatsoever.”

 

“In fact,” he continues as you walk to breakfast—you’d gotten a little better at finding your way through the mansion but requested Jarvis stay with you; you found his company reassuring— “I must confess it is a breath of fresh air to see Mr. Stark so enthralled in a project with someone else.”

 

“Doesn’t he have, like, fleets of people working for him?”

 

“Precisely,” Jarvis says as you round the corner, “people who work for him. You, Ms. L/N, are working with Mr. Stark. And I daresay he is all the more brilliant for it.”

 

“Uh—” how in the heck are you supposed to respond to this — “...thanks, Mr. Jarvis.”

 

You can see him trying not to smirk out of the corner of your eye. “Of course, Ms. L/N.”

 

He stops you before you go outside to join Howard. You have insisted on eating at least one meal a day outside of the lab, partly to help give your brains a rest, partly because Jarvis insisted. “I will also add, Ms. L/N, that you are not imposing, and you would not be imposing even without the time travel.”

 

He leaves you there, still a little taken aback. Howard chuckles at your still red, still bewildered expression when you sit down. 

 

“He likes you,” he says in lieu of any more complete explanation, pouring you a glass of juice. It’s cranberry today. 

 

“I like him too,” you say because of course you do. It’s Jarvis, what are you supposed to do, not like him? “He’s really kind.”

 

Howard snorts. “He’s a butler, he’s supposed to be polite.”

 

“But there’s a difference between being polite and being kind,” you argue, “and he’s...he’s both.”

 

Howard glances sideways at you. “Don’t get your hopes up. He’s married.”

 

“What? Oh my god, no, you—you did that on purpose,” you scold, smacking Howard’s arm with your napkin when he bursts out laughing, “you ass.”

 

“Oh come on, it was too good!”

 

“I am an innocent and wonderful lesbian, I don’t deserve this.”

 

“Hey,” Howard says, helping himself to more eggs, “it’s a damn sight near better than what some of the other’s’ll do to you.”

 

And just like that every ounce of mirth you had dissipates. Howard doesn’t seem to notice, shoveling food into his mouth without a care in the world. 

 

“So,” he says, “we’re going out tonight.”

 

You almost choke on your sip of cranberry juice. “We’re what? ”

 

“Come on,” he says, “we’ve been working so hard, I think we’ve earned it. Don’t worry about the clothes, we’ll make sure you’ve got something snazzy. There’s a club downtown you’ll love, it’s got all the best drinks—”

 

“Howard,” you cut him off, “I’m not going out with you.”

 

“It’s not like that, sugar, I just—”

 

“I’m not the going-out type.” It’s true, you’re not, your idea of a good night is curled up with a good book or watching something or playing a game with your friends. You’re not one for dancing and drinking. 

 

“Even if it’s not the going-out you’re used to?”

 

“Nope.” You bite into a piece of toast. “Pass the butter?”

 

Howard hands it to you. “Come on, Y/N, you should take a break.”

 

“That is rich coming from you.”

“Alright, I earned that.” Howard sets down his drink. “But seriously, Y/N, I know it’s important to you, but you’re not gonna get anything done by burning yourself up.”

 

“I know. Listen, I’ll take a break tonight but I won’t go out.”

 

Howard searches your face, trying to determine if you’re telling the truth. He must come away satisfied because he takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze. 

 

“I can’t imagine how hard this must be,” he says seriously, “but you gotta take care of yourself, Y/N. Take the night off. Please.”

 

“I will.” You squeeze back. “Thank you, Howard.”

 

“I’m having Jarvis keep an eye on you.”

 

“I would expect nothing less.”

 

“Think we can get a few good hours of work in before tonight?”

 

“Let’s do it.”

 

You end up making decent progress, tossing ideas back and forth as you start drawing up new plans for a design that should be able to monitor the difference between the two quantum signatures. You manage to get a few equations scribbled down before Howard disappears into the depths of the mansion, leaving you to look at a very interesting interpretation of Dante’s ‘Inferno’ until he reappears, looking every inch the Old Hollywood Star. 

 

“Whattya think,” he says, holding his arms out and turning in a slow circle.

 

“You clean up nice,” you say.

 

“Sure you don’t wanna come?”

 

“No, thank you.” You put the book down. “I’m perfectly happy here.”

 

“Suit yourself. Jarvis!”

 

Jarvis materializes from around the corner. “Mr. Henry is waiting out front with the car, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Perfect. You,” he says, pointing a stern finger at you, “are taking the night off. Jarvis, I expect you to make sure of it. If I come back to see any more work being done I’ll be very angry with the both of you.”

 

“It will be my pleasure.” 

 

“Good man.” Howard sweeps out the door with a ‘don’t wait up!’ shot over his shoulder and he’s gone in a blaze of showmanship. 

 

“Is anything the man does subtle?”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Jarvis says, “and if it is, it’s usually unintentional.”

 

“Mm.” You glance around. “You really don’t have to stay and watch me, I’m not going to do anything except find somewhere to sit and read.”

 

“Nonsense.” Jarvis remains firmly at your side. “Mr. Stark made it very clear that I am to ensure you do not work the night away.”

 

“Come on,” you laugh nervously, “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do and a wife to go home to.”

 

“Mr. Stark seems to have required my presence, Ms. L/N,” Jarvis says, guiding you through the maze of corridors until you reach a small drawing-room, “and on a normal day, I need not leave until six.”

 

You sigh, letting yourself be persuaded into taking a seat. You glance around. Every single chair looks like it costs a fortune, and with inflation, you’re sure the prices in modern money would make your head spin. You spot a tiny ottoman that looks much more your style and sit down, keeping your hands in your lap. Jarvis watches you curiously. 

 

“I am not familiar with the customs of your time,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “but I can assure you the chairs are indeed made to be sat on.”

 

“I figured,” you admit, fidgeting with your hands, “but I’m not...I don’t…”

 

Jarvis waits patiently until it’s clear you’re not going to be able to explain. “If I may, Ms. L/N,” he interjects, “I have noticed that you seem...uncomfortable at times around the luxury of Mr. Stark’s residence.”

 

“That may be an understatement,” you mumble. 

 

“Regardless,” Jarvis says, walking a little closer, “I can assure you that these luxuries are made to be enjoyed, and you may enjoy them. Guilt-free.”

 

At the still-present disbelief on your face, Jarvis glances around the room. “Of the chairs in this room, which one looks the most comfortable?”

 

“Um…” There’s a big overstuffed armchair near the window with a cream paisley print. “That one.”

“Well, I think it would be that one.” You look. Jarvis points to an equally overstuffed chair of brown leather. “The leather offers more support to one’s frame.”

 

“But it’s leather,” you say, “it’s not gonna feel as soft.”

 

“Well then.” Jarvis turns to you. “I guess you will simply have to prove it.”

 

It’s a good one, you’ve gotta give it to him. You stand up, still hesitating, preferring to run your finger over the fabric. You can’t help but look back at Jarvis, making sure it’s okay that you’re doing this. He gives you an encouraging nod. Here goes nothing. 

 

The chair is perfect. The fabric is soft and slightly warmed from being near the window. It’s firm enough to hold you just off the floor, yet soft enough that it gives under your weight, cradling you between its arms. 

 

Wow, if you’re waxing this poetic about a chair…

 

“I think I’ve decided,” you say, “‘cause I don’t think I can get up out of this chair.”

 

Jarvis smiles. “But you haven’t tested my pick yet.”

 

“Guess you’ll have to do it for me. Please,” you say as he starts to protest, “just...sit with me? It will help me not feel like I’m taking advantage of it.”

 

You stare at him a little longer, hoping he’ll understand. It takes a few moments but he relents, crossing the room to lower himself into the chair. You don’t miss the slight relaxation of his shoulders. 

 

“Well, Ms. L/N,” he says, “I believe we have ourselves a draw.”

 

“Sounds good to me.”

 

The room lapses into a comfortable silence. A car rattles by in the distance. The clock on the mantelpiece ticks quietly. You watch a patch of sunlight refract through the glass, hitting one of the metal bookends and dancing across the ceiling. 

 

“Mr. Jarvis?”

 

“Yes?”

 

You fumble with your hands, trying to find the right words. “Thank you, so much, for all that you’ve done for me since I got here. I, um, I really appreciate it.”

 

He starts to say that he’s just doing his job. 

 

“No, not that I don’t appreciate that, but…” You swallow heavily. “Everything else. You...I don’t think I’d be handling this nearly as well as I am if you weren’t here.”

 

He sits for a moment, taking in what you’ve just said before leaning forwards a small bit. “You have remarkable resilience, Ms. L/N, and I am sure that no matter where that machine chose to put you, you would have found a way out. However,” he says, smiling a little, “I am grateful that you ended up here, and that I have managed to ease your way.”

 

You smile gratefully, a smile he returns. Then it drops. 

 

“May I ask a question of you, Ms. L/N?” You nod. “I have noticed that you seem uneasy when either Mr. Stark, you, or myself mention the time period. May I ask where this comes from?”

 

Ah. Yes. That. You shuffle a little in the chair, drawing your limbs closer. 

 

“I, um, the time where I come from views things like gender and sexuality differently,” you start, “not that it’s perfect or anything, but it’s...it’s more progressive. More accepting.”

 

Jarvis nods. “I see.”

 

“So I’m not used to...having to hide those parts of myself.” You feel the hem of the skirt you’re wearing. “Or at least the parts that I can.”

 

“Have you encountered any such...problems,” Jarvis asks, “during your stay here?”

 

You shake your head. “No, everyone’s been great, and Howard’s…”

 

“Howard,” Jarvis offers. 

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Well,” Jarvis says, giving you a reassuring look, “I can promise that if any untoward behavior becomes an issue, it will be dealt with swiftly.”

 

“That’s not your problem.”

 

“On the contrary,” he says, “if it interferes with your comfort, it is my problem.”

 

“It’s no one here,” you say, “and it’s not like you can change the minds of all of this time period.”

 

“I cannot,” Jarvis admits, “but times are changing. It could do with a good kick in the rear to get going.”

 

It makes you laugh, hearing the words come out of the posh British butler. Jarvis laughs with you, at least as much as he can. When you both recover, he continues. 

 

“You are allowed to demand a certain standard for yourself, Ms. L/N.” He gestures at the chairs. “That includes your surroundings and the people you must interact with. And you can allow those you choose to surround yourself with to help you.”

 

You smile, letting the words wash over you. For the first time since you’ve arrived, you give yourself permission to breathe. Yes, you’re in the 1940s in Howard Stark’s mansion, chatting with Mr. Jarvis. You’ll be alright. You’ll figure it out. 

 

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis.” You shuffle a little. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

 

“Well, when one works for Mr. Stark, one learns a thing or two.”

 

You grin. “You must have some great stories.”

 

“Oh, you have no idea…”

Chapter 6: The Art of Surprise

Summary:

You make more progress, only to discover Howard's going out of town. That's no matter, you'll be fine. Then you learn there's another guest that's going to be staying with you.

Well, Jarvis did as Mr. Stark asked, and by the time Howard makes it to the breakfast table the next morning, clearly wincing from a hangover, you’ve got some questions for him. 

 

“Did you really try and smuggle a fondue machine onto a train engine?”

 

Howard squints at you through his sunglasses. “Whatever happened to ‘good morning?’”

 

“Good morning. So, is it true?”

 

Howard groans, sitting down and pulling the pancakes toward him. “Yes, ‘s true. Damn thing wouldn’t wire properly.”

 

You giggle as he misses the syrup three times before placing it helpfully in his hand. “Of course it wouldn’t.”

 

“Is that what you did all night,” he asks, pouring a generous helping onto the pancakes, “gossip about me?”

 

You shrug. “Mr. Jarvis has good stories.”

 

Howard snorts. “Man’s been around me for long enough, I’d be offended if he didn’t.” He gives you a look. “He pulled me aside this morning. Had a talk.”

 

Your glass of apple juice freezes halfway to your mouth. “About what?”

 

“About you. Relax,” Howard says when it looks like you’re about to apologize, “wasn’t anything bad. Just about the time difference and all that.”

 

“Yeah…” You pick at the muffin on your plate. “It’s just...different.”

 

“I get it.” Howard bumps your arm with his elbow. “And I’m gonna help as much as I can, yeah?”

 

You give him a look. “You’ll forgive me for being slightly suspicious as to what that entails.”

 

“Just that I know I flirt a lot and I ain’t exactly known for keeping my hands to myself.” You snort. Understatement. “So I can be better about that. Plus,” he adds, “you’re smart as hell. That helps.”

 

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “In my experience, sometimes it hurts more than it helps.”

 

Howard frowns. “How come?”

 

You shrug. “Even in my time, some male scientists don’t like the idea of sharing credit with a woman. I can’t imagine it’s much different here.”

 

“Yeah, I guess.” Howard chews thoughtfully. “Well, hey, for the most part, you’re gonna be working with me. And I’m not gonna say no to anything you’ve got. Speaking of which,” he sets down his knife and fork and leans back in the chair, “I got a new idea last night.”

 

“I thought we were supposed to have the night off last night,” you say, biting into your own pancakes.

 

“Eh, do as I say, not as I do.” Howard pulls down his sunglasses, looking at you over the top. “I think I’ve got an idea about how to detect the point where you jumped universes.”

 

“Really?” Oh, wait, you’ve got pancake in your mouth. You swallow and try again. “Really?”

 

“Yep. So…” 

 

Turns out it’s simpler than you both thought. There’s a set of equations that give an object’s location in spacetime that uses its quantum signature. It’s always supposed to give approximately the same answer given a spacetime interval. When the quantum signature switches, you’ve got your moment. 

 

“But that means we can figure out how far apart the two spacetime grids are,” you say as you both rush to the lab, “which means—”

 

“Which means we can figure out how they’ll overlap again,” Howard finishes, tossing a pencil your way, “ensuring—”

 

“Ensuring they’ll stay put long enough to determine the jump point.” You’re a little out of breath, both from the run and your discovery. 

 

Howard claps his hands and grins. “We’re gonna crack this, I know it.”

 

You get to work. As it turns out, when you’ve got two people working on roughing out things, they come out a lot less rough. Adding the final touches to the machine isn’t as easy as it would’ve been back in 2020, but it’s easier than you’d expect. It helps that Howard’s got some old schematics for energy sources lying around that you snapped up quickly. 

 

“The arc reactor?” Howard scoffs, still digging through the piles of blueprints. “Come on, even for me, that thing’s far fetched.”

 

“No, trust me,” you say, grinning at the plans, “this’ll do the job fine.”

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

You throw a wink over your shoulder. “Time.”

 

“What does that…” Howard trails off and his eyes widen. “Yep, okay, let’s do it.”

 

You’ve established that you can’t give direct spoilers because horrible paradoxes and altering timelines so much you won’t know what’s gonna happen next but small things, small things are okay. So it doesn’t take too long before there’s an arc reactor humming in Howard’s hands. 

 

“She’s beautiful,” Howard murmurs, cradling the device like a newborn baby, “absolutely stunning.”

 

“Come on, proud dad,” you tease, lightly shoving his shoulder, “let’s get her working.”

 

“Alright, alright, hey, be gentle,” he scolds when you slot it into place, “she’s only young!”

 

“She’s a lot stronger than you think.” You step back, looking at the machine. 

 

It’s a lot less sleek than the one you’re used to, and it doesn’t have the bed. Since it’s probably a good idea to test if you can make your calculations work before throwing yourself at the mercy of quantum physics, you and Howard cobble together the equations you can and see if you can scribble something down for the machine to work through. 

 

“Okay,” you mutter once you’ve both filled a sheet of paper with pencil marks, “let’s give this a try.”

 

“Hey,” Howard says as you instinctively reach for your pocket, “what’re you doing?”

 

You stop, realizing that you’re not wearing your coat. “Uh, nothing. Nevermind.”

 

“Looking for this?”

 

Your eyes widen as you take your digital recorder from Howard. “Where…”

 

He gestures to the desk. “You left it there the night you got here, figured you might want it back.”

 

You nod in thanks. Turning it over in your hands, you marvel at how similar it looks to some of the stuff lying around Howard’s lab. Looking up, you smile and click ‘record.’

 

“Alright, here we go. Dr. L/N reporting from—”

 

“Wait, ‘Doctor?’”

 

“Shh, don’t interrupt me!”

 

“You didn’t tell me you were a doctor!”

 

You shrug. “Didn’t come up. Anyway, like I was saying—” you give Howard a pointed stare— “Dr. L/N reporting from 1947, Howard Stark’s lab, L.A. We’re trying to figure out what the hell happened and how I ended up here.”

 

“Wait, what’s your degree in?”

 

“Are you gonna be helpful or just ask questions?”

 

Howard rolls his eyes and comes to stand near you. “We’ve built a machine based off of Y/N’s drawings of her machine and my schematics, including a rather brilliant form of self-sustaining energy, if I do say so myself.”

 

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Okay, that’s enough.” Ignoring Howard’s muffled ‘hey!’ as you pull the recorder back, you step around the desk to look properly at the machine. 

 

“Right now, we have no idea what aspect made me jump universes as well as time periods, so we’re seeing if we can use the tech and the calculations to figure it out.”

 

“We’re gonna see if we can get the two spacetime grids to line up again,” Howard continues, leaning over your shoulder, “stay tuned!”

 

You shove him away. “Okay, that’s enough of that.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” Howard says, not bothered at all, “I should try it.”

 

“You have someone to talk to,” you defend, “and it’s not like you could do with more recordings of your own voice.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“It’s true!”

 

“Alright, yeah, but still.”

 

You stop talking once the time comes to enter the equations into the device, each rattling off the different numbers until Howard sighs and you step back, finger hovering over the ‘on’ button. 

 

“All yours, Y/N,” Howard says, “go for it.”

 

“Three...two...one.” 

 

You push the button. 

 

The machine whirs to life, chugging away. You wait with bated breath to see what happens. 

 

Howard taps your shoulder. “It’s gonna take a while. Even with all my shiny toys, it’s probably not gonna be anywhere near as fast as you’re used to.”

 

Your shoulders slump. He’s right. 

 

“Come on,” he says, pulling you upstairs, “you can tell me some stories about yourself while we wait.”

 

“And why would I do that?”

 

“Because you’ve already got some about me,” he says, grabbing drinks from somewhere—honestly, this man— ”and I want to even the field a little bit.”

 

“I’m really not that interesting.”

 

“You can start by telling me what your degree’s in.”

 

You spend the better part of the afternoon in one of the larger sitting rooms, just talking. You explain what you’ve studied, Howard talks about his theories on how to make clean energy more accessible, you say that scientists in your time have been patiently reminding everyone that clean energy is ready to go whenever, you both facepalm at governments being weird, it’s a good time. Then Howard finally turns the subject to stories about you and, well…

 

“So you’re telling me,” Howard gasps, leaning over the edge of the chair to try and catch his breath, “that you...you put all of the computers to...to what?”

 

“Insult the head of the department until he’d gotten rid of all the stupid rules,” you summarize, “yep.”

 

Howard throws his head back and almost spills his drink. “Jeez, Y/N, you’ve been holding out on me!”

 

“Well, it’s not like I can do that here!”

 

“No, but that’s such a good idea!” Howard starts pacing up and down. “You just, what, made the machines not work right until he decided to treat you guys properly, that’s...that’s good.”

 

“If you think that’s good, you should’ve heard what Eli did to the secret stash of alcohol they hid in the lab freezer.”

 

“What?”

 

“They managed to get all the labels switched with the computer cleaners and just started chugging them in the middle of the weekly briefings.” You smile at the memory. “God, it made everyone from HR lose their shit.”

 

“I can imagine.” Howard tosses back the rest of his own drink as the clock goes off. “Ah, shit, is it three already?”

 

“You got somewhere to go?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, heading for the door, “got to go work with the location scout for the move. I’ll be back later.”

 

“How late is later?”

 

He waves his hand. “Few days? Weeks? You got this.”

 

You wave him off, deciding to go back down to the lab to see if the machine has finished everything when you see Mr. Jarvis pull up out front. You frown. He’s got something with him. 

 

You walk downstairs, stopping just inside the door as Jarvis gets out, shooting an annoyed glance at the birdcage perched precariously in the back seat. He spots you as two more people hurry up to help him with the birdcage. 

 

“That’s...new,” you manage as Jarvis joins you. 

 

“It’s a pest,” Jarvis mutters, “at any rate, I trust Mr. Stark has informed you that he will be out of town for the foreseeable future?”

 

“He has.” You look up at Jarvis. “Is it okay for me to stay and keep working?”

 

“Of course, Ms. L/N. I only ask because there will be someone else staying at Mr. Stark’s residence and I wished to inform you.”

 

You nod. “Okay. Who is it?”

 

“A close friend of Mr. Stark who is in town to help with...another branch of her office,” Jarvis says finally, “I do think you’ll find her company quite enjoyable. I’ll be dropping her off in a few hours. Do come down to say hello, won’t you?”

 

“Sure,” you smile, “here?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

You wander off through the house, pondering. A friend of Mr. Stark? That could be...literally anyone, now that you think about it. Luckily for you, this house is gigantic enough that you can pace however much you like, never running out of rooms, and let your mind whir. Possibilities for the machine, getting the coordinates right, trying to figure out what role the quantum signature plays in all of this...eventually, though, your mind turns back to Mr. Stark’s other guest. Who could she be? You know it’s awfully rude to be thinking about someone like this but, hey, what can you say, you don’t really have any idea what’s going to happen. Maybe it’ll be nice to talk to another woman. Not that Howard and Jarvis are bad, but…

 

Yeah, another woman would be nice. 

 

You glance at the clock as you finish your circle, drawing closer to the front door. It’s almost time. Sure enough, there’s the rattle of the car. You can see Jarvis, you can see the flamingo stalking around the property like it owns the place, and you can see the red sunglasses on the woman sitting next to him. 

 

You hear them go inside and pause, hearing the clear tones of Jarvis and...two other women? You frown, not realizing who it must be until Jarvis comes around the corner with his tie slightly askew. 

 

“You didn’t tell me your wife lived here as well,” you murmur, letting him straighten himself up. 

 

“Didn’t I?” He tugs himself back into place, clearly trying to recover some of his butler facade. “Well, I must have forgotten. As you can see, er, our other guest has arrived.”

 

“I did.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll meet her momentarily,” Jarvis says, already back to being polished, “I’ve mentioned you’re here as well.”

 

“Wait, what did you tell her?”

 

“What did he tell whom?”

 

You look toward the sound of the British—wait, British?—voice and your jaw drops. 

 

Oh. 

 

Oh, no.

 

“Agent Carter!” Jarvis gestures toward you. “Allow me to introduce you to Ms. L/N.”

 

You’re so screwed. 

Chapter 7: Planning Is One Thing

Summary:

You finally meet Ana and the two of you quickly become friends. Peggy worries about having someone else in the line of fire.

“You didn’t mention another guest,” Agent Carter says, and how are you supposed to function what is this nonsense —

 

“Ah, yes,” Jarvis says, “well, I’m afraid Ms. L/N’s arrival was...unplanned.”

 

Agent Carter’s face goes through several emotions, even though she hides it well—she’s a spy of course she does—before settling on a polite smile. “O-oh. I see. Well—” she holds out her hand— “pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Mhmm.” You shake her hand, hoping against all odds that it isn’t as sweaty as you think it is. “N-nice to meet you too.”

 

The polite smile stays fixed on her face. “I’d love to chat but I’m afraid I’ve got somewhere to be.” She indicates the dress that you’ve just noticed is draped over her arm. 

 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you stutter, quickly stepping aside even though the hallway is easily wide enough to fit three people, “I, uh, didn’t mean to keep you.”

 

“Have a good day.”

 

Holy shit, Agent Carter just told you to have a good day. 

 

“Mr. Jarvis?”

 

Jarvis gives you a bit of a strange look before they walk down the corridor. Unlike you, Agent Carter walks confidently through the corridor even though you’re pretty sure it’s her first time here as well. 

 

You’re gonna be staying in the same house as Agent Carter. Yeah, okay, the house is about the size of a football field but still. 

 

“She’s quite something, isn’t she?”

 

You spin around, startled by the other voice. Another woman leans against the wall, smiling at you. 

 

“You must be Mrs. Jarvis,” you say, remembering your manners, “nice to meet you.”

 

“Please,” she says, opening her arms, “call me Ana.”

 

You hug Ana, complimenting her choice of perfume and smiling. There’s a wonderful spark of fire in her eyes that makes it much easier to talk to her. 

 

“I’m sorry we haven’t been introduced yet,” you say as you step back, “but I didn’t know you were, um—”

 

“Here?” You nod, slightly abashed. “Don’t worry. Edwin doesn’t make a habit of talking about things like that. And this place is enormous.”

 

“It really is, isn’t it?” You look around. “Frankly, I still get lost when I try to find anything.”

 

“I remember my ways to the kitchen and the bathroom,” Ana agrees, “anything else I have to ask Mr. Jarvis when he’s not so busy.”

 

She takes your hand and pulls you into the nearby sitting room. “You must be the time traveler.”

 

You frown. “Wait, how—”

 

“Mr. Jarvis is quite talkative when he’s tired,” Ana says, “so is it true?”

 

“Yes, it’s true.” You fumble with your hands. “I, um, would like that to remain as much of a secret as it can. For safety.”

 

Ana nods. “Completely reasonable. You have my word I will not tell anyone.”

 

“Thank you, Ana.”

 

Her smile takes on a mischievous look. “You never answered my earlier question.”

 

“What question?”

 

“Agent Carter,” Ana asks, “she’s quite something, isn’t she?”

 

“Yeah,” you huff, burying your head in your hands, “you could say that.”

 

“I noticed you seemed to have more trouble speaking to her than you have speaking to me,” she says, laughing a little when your face burns again, “is there something wrong?”

 

“I, uh—” how do I explain that I’m a useless lesbian and I’m having a gay panic — “she, um—”

 

“Here.” Ana hands you a glass of water. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

 

You collapse gracelessly onto some kind of bench, Ana sitting beside you. Taking a drink to avoid having to explain yourself—and giving your brain time to get its words machine working again—you take a deep breath. 

 

“Has Mr. Jarvis told you about where I come from?”

 

“Only a little.”

 

“Well, it’s a universe where you guys all exist as fictional characters.” You gesture around. “This place too.”

 

“I see,” Ana says, encouraging you to continue.

 

“And, um…” Jeez, why is this so hard —oh yeah it’s the 1940’s and you’re having a gay panic— “Agent Carter is the main character.”

 

Ana makes a noise of understanding, following your gaze to look off toward where the two of them disappeared. “I imagine that must be quite distressing.”

 

“That may be an understatement.”

 

“Especially considering her incredible qualities.”

 

“She’s an icon.”

 

“And the fact that you’re going to be living in the same residence.”

 

“Mhm. Wait—” you glance at Ana who’s definitely smirking at you now— “where are you going with this?”

 

Ana blinks innocently at you. “I like this dress on you,” she says, and okay we’re completely changing the subject now— “but I think a lavender one would suit you better.”

 

Oh. Oh shit. 

 

“Is it that obvious,” you manage weakly. 

 

Ana giggles. “No, not really, not unless you are looking for it.”

 

“Were you?”

 

“I wanted to know a little more about you,” Ana says, “so yes, in a way, I was looking. I’m sure Agent Carter—”

 

“Oh crap, she’s a spy. ”

 

“Well, yes.”

 

You bury your face in your hands and groan. Nope. This was gonna go super bad and you were going to die of embarrassment. Right here. 

 

Mm, whatcha say~...

 

“Relax,” Ana says, bumping your shoulder, “I am sure it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

 

“How could it possibly not be as bad as I think?”

 

Ana shrugs. “Agent Carter is a professional woman whose job is to read and work with people in order to do things. I am sure you two will come to some sort of understanding. And that’s if you choose to talk about this at all.”

 

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” you say, looking up from your hands, “but it’s the 1940s.”

 

“That is true…” Ana taps her fingers on her chin. “Well, what are you going to do?”

 

Great question. You sigh, running your hands through your hair and sitting back. This definitely wasn’t a question you thought about often. No, of course not. Why would you do that? This is definitely something you’ve never thought about. Nope. Never in your life. 

 

Here’s the thing: if you had thought about this, which you definitely haven’t, but if you had, none of it would’ve started out like this. It would have been some crazy rescue thing, where you got taken hostage by some people looking to do crazy stupid science stuff, or something, but not this. 

 

“I think I’m going to try and be her friend,” you say finally, “I, um...she’s—well, her character, I guess—she’s helped me do a lot. I guess I want to...try and repay that.”

 

“Well, that’s very kind,” Ana says, smiling, “and I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

 

“Thanks.” You turn to her. “May I be your friend too?”

 

“Of course.” Ana gives you another hug. “Though I must say—”

 

“Not in the same way,” you say quickly, holding out a hand, “I genuinely want to be your friend as a friend. Uh—”

 

“I understand.” Ana holds her hand out. “In that case, let’s prepare something to eat, shall we, my friend?”

 

You grin, swinging your hands together as you walk toward the kitchen. “Sounds good, my friend.”

 

As you make your way to the kitchen, across the house, Peggy rolls her eyes as Jarvis deposits her bags at the foot of the bed. 

 

“Honestly,” she mutters, looking at the rather extensive number of mirrors in the room, “how many times does this man need to see his own reflection?”

 

“I do not think you wish to see the master bedroom,” Jarvis says, straightening up, “if this number alarms you.”

 

“Yes, well, it’s a good thing I never have to.” Peggy turns around, laying the red dress carefully over the foot of the bed. “Your wife is lovely, Mr. Jarvis.”

 

“Yes, well, I think so too.” Jarvis preens a little, obviously proud as a peach. “Do let her know if the garter fits.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure it will come in quite handy.” Peggy glances around the room. “I assume there is an equally as impressive array of services offered at this residence as there was in New York?”

 

Jarvis rattles off an impressive description. Peggy listens, absorbing the information while simultaneously planning for the trip to the race track. Chadwick...well, it wouldn’t be the first time a politician dug his hands into something he shouldn’t. Perhaps she could work the Jane Scott angle…

 

“And of course, lately Mr. Stark and Ms. L/N have been taking breakfast in the morning on the patio at nine.”

 

At the mention of the other guest currently staying in the mansion, Peggy’s attention snaps back to the conversation. 

 

“Shall I assume Ms. L/N is not the location scout?”

 

Jarvis shakes his head. “Goodness, no. Ms. L/N is not related to the motion picture studio in any fashion.”

 

Peggy suppresses the urge to roll her eyes again. Honestly, Howard…

 

“Do we know how long she’ll be staying? I’d rather not drag more people into this than necessary.” 

 

Jarvis shifts his weight from side to side. “I, erm...there is no strict schedule for her departure.”

 

Peggy raises an eyebrow. “She’s waiting for Howard to get back, isn’t she.”

 

“...in part, yes.”

 

Peggy sighs. “Well, I suppose that can’t be helped.”

 

“If it reassures you at all,” Jarvis says quickly, “it is highly unlikely that Ms. L/N will leave the premises for any significant duration of time, if at all. Therefore if you wish to keep her as out of this as possible, the probability of others knowing of her presence without visiting is extremely low.”

 

That is a good thing. Peggy turns back to the dress lying across the foot of the bed. “I suppose it would also help if I stayed away from the house as much as possible.”

 

“If your intention is to limit your interactions with Ms. L/N, yes.”

 

Peggy shakes her head. Why is she paying attention to Howard’s latest in a long line of women, she has work to do. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Jarvis, I’d quite like to get changed.”

 

“Of course. I’ll be waiting with the car.” He turns to go. Peggy takes the dress and starts toward the bathroom when Jarvis’ call stops her. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“I think you will find,” Jarvis says carefully, “that Ms. L/N is unlike the majority of Mr. Stark’s other companions. If it is not too much to say, I myself have enjoyed her presence throughout her stay. I believe if you two were to talk, you would get along quite well.”

 

With that, he leaves the room. 

 

Peggy frowns, thinking as she finishes the journey to the bathroom. What on earth could have made Mr. Jarvis say something like that? Regardless, she decides she will, indeed, try and have a proper conversation with the other woman. If they were going to be living in the same building, it certainly wouldn’t do to be impolite. 

 

For now, though, her mind returns to the mission. She’s got work to do.

Chapter 8: Doing Is Another

Summary:

You try and see if your capabilities can be useful to Peggy. Ana suggests you make her something. Never let it be said you were one to pass up on the opportunity to impress.

So the first thing everyone needs to know about Ana Jarvis is she’s absolutely fantastic. Seriously, you know how to make chocolate chip cookies and spaghetti but these taste like they’ve been sent from the stars just so you know how it’s supposed to taste. 

 

Ana giggles when you tell her as much through a mouthful of the spaghetti. “Well, that’s quite a compliment, especially considering you’re from the future.”

 

“I mean,” you say, swallowing your bite before continuing, “I could just be from a universe when all spaghetti is inherently inferior to this one’s but also I could eat this every day for the rest of my life and be happy.”

 

“I’ll be happy to give you the recipe.”

 

“Oh god, no, I can’t cook to save my life.” You take a drink to give your stomach a little break before you finish devouring this meal. “Baking at least is step-by-step and chemistry. There’s much less room for error.”

 

“It’s your loss.” Ana takes a bite from her own plate. “So, what were you saying about the different signatures?”

 

That’s right, guys, not only is she an absolute whiz in the kitchen, she’s smart as heck too. 

 

“It’s a subtle variation in the quantum properties of any given particle,” you repeat, “small enough not to be noticeable at a macroscopic level, but when you start pulling everything apart and looking closer, it’s there.”

 

“It doesn’t have any effects that would make you…” Ana gestures with her fork towards you. 

 

“No, at least it hasn’t so far.” You shrug. “I think it’s just enough that if you’re looking for it, you could find it. You’d need some pretty heavy tech to do that, though, and you’d have to know you were looking for it.”

 

“Interesting.” Ana leans onto the counter. “So, you have your Ph.D. in particle physics for this?”

“Partly. Mostly it’s from studying the behavior of matter and antimatter and how they relate to the construction of the universe.”

 

“Oh, is that all?” Ana teases. “That’s quite impressive, Dr. L/N.”

 

“You know, Howard didn’t know I was a doctor until I mentioned it on my recording.”

 

“Recording?”

 

You fish the recorder out of your pocket and hold it up. “We like making recordings as we go, helps with compiling the reports at the end.”

 

“I suppose Mr. Stark thought that was an ingenious idea.”

 

You groan. “I think he thinks anything that allows him to preserve something of himself is an ingenious idea.”

 

“Oh, you should have heard his designs for the gazebo,” Ana says, rolling her eyes, “I have never seen a man so obsessed with lighting angles since I worked for a photographer.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“He insisted the gazebo be constructed at such an angle that the sunlight would constantly reflect at the most flattering angle,” Ana explains, “he eventually settled on sitting inside instead.”

 

“Of course he did.” You take another bite of your spaghetti. Seriously this stuff was the best. 

 

“We make quite a group.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

Ana smiles. “Well, think about it. You have Mr. Stark, you have myself and my husband,” she says, taking a sip from her glass, “and you have you, a doctor in particle physics, and Agent Carter.”

 

At the mention of her name, your hands fumble with your fork.

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already,” Ana teases. 

 

“I didn’t, but now I’m focusing on it,” you mutter, “and I am vividly reminded that I haven’t the faintest idea how to be friends with her.”

 

Ana shrugs. “How do you normally make friends?”

 

“Common interests? Nerding out over cool things?”

 

“Like particle physics?”

 

“Like particle physics,” you agree, “although I can’t exactly just infodump at Agent Carter and hope that’ll work.”

 

“You never know,” Ana sings. You raise an eyebrow and she relents, raising her hands in defeat. “Well, what else do you know about Agent Carter from your universe? What does she like?”

 

You think, setting down your fork and leaning back. Agent Carter…

 

“She’s passionate. Focused. Driven.” You close your eyes, playing the show over and over in your head. “She looks for that in her colleagues, in her friends. She respects determination, dedication to someone’s work.”

 

“Sounds like things you would need to pursue a Ph.D.,” Ana says helpfully. 

 

“Come on,” you say, opening your eyes, “she also likes skills that are useful, that can be applied to multiple different things.”

 

“Are you...saying your Ph.D. isn’t useful?”

 

“Not to a secret agent, no!”

 

“Come on, surely you can think of something.” Ana swirls her drink around the glass. “You’re clever.”

 

“Can you give me an example?” 

 

“Well, I can sew.” 

 

“Incredibly well.” It’s true, apparently, she made the dress she’s currently wearing and it’s stunning. 

 

“For the racetrack, I made a garter that doubles as a holster.”

 

“Wait, what? That’s super cool!”

 

“Thank you.” Ana raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure you think of a way to make something like that. I’m sure Agent Carter would be appreciative.”

 

“That feels kind of cheap, though…” You run a finger around the rim of your glass. “Doesn’t that feel like I’m trying to buy her affections?”

 

“You’re spending time on creating something that you think someone else will like and enjoy,” Ana says, “because you care about them. Is that cheap?”

 

“That’s a good point.” You’re still not entirely convinced. What could you offer?

 

“Well, if you’re still not sure,” Ana says, picking up on your hesitation, “what else does she like?”

 

You close your eyes again, running through the character list in your head. Jarvis...Sousa...Angie…

 

“She respects strength,” you murmur, “an unwillingness to let your circumstances define you. To make them work for you.”

 

“You’re a time traveler in the wrong universe,” Ana says, “and you’re not letting it stop you.”

 

“Ana,” you say as you open your eyes, “I have no idea how any of this would be done without you. You’re amazing.”

 

“All of what?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She laughs. “Oh, I just ask questions. But thank you. You’re the first person to tell me that.”

 

“I’m having a word with Mr. Jarvis when he gets back.”

 

“Edwin says things in his own special way.”

 

“I’m sure.” Their marriage is wonderful. “And I think I’ve got an idea.”

 

“Oh?” Ana props her chin up on her elbows. “Do share.”

 

“The quantum signature,” you explain, “is only apparent if you’re searching for it, right?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“So wouldn’t it be handy to have a tracking device only one thing could identify?”

 

Ana’s eyes light up. “Oh, you are clever.”

 

“If I could craft something out of a piece of material from my universe,” you say, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice, “then I could detect it using the quantum signature. It might fade with distance, but that could be solved by adding a small emitter…”

 

“I think it’s a splendid idea and you must let me help.”

 

“Oh, of course, can I help you clean up?”

 

You both get the leftover food stored away in the fridge and clean the dishes before dashing downstairs to the lab. You duck around the various bits and bobs sticking out of the machine and make sure you don’t move any of the various calculations lying around and find a fairly empty table in the back corner. 

 

“Is this your time machine?” Ana examines it. “Looks a little...small.”

 

You glance over your shoulder. “That’s just to see if the same principles work in this universe. Wasn’t gonna throw myself headlong into a whole new quantum field theory before I knew what it was.”

 

“Perfectly reasonable.” Ana joins you at the table as you start scribbling out equations. “Do you know how big the piece has to be?”

 

“Hang on.” You chew on the end of your pencil, moving your head back and forth. “Okay, so...account for the signature here...multiply it over there...carry the four... don’t forget that nasty variable…”

 

“Do you usually do all of this in your head?”

 

“Huh? No, we have computers that do the big nasty sums much quicker. Luckily for us,” you say, writing furiously, “this isn’t a big nasty sum.”

 

“That is lucky because it looks big and nasty.”

 

“It’s just a plug and chug.”

 

“A what?”

 

“You put the numbers where the symbols go and bam.”

 

“I like that description.”

 

“I know, right?” You finish writing everything down and grab a calculator, working it out. “Okay...so it looks like in order to be detectable over a significant radius the piece would have to be...at least 3.8 centimeters in diameter, or just over one and a half inches if we’re using the nasty imperial system.”

 

“It is nasty,” Ana agrees, “that’s not that large.”

 

“No, not really. Especially given the limitations, but we’ve got a pretty sensitive detector.” You wave over your shoulder. “The question is what we can make out of it.”

 

“Does it have to be that width, or does it just have to occupy that much space?”

 

“3.8 cubic centimeters...that’s true...it’s just the overall quantity, I don’t think the shape matters that much.”

 

“In that case, I’m sure a necklace out of something would be rather convenient.”

 

“That’s true...lemme think.” All you really have is the clothes that you traveled in and your digital recorder. “Something out of cloth wouldn’t be that suspicious, right?”

 

“It is much harder to hide something like a tracking device in a piece of fabric,” Ana agrees, “what clothes did you wear when you arrived?”

 

“Oh, god…” You press your hands over your eyes, trying to remember. “Um...I had my coat, an overshirt, and a dress on under it.”

 

“Come,” Ana says, “the laundry was done this morning. Let’s go look.”

 

You can’t help but blush a little when Ana fawns over the fabric of your dress. It’s just a simple pull-on dress made of cotton, it’s nothing to write home about. Well, it’s got pockets. That’s good. 

 

“I love the little flowers,” she gushes, holding it up to see what it looks like on you, “and the way it falls...you must wear this again.”

 

“I’m not quite sure it fits in here,” you try. Ana waves you off. 

 

“Who cares? It’s wonderful.”

 

“So we’re not going to use it?”

 

Ana points to the hem of the dress where some of the finishing is coming loose. “We can take a little bit off here, just enough, and you can make the necklace while I re-hem the dress.”

 

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

 

“I insist.” Ana drapes the dress over her arm and sweeps you back downstairs. “Now,” she says, pushing the dress into your hands, “you take what you need and I will fetch my sewing kit.”

 

You stare at your dress as she leaves. Okay. You can do this. You go back over to the desk and make sure you’ve got the right numbers. Unfolding the fabric, you carefully snip, snip, snip a circle with a 3.8-centimeter diameter and drape it over a chair for Ana to pick up. Now you just have to figure out what the hell to make out of it. 

 

What would be easy to wear with a lot of things and still look elegant…

 

You decide to simply make a basic circular pendant out of the fabric. Finding the backing is easy enough, there are several washers with the right size to leave a little circle of fabric showing. Pulling on a pair of safety goggles, you set about lining up the washers with the fabric, securing them in place with a vice as you carefully secure them together with wire. Ana comes back in as you’re halfway through wrapping the wire through the fabric. 

 

“Oh, that looks simply marvelous!”

 

“You think?”

 

Ana nods, resting a hand on your shoulder. “If Agent Carter doesn't love it, I will gladly take it instead.”

 

“I can probably make you one too, if you like…”

 

Ana waves her hand. “You worry about this one first. Don’t mind me, I will be over here.” She takes up residence in another chair and sets to re-hemming the dress. 

 

You’ve always enjoyed monotonous work. It has a meditative quality to it. The repeated wrapping of the wire around the washers, through the fabric, back around the washers calms your mind. When you’re back around to where you started, you use a pair of pliers to make a little loop at the top so the pendant can be strung. You lift it out of the vice, running your fingers over it. The contrast between the cool washers, the texture of the wire spiraling around, and the softness of the fabric make you smile. It does look really cool. 

 

Carrying it over to your machine, you almost drop it. 

 

“Oh my god…”

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

You grin, turning to face Ana. “It works! The machine works!”

 

She hurries over. “Your calculations?”

 

“It got everything right!” You point excitedly at the readouts. “It got the quantum signature difference, the time and place I left my universe, and the time and place I arrived here! It works!”

 

Ana spins you around in a joyful hug. “I’m so happy for you!”

 

“Oh, thank god quantum mechanics works the same here as it did back in my universe, otherwise we would’ve been goners. ”

 

Ana nudges you. “Does that mean you can test to see if the pendant works?”

 

“Let’s see.” You type a few things in and set the machine to run. It pings. “We got it!”

 

“Oh, that truly is fantastic.” Ana claps her hands. “Congratulations, Dr. L/N.”

 

“Ana? Ms. L/N?”

 

“Is that—”

 

“Yes,” Ana says, starting out of the lab, “it seems my husband is home.”

 

You find Jarvis in the foyer. He smiles in relief when he sees you two. 

 

“I trust you two have been getting along well?”

 

“We have indeed,” Ana proclaims, linking her arm through yours. “It is a travesty we were not introduced sooner.”

 

“I do apologize for that.”

 

“Well, then you must also congratulate our dear doctor.”

 

Jarvis frowns. “Doctor?”

 

“She has a Ph.D., Edwin.”

 

Jarvis’ eyes widen. “My sincerest apologies, Dr. L/N, I was not aware.”

 

You wave him off. “It works! The machine works! We did it!”

 

Jarvis does, indeed, congratulate you. “What do you intend to do now?”

 

You shrug. “There’s not much I can do except keep running the experiments. Have to figure out where to go.”

 

Ana nudges you. “And give your present to Agent Carter.”

 

“Present?”

 

You sheepishly explain what you’ve spent the day working on and show Jarvis the pendant. He holds it carefully and smiles up at you. 

 

“It is splendid, Dr. L/N. I am sure Ms. Carter will adore it.”

 

“You think so?”

 

Jarvis smiles. “You may ask her yourself tomorrow at breakfast.”

Chapter 9: First Contact

Summary:

You finally have a chance to sit down with Peggy and you're hopelessly smitten.

You fidget nervously with the necklace, running your fingers over the wire and the fabric. The breeze ruffles the collar of your dress. You look out over the grounds. Even though Howard’s not here, you still like coming out here to eat breakfast. You have asked the chef not to make as much food for you, you’re perfectly satisfied with the fresh fruit and scones. A platter of them sits in front of you next to a glass of apple juice. 

 

“My apologies for keeping you waiting.”

 

You hurry to stand out of your chair, turning to see Agent Carter in a well-tailored pantsuit coming toward you. You smile, indicating the seat next to you. 

 

“No worries! I wasn’t waiting long and it’s quite nice out here.”

 

“It is, isn’t it,” she agrees, sitting down. “I suppose you’ve been given the description of what we’ve been served today?”

 

“Yes, but I don’t remember any of the details past what’s in what.”

 

“They do have a tendency to go on a bit, don’t they?”

 

She smiles at you and your grip tightens on the pendant, still hidden in your grasp under the table. As she reaches for one of the scones, she breaks off a little piece and pops it into her mouth. 

 

“I apologize for being so brief yesterday,” she says, “we didn’t get a chance to properly introduce ourselves.”

 

“No, we didn’t.” You swallow. “Um, I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” She holds out her hand for you to shake. “Peggy Carter.”

 

You shake her hand, surprised at your confidence this morning when your hand doesn't waver. “Agent.”

 

“Oh, please,” she laughs, “you don’t need to call me that.”

 

“Why not? It’s your title, isn’t it?”

 

She pulls her own drink closer. “Only when I’m at work.”

 

“I thought an agent was never off the clock.”

 

She gives a strange look. Shit, are you messing this up?

 

“Just, you know, the stories you hear about spies and things like that.”

 

Thankfully, it seems to work. Well, it makes her laugh again which is a win in your book. You take a bite out of your own scone, relishing in the break it gives you. You try and calm your breathing. You can do this. It’s okay. Nothing’s gone wrong. 

 

Yet. 

 

“I’m afraid I won’t be very good company for you,” Agent Carter—wait, does this mean you can call her Peggy?—says, drawing your attention back to the conversation, “as you’ve surmised my hours are...not regular.”

 

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you say quickly, “I’m not one for regular hours either.”

 

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

 

“I’m working on something,” you say, suddenly wary of how much information you should give. Unfortunately for you, it seems to have piqued the interest of the secret agent sitting next to you. 

 

“Do tell.” She takes another bite of her scone, watching you expectantly. 

 

“...my work is in particle physics,” you decide to say finally, “and Mr. Stark is assisting me in my study of quantum signatures.”

 

Okay seriously you need to work out if it’s okay to call her Peggy or not—raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Quantum signatures?”

 

Ah, see, now you can infodump! A little bit, not a lot. 

 

“Every particle in existence shares the same information about its relation to the fabric of spacetime,” you say, “my work is in examining what happens when that signature changes.”

 

“So another universe?”

 

You gulp down a sip of apple juice faster than you intended. “Something like that.”

 

“Well,” she says, “that sounds riveting.”

 

You blush, looking down at your hand still clutching the pendant. “I don’t want to bore you with equations and math. And certainly not before breakfast.”

 

“Perhaps later, then.”

 

Your heart leaps. Later? You mean you get to spend time with her again?

 

“Is that what brought you out here?” She reclines in the chair a bit, sipping from her drink. 

 

You nod. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, it wasn’t exactly a planned trip.”

 

“Oh, gosh, no need to apologize.” She glances around and leans a little closer. “Honestly, I’m relieved there’s another woman here.”

 

“Me too,” you say. “You know, I’ve been here for some time and I only just met Mrs. Jarvis when you showed up? I didn’t even know she was here. ”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Of course they didn’t tell you. Men. ”

 

“Men,” you agree. “She’s fantastic, though, isn’t she?”

“Oh, an absolute wonder.”

 

“Have you had her spaghetti yet?”

 

“No,” she laughs in surprise, “I haven’t had spaghetti since...oh, dear, since my roommate back in New York made it for me. I had no idea it was such a complicated affair.”

 

“Wait, is it?”

 

She sends you a look out of the corner of her eye. “She’s Italian.”

 

“Oh, so then yeah, it must be.”

 

“Here I am, happy if it doesn’t taste like the MREs we used to eat.”

 

Your smile fades from an excited grin into something softer. “You must have stories, Agent Carter.”

 

“Please,” she says, echoing your smaller smile, “Peggy is fine.”

 

You can help neither the growth of your smile nor the blush. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. “Then you must have stories, Peggy.”

 

“Enough for a lifetime,” she agrees, looking off at the flamingo who is still strutting around like he owns the place.

 

“Well, not yet.” You tilt your head when she looks at you, confused. “You’ve still got quite a bit of life to live, haven’t you?”

 

Something flickers over her face that you can’t quite figure out. Then she smiles again and you stop worrying about it. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

 

The sun filters through the trees, casting interesting shadows over the table. 

 

“Where are my manners,” Peggy says, laughing a little at herself, “I’ve been sitting here, rambling on about myself when I haven’t asked you anything.”

 

“I wouldn’t say ‘rambling,’” you mumble, knowing full well that you ramble on about pretty much everything when you get going properly. 

 

“Nevertheless this is unacceptable.” Peggy raises her chin and gives you a mock stern look. “I insist we talk about something other than myself.”

 

“I’m really not that interesting.”

 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She raises an eyebrow and juts her chin towards you. “How does a woman like you end up researching particle physics in Howard Stark’s lab?”

 

“Good question.”

 

“I know it is, that’s why I asked it.” She winks at you which totally ruins your attempt to glare at her. Rude. “Come on, tell me.”

 

“Alright, alright, no need to interrogate.” You raise your hands. “I surrender.”

 

Peggy isn’t looking at you. You follow her gaze to your hand, still holding the pendant. Shit. You quickly lower your hand in an attempt to hide it but it’s too late. 

 

“What was that?” Peggy asks, following the movement. 

 

Well, no going back now. 

 

“It’s, um,” you mutter, “God, this is embarrassing.” Peggy waits patiently, idly tapping her finger against her drink. “It’s for you.”

 

“For me?”

 

You bring the pendant out, letting it swing on the chain you and Ana managed to find. Peggy reaches for it, carefully taking it in her fingers and turning it this way and that. 

 

“I’ve been working on, um, isolating individual quantum signatures,” you explain, “and how to monitor them. The fabric in the middle has a unique quantum signature.”

 

Peggy nods, focused intently on the fabric. You swallow the lump in your throat when she looks up at you, clearly waiting for more explanation. 

 

“I, um, heard you were an agent from Mr. Jarvis,” you say hurriedly, “and I, um, figured you could probably make use of something that can only be tracked by one piece of equipment.”

 

“So it’s a tracking device,” Peggy muses, running her fingers over the wire, “that operates on such a minute level that you have to know what you’re looking for in order to find it?”

 

You nod. “I...I thought you would like it,” you admit, feeling your cheeks start to burn. 

 

You let Peggy take the necklace from your hands, turning it over and over in hers, examining the detail. Is it too big? Is it the wrong color? Will she think this is creepy? 

 

“It’s beautiful.”

 

What? “Sorry?”

 

Peggy looks up at you and smiles. “It’s beautiful,” she repeats, “I’ve never seen anything like it. And it’s completely safe?”

 

“Yeah,” you say, relief coloring your voice, “since the thing that makes it trackable is an inherent property of the fabric itself, it doesn’t emit any kind of radiation. It’s only detectable with the machine I built to track it.”

 

“It’s genius.” Peggy ignores the ever-growing flush to your face—at least you hope she does—in favor of looking at the necklace again. “And you’re just giving it to me?”

 

“Peace offering?”

 

“A peace offering? Are we at war?”

 

“An offer of friendship, then.”

 

Peggy smiles warmly, slipping the necklace into her pocket. “Offer accepted, Dr. L/N.”

 

“You can just call me Y/N, it’s fine.”

 

“Then you must call me Peggy.”

 

“I can do that.”

 

“Splendid. Shall we finish our breakfast?”

 

“Let’s.”

Chapter 10: The Importance of a Good Story

Summary:

You spend more time with Peggy in the lab. The topic turns to the nature of science as storytelling.

Ana gives you a big hug when you tell her you’ve given Peggy the necklace and that she’s accepted your offer of friendship. 

 

“You must keep me informed,” she says as you two take a walk around the gardens. 

 

“I have a feeling you’d find everything out one way or another.” You reach out and trail your fingers along one of the hedges, still smiling from this morning. You and Peggy spent the rest of breakfast swapping stories about Howard and Jarvis, and she left you with a smile on her face and a promise that she’d join you for breakfast whenever she had the chance. 

 

“Perhaps I would,” Ana says, linking her arm through yours again, “but it will be more fun if you tell me.”

 

“It’s a deal,” you promise. She squeezes your arm and you turn the corner, blinking in the bright sunlight. 

 

“What will you do now? I imagine your work on the machine can only progress so far.”

 

You sigh. “I can figure out how to predict the alignment of the two dimensions but I can’t figure out how I jumped. I need more data and that means I just have to keep running sims.”

 

“Simulations?”

 

“Yeah, sorry, Technobabble.”

 

“Do not apologize.” Ana picks a flower and tucks it behind your ear. “It’s no trouble.”

 

“Thank you,” you say, making sure it’s not going to fall out. 

 

“It suits you.” Ana takes you by the shoulders and turns you so she can see you in the light. “The colors are perfect.”

 

“Maybe I should have you style me,” you joke. 

 

“Oh, of course! It would be so much fun!”

 

“Maybe later?”

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ana declares, taking your arm once more to continue your walk. “I cannot imagine you will be content to just sit around and wait for your machine to churn out more results.”

 

You shake your head. “I need something to do, so I was thinking I would…”

 

“You would what?”

 

You look down, twisting your hands together. “I was thinking I could...make more stuff for Peggy…”

 

Ana laughs, high and lively. “That is adorable!”

 

“I have to do something with my hands and this way it’s useful!”

 

“That sounds marvelous.” Ana pulls you back inside. “Shall we work together on them?”

 

“Make them wearable, right? More convenient?”

 

“Precisely.” You make your way to Ana’s section of the house and she motions for you to sit on the edge of the bed. “Now then,” she announces, pulling open the closet, “what did you have in mind?”

 

“We used to play pranks on each other in the lab with static chargers,” you say, watching as Ana sorts through the clothing, “maybe we could make something that could deliver a shock strong enough to knock someone out?”

 

“I like it.” Ana tosses a few dresses onto the bed next to you. “Would you make it into a ring?”

 

“That would make the most sense, but I’m no jeweler.”

 

“You let me worry about that part. What else?”

 

“Sedative?”

 

Ana holds up a bracelet with several square panels. “If you could make them into tablets, they could fit in here.”

 

You smile. “We’ve got work to do. I’m not...keeping you from anything else you have to do, am I?”

 

Ana shrugs. “The laundry is done, the beds do not need to be changed, and the food is cooked. I have time.”

 

“You’re fantastic.”

 

“I know.”

 

Working with Ana over the next few days is kind of like being back in school. You’re down in the lab, machine plugging away behind you, cursing at tools when they won’t cooperate, and making jokes as you work. Ana’s sense of humor is as fabulous as she is, and she’s got an eye for precision. By the time you’ve crafted the mechanism to deliver the shock, Ana holds up a signet ring that looks like it’s just come off the cover of some glossy magazine. 

 

“This should fit in here…” You carefully slot the tiny device into the little gap between the bottom and top of the ring, closing it delicately. “The circuit runs through the two sides, and all you have to do to close it is…”

 

You experimentally tap the top of the ring against a piece of metal. A bright spark and a loud snap send it flying towards the other end of the room, startling you. 

 

“Holy crap!”

 

“That was exciting,” Ana laughs, “I think it works!”

 

“Yeah...we’re just gonna put that over here…” You set it carefully on a piece of paper and slide it to the end of the table. “That thing is dangerous. ”

 

“She’ll love it.”

 

Peggy does. Her face lights up when she tries the same experiment, watching the shocked metal fly across the room. 

 

“It’s not lethal,” you reassure when she looks at her hand with the ring still on it, “and it didn’t shock you, right?”

 

“No, I’m alright.” She turns it back and forth. “Not much for discretion, though, is it?”

 

“Maybe not, but it might be useful if you really need to get out of something.”

 

“I’m sure they’ll be quite shocked ,” Peggy winks. 

 

“Just make sure I don’t need to amp it up anymore, I’m sure it hertz enough already.”

 

“Oh, you are good,” Peggy laughs, sliding the ring off her finger. “I’m not sure how inconspicuous it would be, a big gold signet ring.”

 

You scoff. “Peggy, I’m not sure anyone would be paying attention to your hands when they’ve got the rest of you. This one, though, the bracelet, definitely isn’t something you can hide easily, not that you’d have to. It’s kind of a statement piece.”

 

You pass it over to her, undoing the clasp so she can see the whole thing. “There’s a small tab of a mild sedative in this one—” you point to the blue gem closest to the clasp— “that should be enough to buy you some time.”

 

Peggy takes the bracelet and examines the gem. “No scent...at least not a strong one…”

 

“Ana said you should be able to mask it if you spray perfume on your wrists when you wear it.”

 

“Wonderful.” She glances up at you, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I’ve always had trouble putting bracelets on.”

 

She takes a step backward, holding out her wrist. “Put it on for me?”

 

You gulp. “S-sure.”

 

Careful not to brush her skin, you flip the bracelet upside down and hook it carefully around her wrist. The sleeves of her blazer ruck up a little behind it as she turns her arm back and forth, examining how it looks. The gold flashes in the lights of the lab, the gems catching the light. 

 

“It’s beautiful,” Peggy murmurs, “thank you.”

 

“Thank Ana for the execution of it,” you say, “I just made the sedative.”

 

“I will.” Peggy undoes the clasp with deft fingers and lays the bracelet carefully next to the ring. “You work quite fast.”

 

“Helps when you’ve got two pairs of hands and not much else to do.”

 

“Oh?” Peggy glances at your machine still plugging away in the corner. “Is that not your work?”

 

You follow her gaze and shrug. “There’s only so much I can do without more information. It has to keep running sims—simulations until I have enough data for the next step.”

 

“And what is the next step?”

 

Your fingers falter as you pack away the last of your tools. Leaning against the table, you take a deep breath. “Something’s missing.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“In my calculations,” you clarify, turning around to face Peggy, “something’s missing. I have the numbers, I have the theory, but the story’s incomplete. The ‘why’ things happened, I...I need to finish the story.”

“Didn’t take you for a writer.” Peggy takes a seat on the stool next to you. 

 

You shake your head. “Not what I meant. Science is...it’s not all numbers and math and all that. It’s storytelling with numbers and math and all that.”

 

Peggy frowns. “I don’t follow.”

 

“It’s…” You tip your head back, looking at the ceiling as you try to find the right words. “If I ask you what two plus two is, you know the answer is four. But that’s not useful by itself.” Peggy nods. “But if I ask you how many cups of coffee I need if I drink two in the morning and two in the evening—”

 

“That’s an awful lot of caffeine, Y/N.”

 

“—I do an awful lot of work, let me live.” You pause when Peggy laughs. “Then the twos and the four mean something. Maths is fine as a language, but it’s got to be given a context, some kind of narrative, to be useful.”

 

“And science gives it that narrative.”

 

“Exactly.” You gesture around you at the lab. “Science gives us the stories that tell us how the world works, or help us understand how the world works. There’s as much creativity and imagination behind it as any other type of story. Like—here, can I show you something?”

 

“Of course.” Peggy smiles and lets you take her hands to pull her to her feet. “What are we doing?”

 

You grab one of the springs from a nearby table and hold one end out to Peggy. “Can you hold this for me?” She holds it and you back slowly toward the other side of the lab until the spring is stretched taut. “You know what a wave equation looks like, right?”

 

“It’s been a while since I was in any sort of formal mathematical instruction.”

 

“You don’t need to know the particulars, it’s a nasty little piece of work anyway.” Smiling when Peggy barks out a laugh, you continue. “But it looks like just a bunch of nonsense unless you can imagine what a wave looks like.”

 

You shift your weight a little bit. “Hold your side as steady as possible, okay?” She shifts her weight as well, gripping the spring with both hands. “I’m going to send a wave at you.”

 

You snap your wrist once, sending a pulse along the length of the spring. The wave travels over to Peggy and reflects, coming back toward you. 

 

“You know, as many times as I do that it never stops looking cool,” you giggle, mostly to yourself, “but it’s a wave, right? So somehow, that nasty equation describes this, but I have to use my imagination to see this when I look at the equation.”

 

“A matter of knowing the language to understand the story.”

 

“God, can I just work with you and Ana all the time? You guys get it.”

 

“Well, you’re very good at explaining.” Peggy snaps her wrist, sending a wave at you that almost jerks the spring out of your hand. “Oh! Sorry!”

 

“Nah, you’re good, I just wasn’t expecting it.” Your face lights up. “Hey, you wanna see if we can make a standing wave?”

 

“A what?”

 

“A wave where it just kind of bobbles back and forth.” You make a vague motion with your hand. “It’s cool, I promise.”

 

“Alright.” Peggy smiles and you see your own childlike excitement in her face. “How do we do it?”

 

It takes a few tries, but eventually, you get a standing wave going between the two of you. It’s just a matter of holding one end tightly and moving the other consistently. It quickly devolves into a totally scientific investigation of constructive versus destructive interference that isn’t just who can move their end of the spring the fastest. You’re both laughing and failing to hold onto your respective ends of the spring by the end of it. 

 

“Oh, crap!” Your grip slips and the spring flings itself wildly across the room. “Oh, well, at least nothing broke.”

 

“Yes, quite right.” You look at each other and burst out laughing again. 

 

“But anyway,” you finally say, getting your breath back and leaning against the table for support, “wait, where was I going with this I had a point—oh yeah! Uh, imagination. Storytelling. Maths. Science!”

 

“How terribly eloquent.”

 

“Hey, listen, you know what I meant.”

 

“Thrillingly demonstrated,” Peggy says, gesturing to the abandoned spring, “The epitome of professionalism.”

 

“The only difference between screwing around and science is writing it down and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar.”

 

You’re rewarded with another glorious laugh from Peggy which, of course, makes you laugh. It takes a moment for you both to settle down and for you to remember what prompted this conversation. 

 

“I haven’t figured out the story yet,” you admit, looking back to your faithful machine in the corner, “something’s missing.”

 

“Maybe you just need to use your imagination a bit more,” Peggy suggests, “clearly you’ve got it.” She gestures to the ring and the bracelet. 

 

An idea pops into your head. “You know,” you say, drawing Peggy’s attention, “I tend to get a little...caught up in theory and forget the practical stuff.”

 

She nods. You look up at her. 

 

“I would be grateful, if it’s not too much to ask, to...talk with you about things.”

 

Peggy huffs a laugh, looking away. “I’m no scientist, I don’t think I’d be much help.”

 

“But you’re you, you don’t need to be a scientist on top of that.”

 

Ah, that’s probably gonna need some explaining. Sure enough, Peggy’s hand freezes on the table and she looks at you, confusion written on her face. 

 

“I mean,” you say, standing up, “I’ve heard about some of your missions from Howard and Mr. Jarvis. You’re a formidable woman, Agent Carter. You cut through the noise to focus on what’s important, you don’t let anything get in your way, and make the world that doesn't want to listen to you sit up and take notice.”

 

You give her a small smile, hoping you come across as genuine. 

 

“That requires strength and a hell of a lot of brains. You don’t need some stupid sheet of paper or some bogus qualifications for me to respect your opinion. You...you’re Agent Peggy Carter. That’s enough.”

 

Wow. That was...a lot of words. 

 

Silence falls over the lab. 

 

A clock chimes in the hallway. 

 

“It’s late,” you say, hurrying to dispel the awkward tension in the room, “I should let you rest.”

 

“Thank you, Y/N.” Peggy’s words make you stop. She looks at you, a small smile growing on her face. “Truly.”

 

“I just told you the truth.”

 

“Then allow me to do the same when I say you are a remarkable woman.”

 

You smile. “We make a good team.”

 

“That we do. You’re right though,” Peggy says, starting out of the lab, “it is late.”

 

“We should sleep.”

 

She looks over her shoulder, quirking a brow. “Not going to have your two cups of evening coffee?”

 

“You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

 

“Of course not.”

Chapter 11: There's Time

Summary:

In the aftermath of the explosion, Peggy falters. Jarvis is there to help her.

Peggy never knew explosions could leave one feeling cold. 

 

The ride back to Howard’s residence with Mr. Jarvis does nothing to erase the chill sinking into her bones, sending goose pimples up all over her arms. The lights outside barely register as she stares out the window. 

“I am terribly sorry for your loss, Ms. Carter,” Jarvis says softly from the driver’s seat, “and I will be glad to offer you any assistance that I can.”

 

She nods, registering he’s spoken but unable to summon much will to make a verbal response. The rest of the car ride passes in silence bar the gentle rumbling of the car’s engine and the distant sounds of LA nightlife. It takes her a moment to register that they’ve stopped, all sounds fading until Jarvis opening her door spurs her back into movement. 

 

“Might I suggest you try and get some sleep, Ms. Carter,” Jarvis asks, leading her up the stairs and down the corridor to her room, “even if the night is almost at its close?”

 

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep,” she confesses, sinking down onto the foot of the bed, “I’ve got so much to think about.”

 

“You are no stranger to grief, I know.” Jarvis closes the door and comes to sit next to her. “But you do not have to do it alone.”

 

Peggy knows. It is difficult, especially now, coming back from somewhere one couldn’t take the time to properly grieve, having to stow it away to get the job done, only to realize you couldn’t feel it once you finally had the time. Now, though...Jarvis is right. She has a few moments to allow herself to feel it. 

 

“I will not judge you your tears, Ms. Carter,” Jarvis encourages, “nor will I begrudge you a few moments to yourself.”

 

“Stay,” she blurts out, grabbing for his hand, “please?”

 

Jarvis stills, then shuffles close enough for his side to press against hers. He turns his hand over to grip hers tightly. His presence is a rock, warm and solid next to her. It’s the first time she’s felt warm all night. 

 

It’s much easier to cry when someone holds your hand. 

 

When she finishes, Jarvis gives her hand a squeeze and stands from the bed. Peggy watches as he fetches a box of facial tissues and returns to her side, holding out the box for her to take. She does, giving him a grateful nod, and blows her nose, trying to get the rest of her face back in order. 

 

“Would you like to talk about it,” Jarvis asks in between the attempts, “or be distracted from it?”

 

Peggy sniffles, wiping the end of her nose with a tissue. “I think any distraction you could offer would be greatly appreciated, Mr. Jarvis.”

 

“In that case, shall I tell you what that blasted flamingo did this morning?”

 

She nods. Jarvis goes on to describe—in vivid detail and with the type of British sarcasm she sorely misses on this side of the ocean—how Bernard, in complete and total defiance of his keeper’s wishes, had continued his proud stroll about the grounds to leave his feathers and his droppings throughout not only the vegetable garden, but the fountains around the back as well. Apparently, flamingo droppings had the most unpleasant odors. Peggy can’t stop the giggle at Jarvis’ disgusted expression as he describes it. 

 

“Perhaps that should be the next thing we investigate,” she suggests with a weak smile, “the toxicity of flamingo droppings.”

 

“It would certainly make for a worthy study,” Jarvis agrees, wrinkling his nose. “Though it seems to have lifted your spirits a small bit.”

 

Peggy has to agree, looking down at the tissue crumpled in her hands. 

 

“If I may ask, Ms. Carter—” she looks back at Jarvis when he speaks—”when was the last time you genuinely enjoyed yourself?”

 

She thinks. Did she enjoy herself tonight before...before? The evening with Dr. Wilkes had been...eventful, to say the least. The talk at the bar was informative, and their talk engaging, but there had been an undercurrent of business that kept from being truly enjoyable. Their dance...the man was a marvelous dancer. But now, now it was simply a reminder of what had been lost. And, to be perfectly honest, she had never enjoyed herself that much while dancing. Never could find the right partner. 

 

So, not tonight. When before that? 

 

“You’re smiling, Ms. Carter.” Jarvis gently knocks their shoulders together. “Might I ask what it was?”

 

“A few nights ago,” Peggy says, “Dr. L/N called me down to the lab. She’d made me two new things.”

 

“What did she make you?”

 

“A ring and a bracelet, or an electric weapon and sedative, respectively.”

“She is quite the mad scientist, isn’t she?”

 

“She’s not mad at all,” Peggy counters without any heat, “but she’s a brilliant scientist. She...the way she explained it, it…”

 

“Explained what?”

 

“Science.” Peggy smiles, remembering the light she’d felt at hearing science described as a story. “It sparked a curiosity in me I haven’t felt for years. The childlike wonder at the world, wanting to know desperately how it worked.”

 

“That sounds wonderful,” Jarvis says. 

 

“She is,” Peggy agrees before catching herself, “I mean, it was.”

 

Jarvis smiles. “Am I right, then, in thinking that you are getting along with Dr. L/N?”

 

“You were right,” Peggy says, “ she does indeed make wonderful company.”

 

She truly does, Peggy thinks, still toying with the tissue in her lap, she makes such incredible things, and speaks so passionately about her work, and so clever too...a kind of cleverness that doesn’t seek to prove itself, but to lift others up. 

 

In Peggy’s line of work, smart is a weapon. It’s a tool, a way to connect the dots, to stay one step ahead of your opponent. It’s a necessity, to keep people alive, to make it back home at the end of the day. But your smart isn’t that. It’s soft and sweet and kind, a question, a way to uplift each day and leave you excited for the next. 

 

It’s wonderful. 

 

“If I may,” Jarvis says, and Peggy jumps. How did she forget he was here too?

 

“Yes, Mr. Jarvis?” 

 

“You seem to be...more than getting along with Dr. L/N,” Jarvis says, “am I right?”

 

Peggy’s hands freeze in her lap. She’d discussed her...feelings about Angie with Jarvis back in New York, until they’d both come to the agreement that yes, they were interested in each other, but their friendship was worth more than enough to fulfill them both. She'd honestly thought Mr. Jarvis had forgotten about it, maybe hoping was the better word. 

 

“I don’t know,” she says finally, “I don’t think I’d know if I...were.”

 

“How does Dr. L/N make you feel, Ms. Carter?”

 

Under any other circumstances, she’d have scoffed and waved the question off as some schoolgirl nonsense. Now, though, she takes the time to think about it. She remembers the pleasant surprise when she saw you standing next to Jarvis. She remembers the relief when you’d had that first breakfast together and found out you weren’t just moping around, waiting for Howard. She remembers the happiness and safety she felt in the lab, playing with a spring like two children. She remembers the comfort as the pendant rested against her skin under her blouse. 

 

“...warm.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Y/N makes me feel warm, Mr. Jarvis.”

 

The admission releases some weight in her chest, filling the whole room with a breath she didn’t know she held. Perhaps the pain of losing someone important gave her some permission to feel many things tonight. Jarvis supports her weight where they lean together. 

 

“Do you know if it’s…”

 

Peggy shakes her head. “I’m not sure.”

 

“Well, if the expression on your face the last few minutes is any indication,” he says lightly, “I would daresay it might be.”

 

“Then I really am buggered, aren’t I?”

 

“Not necessarily.” Jarvis straightens his coat, brushing off some imaginary lint. “After all, you know as well as anyone that communication is often the best way to solve a problem.”

 

“Communication when the risks are clear and manageable.” Peggy shakes her head. “I can’t take that risk.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Mr. Jarvis, you have paid attention to the world around us, haven’t you?” Peggy balls the tissue up decidedly in her lap. “It doesn’t exactly look favorably upon things like this.”

 

“If you are concerned about Dr. L/N—”

 

“Of course I am,” Peggy snaps, then bites her lip. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to snap.”

 

“No apology necessary,” Jarvis assures, “however, I was going to say, if you are concerned about Dr. L/N’s opinions in this regard, you needn’t be.”

 

Peggy’s fingers toy anxiously with the tissue. “I won’t rush this,” she decides finally, “I am satisfied with my friendship with Y/N. I am grateful to have her in my life, in whatever capacity that may be.”

 

“Of course,” Jarvis says, “though if you will permit me to say one more thing before I leave you for the night?”

 

She nods. Jarvis turns to face her, his face utterly serious. 

 

“In every other aspect of your life that you have allowed me to witness, Ms. Carter,” he says, “you do not allow yourself to settle for what is merely satisfactory. It is my wish that you do not choose to start now.”

 

He gives her hand one last squeeze and shuts the door quietly behind him as the first rays of light start to reach their long, golden fingers through the windows. 

Chapter 12: Lavender Transparency

Summary:

You meet Rose and she has no qualms about discussing flowers.

You sigh as you finish writing down the results from the latest test. You’re getting consistent results; the numbers keep adding up, the relationship between your two universes is stable. But you can’t figure out the thing that bridged the gap. It’s like...it’s like there’s something else in between the two of them, almost, something that isn’t nothing but isn’t something. Nothingness with a type of substance that is nothing. 

Yeah, you have no idea what that means either. 

 

At the very least, you’ve got something. If you had the tech to do trial runs, you’d have more. But you don’t risk trying to do something more than expanding your machine to handle more calculations without Howard. You don’t know enough about how the technology works in this time period. The last thing you want to do is cause some catastrophe that wipes everything completely out of existence. You can’t hold back a scoff at how dramatic you sound, but you know full well it’s entirely possible. 

 

The biggest problem with stuff like this is visualizing, you realize. Humans are three-dimensional beings, constrained in the ways we can think about time and space. If we were four-dimensional, well, we’d have a whole nother host of problems you can’t even conceive of. It’s like...it’s like there are two lines of different colors occupying the same space. Color charge. You can change color to be a part of one line versus the other, but you’ve got to go through some middle stage of no color before you make the switch. 

 

You haven’t found anything colorless.

 

The good news is apparently Howard’s coming back at the end of the week. Ana mentioned this morning that there’s a plan for Jarvis and Peggy to go see him tomorrow. Hopefully, that means her mission is going well. 

 

You smile to yourself as you make your way out of the lab and up the stairs. The spy stuff is always the coolest part, isn’t it? You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying making all the cool stuff for Peggy, with Ana’s help, of course. If you were being completely honest, you were probably getting a little selfish with it at this point. There’s just such a thrill behind seeing something come together so perfectly, like the necklace, or the little recorder you’ve been working on making into a brooch and having it work. Plus, who can deny the wonder at seeing some hidden gadget work its magic?

 

Your smile turns into a grin. You never were the ‘kick-ass-take-names’ type of gal, at least not the same way Peggy was, but you could definitely see yourself in one of those snazzy tech rooms, showing off the latest toys for your agent. 

 

You pause. Your agent. 

 

“You’ve got your thinking face on,” comes the voice from behind you. You turn to see Ana smiling at you. “What’re you plotting away at now?”

 

“Just trying to think outside the box,” you say as she comes to look out at the garden next to you, “there’s only so much I can do before I’m going to need Howard’s help again.”

“Running out of ideas?”

 

“No, not that, it’s just I have no concept of how much technology can do here.” You fold your arms. “I’m a theorist, I’m not someone who builds the machines I use. I can prove my theory works and theorize more, but…”

 

“You can’t do anything more than that,” Ana finishes. She gives your arm a pat when you nod in frustration. “Don’t worry. He will be back and you will tell him all the other things you have figured out and he will help you.”

 

“I don’t like relying on someone else like this,” you mutter, “I should be able to do it myself and get out of your hair.”

 

“I’m sure you could,” Ana says, “but I can assure you it’s no trouble to any of us. We enjoy having you here.”

 

“I’ve enjoyed being here,” you say, “and you’ve been amazing.”

 

The sound of a car horn draws both your attention to the road. You frown. It’s not the car Mr. Jarvis always drives. 

 

“Are you expecting someone?”

 

“No,” Ana says, “I am not.”

 

The car stops in front of the door and you both turn to watch Peggy step out, followed by another woman. 

 

“Do you know her?”

 

“I don’t believe so,” Ana says, looping her arm through yours, “but let’s go say hello.”

 

Peggy smiles when she sees you both, and you’re not sure if the softening of it when she focuses on you is your imagination or not. The other woman joins you on this side of the car and, well, now you recognize her. 

 

“Dr. L/N, Mrs. Jarvis,” Peggy says, “this is Rose. She works with me.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Ana says, sweeping forward gracefully to catch the other woman in a hug. You follow a little less elegantly and hold out your hand. 

 

“Nice to meet you, Rose.”

 

“Oh, please, pleasure’s mine.” Rose shakes your hand firmly. “Peggy talks about you a lot.”

 

“M-me?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Rose smiles, “says you’re brilliant.” She leans closer. “That necklace you made? Absolutely fabulous.”

 

“Oh, uh,” you stutter, face burning again, “thanks.”

 

“No problem.” Rose turns to Peggy who’s, honestly, only a bit better off than you are, judging by the faint pink rising on her cheeks, and asks: “you’re sure it’s alright if I stick around for a bit?”

 

“Please,” Peggy says, “it’s no trouble.” 

 

“We were just about to have some drinks on the patio,” Ana says, taking your arm again. 

 

“Wait, were we?”

 

“Yes,” she declares, leading the four of you through the house. “Now, if you three will wait here, I will fetch the drinks.”

 

“Wait, let me help—” you start at the same time Peggy says: “Nonsense, I can—”

 

You both freeze, each looking at the other. Rose laughs at your shocked silence. 

 

“ I will go help Mrs. Jarvis,” she says, “you two sit. We’ll be back in a moment.”

 

You do as you’re told, taking your normal seat at the corner of the table. Peggy sits across from you, casting glances back at the doors every now and then. 

 

“So,” you manage eventually, “how was your day?”

 

Peggy looks at you in surprise. “Small talk? Really?”

 

“Look,” you sigh, “unplanned social interactions are not my strong suit.”

“Fair enough.” Peggy gives you a reassuring smile and leans back in her chair. “Wasn’t that awful.”

 

“What an astonishingly lukewarm sentiment.”

 

It startles a laugh out of her. “Well, I’m sure you know how it is. Bureaucracy this, paperwork that. Coworkers that don’t always understand that you can do something.”

 

You groan in sympathy. “Yeah, I hear you.”

 

“I swear, if they spent half as much time actually doing something instead of just complaining about it—”

 

“—they’d already be done,” you finish, “or at least realize that I actually know what I’m doing.”

 

“Precisely.”

 

You jerk your head toward the doors. “At least you have Rose, right? She seems like she’s got her stuff together.”

 

“We have spent many a lunch break talking about it,” Peggy agrees. 

 

You sit for a moment, listening to the breeze blowing through the trees and the grass. Then your gaze travels over to Peggy and you worry your lip for a moment.

 

“Peggy,” you start, waiting for her to look at you, “did you really talk about me with Rose?”

 

“Of course I did,” she says, “you’re my friend.”

 

You smile. You’re her friend. Her face dips in concern. 

 

“I can assure you I told her nothing that would invade your privacy.”

 

“No, no, it’s nothing like that, I just...wasn’t expecting it.”

 

“But you’re interesting,” Peggy argues with a smile, “why shouldn’t I talk about you?”

 

“Wait, what did you tell her?”

 

Peggy smirks. “Only the good things.”

 

And what, pray tell, the heck is that supposed to mean? You’re spared the pain of trying to ask that question by the reappearance of Rose and Ana, carrying two glasses each. You accept Ana’s offered glass and take a grateful sip as she and Rose sit around the table. 

 

“So,” Rose says as she settles, “Peggy tells me you’re a scientist?”

 

“That’s right.” You take another sip and set your glass on the table. “My work is in particle physics.”

 

“That sounds interesting. The last time we had someone who did particle physics was...oh, Peggy, was it Dr. Dawson?”

 

Peggy rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes it was.”

 

You spend the majority of the evening hearing stories about New York, some of which you knew from the show, some of which you’ve never heard. Of course, everything they tell you is censored to some degree, and you can fill in the blanks for some of it, but other times you have absolutely no idea if they’re being serious or not. 

 

“I don’t believe,” you say finally, staring them down, “that you managed to not only convince the agent in question that the coffee machine was possessed, but that the way to exorcise the spirit was for him to finish his paperwork.”

 

“And why not?” Peggy blinks innocently at you. “Are you doubting my capabilities, Doctor?”

 

“Never, Agent,” you reply, “but I am questioning the implied lack of common sense in the other agent.”

 

“You would be surprised,” Peggy says, taking a drink. 

 

“That doesn't give me much confidence in the agency.”

 

“He’s back in New York,” Peggy says, waving a hand, “I doubt anyone here would fall for it.”

 

“I don’t know,” Rose says, “I’m pretty sure Rob still thinks the filing cabinet eats reports.”

 

Ana giggles next to you. “If it’s anything like Bernard, that would make sense.”

 

“I’m terribly sorry, ladies,” Peggy says, setting down her drink and standing, “but I’m afraid nature is calling me right now. I’ll be back.”

 

She disappears through the doors as the three of you finish laughing. It’s a pleasant evening. Everything is still warmed by the sun’s light even as it disappears below the horizon. The sky turns a soft orange and a few pale pink clouds drift across. 

 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rose make eye contact with Ana and lean forward. 

 

“So, Y/N, right?”

 

You nod, sipping your drink. 

 

“How long are you planning to stay in town?”

 

You shrug. “I don’t know. My work isn’t exactly on a strict schedule, but it’s looking like I’m going to be here for some time.”

 

“And how long have you known Peggy?”

 

You set down your drink. Jeez, how long has it been? A week? Honestly, you can’t tell. 

 

“I met her the first day she arrived in LA,” you say instead, “we met here.”

 

Rose’s eyes widen. “Really? I would’ve guessed you’d known each other for a long time.”

 

“Wait, why?”

Rose shrugs. “Peg’s not the type to get close to people super easy. And you two seem really close.” She takes a sip of her drink. “And considering you’ve been making presents for her.”

 

You blush. “We’re living in the same house, I think that—”

 

“Don’t be so modest, Y/N,” Ana says, lightly smacking your arm, “this house is enormous and yet you two get along like you’re living together.”

 

“We...are?”

 

“If I didn’t know any better,” Rose says, looking at you over the rim of her glasses, “I’d think you two were fond of long walks through the lavender gardens.”

 

Honestly... again?

 

“You said it wasn’t obvious,” you mutter to Ana who shrugs. Rude. 

 

“I said it wasn’t obvious to people who weren’t looking.”

 

“I’m looking,” Rose says, laughing a little when you bury your head in your hands, “relax, I won’t say anything.”

 

“Won’t say anything about what?”

 

Oh, hey, how’s that for the worst timing ever?

 

“Oh, hi, Peggy!” Rose waves cheerfully as Peggy comes to sit back down at the table. “We were just talking about flowers.”

 

“Flowers,” Peggy repeats, skeptical.

“Apparently,” Ana says, coming to your rescue when it’s clear you can’t say anything, let alone carry a conversation, “there is an interesting story about allergies from your New York office?”

 

“Oh, of course,” Peggy sighs, “but I’m going to need another drink if I’m going to tell that story.”

 

“Then I will be right back.”

Chapter 13: The Scientist in Secretary Clothing

Summary:

Rose takes you shopping. You find something that reminds you of Peggy.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” 

 

The horn honks persistently as you stumble outside, blinking at the sudden shift to the bright sunlight. You hold up your hand to clock it, squinting at the car in the driveway. 

 

“Rose?”

 

“Good morning, Y/N!” Rose leans out of the window. “Get in!”

 

“What? Why? Where’re we going?”

 

“Don’t you remember? You’re coming shopping with me today!”

 

You blink. “I’m doing what now?”

 

“We said it yesterday,” Rose explains as you walk toward the car, “since you’re in town for a while, it’s probably a good idea to get you some clothes of your own.”

 

Oh, right. You do have a vague recollection of this conversation taking place. You cast one last look back at the house. 

 

“If you’re worried about money,” Rose calls, “Mr. Jarvis gave me Mr. Stark’s permission to use his checkbook.”

 

You sigh. It would be nice to have some clothes of your own, you’re getting a little worn out of cycling through the clothes littered about the residence. Not that they’re bad clothes, but they’re all...made for a different type of woman. 

 

“Great,” Rose says when you finally get into the car, “you can help me look for some things today too.”

 

“What are we looking for?”

 

“There are some fancy events we have to go to as part of our job,” Rose explains, driving through downtown, “and I’m afraid the old things in my closet won’t cut it anymore. So we’re getting some staples for you, something flashy for me, and anything else that catches our eyes.”

 

“Sounds good.” Honestly, it’s good for you to get out of the lab. You’re a little worried about being away from Howard’s mansion for the first time, but you trust Rose. “I’m sure you have an idea of where to go?”

 

“Oh, just you wait! I’ve got it covered.”

 

Surprisingly, it’s not too difficult to find a parking space. Easy parking? In downtown Los Angeles? Yeah, that almost never happens. You step out onto the street, looking around.

 

It’s like you’ve stepped onto the set of a TV show or something. 

 

Rose links her arm through yours and the two of you set off down the street, Rose raising a hand to hold her hat on every few steps. The sidewalk gleams, passers-by chatting idly as they fill the busy street. In a few more steps, Rose turns you into the first shop. 

 

“Good morning, Rose,” one of the shop attendants calls, “how can I help you this morning?”

 

“Hello, Beth.” Rose indicates you. “Friend of mine lost her luggage on the way over, came here as quick as we could.”

 

“Oh, that is a pain.” Beth comes around the counter. “Had a sister lose her suitcase a few months back, poor thing was distraught. Well, let’s have a look at you.”

 

You let Beth pull you towards the mirrors in the back, positioning you so she can walk around you. You shrink a little, unused to the attention. 

 

“Well, aren’t you a doll.” Beth picks up the hem of the dress you pulled on and lets it fall. “Don’t know who you borrowed this from but it won’t do at all.”

 

“It was all that was left in the closet,” you admit, red coloring your cheeks. 

 

“Well then we’d better get you a new closet, now hadn’t we?” Beth winks at you and gestures to the racks. “What kind of things do you normally pick out for yourself, dear?”

 

“Um…” You glance around. “Things I can move in. My work, I—”

 

“You work? What sort of work do you do?”

 

Your gaze flicks to Rose, who nods. “I, um, I’m a research assistant for a scientist.”

 

“Oh, you’re a clever girl.” Beth nods in approval. “So you want some professionalism with spunk, huh? And pockets.”

 

“ Please give me pockets.”

 

“Got you covered, dear.” Beth steers you over to a rack filled with blouses. She selects one and holds it up to you. “This one will accentuate those nice shoulders of yours...but the collar’s a bit too large.”

 

“I don’t know much about fashion,” you admit, “so I’m gonna defer to your judgment.”

 

“You’re in good hands,” Beth assures, “Rose, dear, you’ll help too, won’t you?”

 

“You betcha.”

 

You stand still while they bustle about, fetching blouses and skirts and dresses, holding them up, either nodding and pushing them into your arms or shaking their heads. 

 

“How do you feel about legs, my dear?” Beth holds up a swing dress. 

 

“I have them.”

 

“About showing them, dear.”

 

“I have them,” you say, shrugging, “all people do. Why should it make a difference whether they’re under pants or a dress?”

 

“I like you,” Beth announces, snatching up two more dresses and handing them to you. At this point, you’re holding an entire wardrobe’s worth of clothes. “Alright, let’s start trying these on.”

 

“I might need help,” you say weakly, gesturing as best you can to some of the more complicated fastenings. 

“Just holler.” Beth shows you to a fitting room and pulls the curtain shut. “Start with the blouses and the skirts and we’ll work up to the dresses, okay, doll?”

 

“Okay!”

 

You struggle a little with some of the buttons but you manage to get the first blouse on. It’s cut so you have a pretty good range of motion in your arms and the color flatters your skin tone. You pair it with a deep blue skirt that falls just below your knee. 

 

“Oh, that is lovely,” Beth sighs as you emerge, “the buttons don’t gap, the skirt hugs your waist just right, and those are both basics, you can wear them with a lot of things. What do you think, Rose?” Rose nods, giving you a thumbs up. “Next!”

 

The rest of the blouses and skirts go in a similar way. The only ones you don’t keep are a red skirt that won’t fall right around your hips and a cream blouse that won’t let you raise your arms without cutting off your circulation. By the time Beth pronounces you ready for dresses, you’ve already got twelve items set aside. 

 

“I think this is enough,” you try but Rose quickly shakes her head. 

 

“This is going on Mr. Stark’s account, Y/N, and you’re entitled to good clothes.”

 

“Oh, certainly,” Beth says, “and the least Mr. Stark can do is treat you to a good dress or two. Or three. Or four.”

 

Mr. Stark is already helping me a lot more than that, you think but you do like some of these dresses. You ask for Beth’s help pulling on the first one, it’s got a row of tiny snaps up the back that you can’t do by yourself. The pastel print falls to just above your knee, sweeping along your legs as you turn. 

 

“Oh, this is adorable,” Beth coos, “let’s go show Rose!”

 

Rose loves it too, coming up to spin you around to watch the dress swirl out. You giggle. There’s something so satisfying about being in a skirt or dress that swirls out when you spin. 

 

“You have to get this, Y/N.”

 

“Okay, okay, I will.”

 

“Come on,” Beth says, “a few more!”

 

You end up picking the pastel dress, a deep green dress, a red dress, and a striped dress. There’s one more for you to try on and you have no idea what you’re supposed to do with it. 

 

It’s a deep burgundy color with a peplum just above your knee. The three-quarter sleeves have a trim of lace around the edges and the collar fastens around your neck with a glittering button over the keyhole. 

 

“Where am I supposed to wear this?” You hold it out so you can see the whole thing. “I’m not going anywhere near fancy enough.”

 

“Every woman needs at least one fancy dress for no good reason.” Beth squeezes your shoulders. “Come on, let’s see how it looks.”

 

Luckily, it’s an easy dress to pull on. It fits a little closer to your body than the others and it takes a few fumbles for you to get the latch at the neck closed. You step back so you can see the whole thing in the mirror and your mouth drops open. 

 

It’s perfect. 

 

The curves of the fabric hug your body in just the right way, the glittering button at your throat drawing attention to the slope of your shoulders with just a little peek of your collarbones. The lace adds a touch of elegance to the sleeves. It looks almost armor-like in its precision. 

 

“Don’t keep us in suspense, doll! Come on out!”

 

Beth squeals and hugs Rose when she sees you in the dress. “Oh, doll, you’re a showstopper!”

 

“You have to get it, Y/N,” Rose says, “you look like a million bucks.”

 

“Any man would die to have you in that,” Beth gushes, spinning you around to look. Rose catches your eye in the mirror and winks. 

 

“ Anyone would die to have you in that.”

 

“Rose,” Beth scolds, “she’s turning the same color as the darn thing, stop it.”

 

“Hey, I’m just telling her the truth!”

 

“You must get this,” Beth insists, “I swear.”

 

“Okay,” you smile, and yeah, you do feel like a million bucks in this dress, “I’ll get it.”

 

“Darn right you will.” Beth claps her hands. “Let’s get it off so I can ring you up.”

 

“Wait,” you say, “Rose, we have to get something for you too, right? You said you needed fancy things.”

 

“Rose, why didn’t you say so?” Beth darts to the other end of the store and returns with an entire rack. “I’ve gotten so many new things that would suit you perfectly!”

 

Rose rolls her eyes fondly as Beth ushers her into the fitting room next to you. You take your pile of clothes to the front before you and Beth repeat the same process for Rose. Rose looks absolutely stunning in a black gown that falls to the floor, sweeping across her shoulders. She also kills it in a deep blue gown with sheer puff sleeves, glittering belt at her waist. 

 

“I can’t decide,” you say, “you look outstanding in both of them.”

 

“Thanks, Y/N,” Rose smiles, “well, Beth, I’m torn. What do you think?”

 

“You’ve got a lot of stuff already like the first one,” Beth says, pointing to the black gown, “I think this is the one.”

 

“Sounds good!” Rose winks at you. “Let me get changed and we’ll finish up here.”

 

As Beth starts ringing up your purchases, your eyes drift over a jewelry case near the register. There’s a necklace sitting on a small cushion with a thin gold chain and an elaborate pendant. You bend down, peering through the glass. 

 

“You like that one?”

 

You jump, looking up to see Beth smiling at you. She comes over, unlocking the base and pulling it out. Now that you can see it clearly, it’s two red stones hanging inside a wrapped cage of golden wire, the same color as the chain. As it turns in Beth’s hand, it almost looks like a heart, crimson against the gleam of the gold. 

 

“Can I get this too, please?” Beth smiles, nodding. “And do you mind wrapping it separately?”

 

“Of course, sugar.”

 

Rose comes up behind you with her dress, looking at the necklace. “That’s gorgeous, Y/N.”

 

“I thought it would go well with—” You swallow. “...things.”

 

Rose shoots you a knowing look. “I’m sure ‘things’ will love it.”

 

Beth sends you out the door with a cheery smile and a wave, making you both promise to come back the second you need more clothes. You step out onto the sidewalk, your arms heavy with the bags. 

 

“Think they’ll do the job?”

 

You nod. “I can work in all of these—well, almost all of them—and you’re right, it is nice to have my own clothes.”

 

“Do you think you’d feel comfortable in them in another lab?” Rose smiles when you look at her questioningly. “You told me they felt like armor.”

 

“Yeah,” you say, “I think I could. But what would I work on?”

 

Rose takes your arm as you walk down the street. “I’ll let Peggy tell you that much.”

Chapter 14: Colorless

Summary:

Peggy recruits you to help with the case. You've got a bad feeling about this.

“You want me to what? ”

 

Peggy just smiles patiently, gesturing for you to sit next to her in the lab. “I want you to help the SSR with our mission. Howard said you’re our best bet at learning more about what we need to know.”

 

You lean on the desk in front of you, still flabbergasted. “But I—I’m not an agent!”

 

“You don’t have to be,” Peggy says with a wink, “we need a scientist.”

 

“Don’t you have lots of those? You’re a whole agency, aren’t you?”

 

Peggy shifts a little on the stool. “The SSR is...compromised. There are people working for the other side and I’m sure who I can trust inside it. We don’t have the luxury of relying on them.”

 

“But I’m—” Not from this time period? Not from this universe? Way too much in gay panic mode already and now I’m supposed to work with you? “...me,” you finish lamely. 

 

“Precisely.” Peggy stands up and takes your hands. “You’ve got a brilliant mind, Y/N, and we need as many of those as we can get. And I trust you.”

 

The weight of that statement makes your head spin. Agent Peggy Carter is asking you to help out on an SSR mission because she trusts you. 

 

“What will I be doing?”

 

Peggy grins. “My colleague is on his way over right now. We’ll brief you then.”

 

You narrow your eyes at her. “You knew I was going to say yes.”

 

“Well, I can be very persuasive,” Peggy smirks, “and you can’t resist a good story.”

 

We know but hey. 

 

A few minutes later and you hear the sound of someone else approaching. Peggy stands up as they round the corner, you rising when you recognize who it is. 

 

“Dr. L/N, this is Chief Sousa,” Peggy says as he sets down the files he’s carrying on the desk. 

 

“Pleasure,” you say, shaking his hand, “so, what’re we looking at?”

 

“A mess,” Sousa says with a grim smile, “would be putting it mildly.”

“Oh, that bodes well.” You flip open the file he slides your way. “Calvin Chadwick and Isodyne Energy?”

 

“Ever heard of them?”

 

“Tangentially.”

 

“They’re involved in some shady business,” Sousa explains, “including the cover-up of an ‘experiment’ that went wrong a few nights ago.”

 

Your gaze flicks to Peggy. “You were…”

 

She nods sharply. “I was there. We lost a valuable asset, Dr. Wilkes. We—” she takes a moment to steel herself— "we need as much information about the substance we can get.”

 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say before returning your attention to the file in front of you. “It doesn’t say what they were working on. Aside from your run-of-the-mill energy experiments, there’s nothing that seems too out of the ordinary.”

 

Sousa tosses you another file. “Look at that one.”

 

You open it. There’s a grainy image of what looks like a nuclear testing site except there’s a bit of it missing. 

“Why the refractions,” you ask, pointing to the imperfections, “did the camera get damaged?”

 

“That’s not refraction.” Sousa leans against the desk. “It’s some kind of thing.”

 

You squint, holding the photo up to the light. It really does look like part of the photo is missing. There’s a strange crack right in the middle of the sky. Going back to the file, you look at the other images. One shows a bunch of trucks and other vehicles suspended in mid-air, evidently being pulled in by a tremendous attractive force. The last one shows a strange black puddle on the ground, but it’s not a liquid. It’s just...there. But it looks like it’s nothing. 

 

Colorless. 

 

The hairs on the back of your neck rise. 

 

“It’s called ‘Zero Matter,’” Sousa explains, oblivious to your growing uneasiness, “discovered when a group of scientists from Isodyne tried to replicate the success of the Manhattan Project. Instead of more nuclear weapons, they ended up with this stuff.”

 

“Why’s it called ‘Zero Matter?’”

 

Sousa shrugs. “No idea. Isodyne named it.”

 

“Do you have any idea of how it reacts to normal matter?” 

 

“It froze the body of one of the employees, Jane Scott, completely,” Peggy explains, “and it’s responsible for the accident that killed Dr. Wilkes.”

 

Jesus. You flip through the file, taking in the info about its volatility and the fact that other people seem to want this stuff pretty badly. It appears exposure to it freezes the victims or at least lowers the temperature around them due to a gravitational difference, almost like it’s—

 

Like it’s trying to remove them. You swallow heavily. 

 

“What do you need from me?”

 

“We know almost nothing about it,” Sousa says, crossing his arms, “how it works, how it behaves, why we got it in the first place.”

 

“That’s gonna be hard to tell you without some of it.”

 

“I believe,” Jarvis says from the door, startling all of you, “there may be a solution to that problem.”

 

“Aren’t you coming,” Sousa calls as Peggy starts out of the door to follow Jarvis, “we could use your help?”

 

“You go on ahead,” you say, your attention still fixed on the file, “let me get this down first and I’ll join you.”

 

He nods, leaving you alone in the lab. Your eyes rake over the files, scanning every inch of the pictures. From the information you have, you can tell it’s not some kind of anti-matter, it would’ve annihilated it and whatever matter it came into contact with. This stuff is still here. And clearly it interacts with at least some parts of the electromagnetic spectrum, otherwise, you’d never have photos of it. So that rules out dark matter. 

 

You have a really bad feeling about this. 

 

A sudden clattering makes you look up. 

 

“Y/N!”

 

You raise an eyebrow. “Hello, Howard. Shall I assume you’ve been told about this bag of nonsense?” You gesture at the files. 

 

“Yep.” Howard darts over to clap you once on the shoulder. “I need to make a developer.”

 

You frown. “Field in the wrong EM band?”

 

“You got it,” he calls from gathering the beakers. You hop off the stool and go to the cabinet in the corner, fetching the chemicals and pulling on a pair of safety goggles. Howard, of course, does no such thing. “C’mon, live a little.”

 

“I am,” you say, “by doing it safely. Wanna catch me up?”

 

“There’s a disruption in the gravitational field near Ms. Carter,” Jarvis says, “and Mr. Stark is confident he can tell us why.”

 

You glance at Howard who shakes his head. “It’s not a quantum sig difference.”

 

“Thank god,” you sigh, “so you think it’s…”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Pass me that.”

 

“Mind sharing with the rest of the class?” Peggy crosses her arms and leans against the desk. 

 

“I don’t have as much information as I would like, ” you say, setting up a titration, “but from what you gave me, zero matter works by altering the relationship matter has to its surroundings, including lowering its energy levels. This affects temperature, speed, frequency, and by default—” you make eye contact with Howard— “gravitational effects.”

 

“You got all that from the files?” Sousa looks impressed. 

 

“If there’s a field around Agent Carter,” Howard says, “probably means there’s something there that’s had its usual state affected by exposure.”

 

“So if we can create something that fixes it—”

 

“—we’ll be able to tell what it is.”

 

Sousa glances at Peggy. “You didn’t tell me you found the female Howard Stark,” he mutters. 

 

“I’m me,” you interrupt, “not the female version of Howard, thank you very much.”

 

Sousa’s eyes widen and he smiles, clearly excited. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

Peggy grins proudly as you and Howard keep bouncing off each other, getting everything ready. 

 

“You know how movies work, kids?” Howard pours the solution into a beaker. “Filming is one thing, then the fixer, then the developer.”

 

“You’re using silver nitrate,” Sousa says, “it’s what photographers use to bind images to celluloid.”

“You,” you say, pointing a finger at Sousa. “I like you.”

 

“I like you, too.”

 

“You think that’ll make whatever this—” Peggy gestures around herself— "is, visible?”

 

Howard shrugs. “It exists. By definition, it must be observable.” He finishes putting it into a spray bottle and rounds the table. “Ready to give it a go?”

You and the others watch with bated breath as Howard sprays the mixture around Peggy. Something starts to take shape. First, it’s just a blob, then it looks around. 

 

“Dr. Wilkes?”

 

“Fascinating,” you murmur. Howard continues spraying until the man is fully visible, making sure to coat his vocal chords so he can speak. The story of Dr. Wilkes only serves to deepen the pit in your stomach. This stuff is terrifying and some very powerful people seem to want it very badly. You can’t deny the wrenching ache when Dr. Wilkes fades away, Peggy asking desperately if they can bring him back. “We’ll figure it out, Peggy,” you reassure, “promise.”

 

“Jarvis, Y/N, come on,” Howard says, “we got work to do.”

 

“We need a way to focus the energy,” you mutter as the three of you walk upstairs, “something to try and counteract the way it’s been stripped.”

 

“That’s the plan, but how’re we supposed to do that without disrupting its original frequency?” Howard scratches his head. “Nah, we need to know more about the original stuff.”

 

“It’s too dangerous to try and get at it.”

 

“Damn right. Jarvis!” Howard starts listing off things he needs, Jarvis writing them down dutifully. You exchange commiserating glances when Howard’s description of the cheese he wants is ‘the yellow one.’ 

 

“I’ll get two bricks,” Jarvis says, writing it down. 

 

You can’t help but smile when Howard remarks that Jarvis and Peggy make quite the team, joking about letting him know if he needs a new butler. 

 

“I am more than happy in my position, sir.”

 

“I know, I’m great.” Howard looks toward the door where Peggy and Sousa are just emerging. “But so is she.”

 

Damn right she is. 

 

“Maybe I’ll get Y/N instead,” Howard says, smirking at you.

 

You raise an eyebrow. “You wish.”

 

“I do,” he says with a wink. 

 

Everyone splits up, Jarvis and Howard disappearing, their banter about fondue following them out. Sousa and Peggy decide he’s looking into Whitney Frost, the actress, and wife of Calvin Chadwick who got caught in the same explosion as Wilkes.

“Dr. L/N,” Peggy says, “any ideas?”

 

“I need to know as much about zero matter as I can,” you say, standing up, “Howard’s got to start building the machine for Dr. Wilkes, and that's all the help I can give you.”

 

“I’ve got all the stuff the SSR has on it from Isodyne,” Sousa offers, “we can do our investigation together?”

 

“Sounds good.” You turn to Peggy. “And you, Agent Carter, what will you do?”

 

“I’m going to poke the bear,” she announces, starting back inside. You and Sousa follow, not wanting to get in her way. 

 

Honestly, you pity the bear. 

Chapter 15: Ground Zero

Summary:

You and Sousa begin your investigation.

“That’s the last of it,” you say, setting the box on the table and pushing it towards the others, “thanks for helping.”

 

“Thank you, ” Sousa chuckles, taking a seat next to the first on and shrugging off his jacket, “I can’t imagine this is how you thought you’d be spending an afternoon.”

 

“Well, no, but then again I thought it’d be much less exciting.” You pull the top off the box closest to you and start sorting through it. “So we’ve got shady politicians, actresses caught in explosions, ghosts, and one hell of a MacGuffin.”

 

“Must be Tuesday,” Sousa jokes with a smile, “you think something in here will help?”

 

“Isodyne is a science-driven company.” You flip open a file. “They know how to tell a coherent story.”

 

“With Calvin Chadwick and Whitney Frost at the center of it.” Sousa pulls his own box toward him. “Now what would a leading Hollywood actress know about zero matter?”

 

“I doubt her husband’s the type to be up to his elbows in mysterious black goo.”

 

“With all the dirty politics the guy seems to be involved in, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

 

“Come on, you know they always have someone else do their dirty work.”

 

“Fair enough.” Sousa produces a notebook from somewhere and starts scribbling something down. “Maybe birds of a feather flock together,” he mutters, frowning at a file.

 

“Until the cat comes.”

 

He looks up, eyebrows raised. “Huh?”

 

“That’s the rest of it,” you say, “‘birds of a feather flock together until the cat comes.’ It’s a warning about fair-weather friends.”

 

“Huh.” Sousa gives you a smile. “Are we the cat?”

 

“We could be.”

 

“We’d better start hunting, then.” 

 

You each dive into your tasks, Sousa looking through archives, reports, newspaper clippings, disappearing to the phone in the corner to make calls about Whitney Frost’s background. You pour over the descriptions of zero matter and how the Isodyne scientists managed to contain it. It seems like they used a combination of magnetic fields and positively charged panels to create a statis field, suspending the zero matter in a containment chamber. Similar to how you’d contain antimatter. 

 

You lean on the desk, thinking hard. It isn’t antimatter, you know that. Judging by the descriptions of its activity when left alone, it seems so decidedly non-Newtonian that it can’t be some sort of altered plasma or supercharged quark soup, not that something like that would be able to sustain that state without constant monitoring. This stuff embodies the destructive qualities of entropy, seeking to absorb and consume every type of energy it can. 

 

Any type…

 

“Huh.”

 

You look up at Sousa, on the phone across the room. You raise an eyebrow. 

 

“Yeah, thanks, thanks a lot,” he says, hanging it up and coming back to join you, leaning his crutch against the table. “Well, now this is interesting.”

 

“Find something good?”

 

Sousa slides a casting call from a movie made a few years ago across the table towards you. “That’s the first move Ms. Frost was ever in.”

 

You shake your head. “I am not a movie person.”

 

Well, not a these-movies person. 

 

Sousa waves his hand. “Not the point. The name ‘Whitney Frost’ isn’t on that list.”

 

“But she was definitely in it?”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Sousa points at a name about halfway down. “So was a woman named ‘Agnes Cully’ and she,” Sousa says, pulling out another stack from the Isodyne files, “is no actress.”

 

“Wait—” you scramble for the last report you read— “Agnes Cully, she’s—”

 

“The reason Isodyne’s on the map,” Sousa finishes, “basically the Marie Curie of Oklahoma. She was the brains behind the rotating frequencies that got the Allies’ coded messages across enemy lines during the war.”

 

“So it’s Whitney Frost,” you say, “using her real name.”

 

“They must’ve changed it for the big screen,” Sousa says, “the name ‘Agnes Cully’ doesn’t have a lot of glamor to it.”

 

You nod until another possibility enters your mind. “Or maybe she changed it because no one would expect a genius scientist in one of the leading science companies and a Hollywood actress to be the same person.”

 

“No, no they wouldn’t.”

 

“And wouldn’t it be much easier,” you continue, eyes widening, “if something like this were to happen if her husband was the main target for all the reporters and he just sweeps it under the rug with all his power and influence while no one even looks at his wife, the pretty actress in the pictures.”

 

“Yep.” Sousa looks at the rest of his side of the filing table. “Which means all of this got a lot messier.”

 

“How much do you wanna bet she’s the brains behind the whole thing,” you say, leaning against the table, “and Chadwick’s out there taking the credit?”

 

“America’s sweetheart,” Sousa agrees, “hiding in plain sight.” 

 

“Clever.” You cross your arms and shift to rest your weight against the chair. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised.”

 

“That would explain why she claimed to know so much about zero matter,” Sousa says, “and why she’s so desperate to get it. If she had something to do with its original discovery…”

 

“No scientist can leave a problem unfinished,” you murmur. 

 

Sousa pauses on his way back around the table. “You know,” he says, giving you a once-over, “you’re pretty good at this agent stuff.”

 

“I hardly think that one example is a large enough sample size.”

 

“You know,” Sousa says, “I trust Peggy’s judgment implicitly—”

 

“As you should.”

 

“—but when she said she’d found a scientist that would help us blow the roof off this case,” he continues, “I’ll admit, I had my doubts.”

 

“Probably didn’t help that I’m a woman either,” you say, watching him out of the corner of your eye, “did it?”

 

“It caught me a little off guard,” Sousa admits, “but working with Agent Carter does help with that. Quite a bit.”

 

“You got a point there.”

 

“What I’m trying to say,” Sousa says, facing you properly, “is that if you’re ever looking for work, I’d be honored to have you.”

 

You blink, taken aback by the genuine smile on his face and the respect in his voice. “Just like that?”

 

“Not only did you pick up all of this stuff really quickly,” he says, gesturing at the table, “but you kept up with Howard Stark and from what Peggy’s told me about your work?”

 

He smiles. “She showed me some of the stuff you made. If that’s what you can do with limited resources and time, you could take us clear into the next century. ”

 

Well, there’s a reason for that. 

 

“Thank you, Chief Sousa,” you say finally, “I’m flattered. I, uh—”

 

“You don’t have to answer right now—” he’s quick to spot your discomfort and hastens to reassure you— “just wanted to let you know it’s there.”

 

“I think I’d better focus on this for now,” you say, looking back at the spread of files in front of you, “but I’ll think about it.”

 

Sousa smiles and gives you a nod. “What’ve you got?”

 

“Well, this stuff is freaking weird.”

 

“I got that much.”

 

“No, like, it’s so non-Newtonian I have no idea how it even has the capacity to exist.” Your hands fly about, tucking your hair behind your ears, gesturing wildly. “It’s almost like someone tried to embody nothingness within a substance by making it so the space physically cannot be occupied by normal matter or energy.”

 

“Like a black hole?”

 

“Kind of…” You spread your hands out. “It’s kind of like if someone took a black hole and made it into a spreadable mixture.”

 

“So it’s black hole jam.”

 

“Yeah.” You both wrinkle your noses in disgust. “I think we should stick to calling it Zero Matter.”

 

“Yeah, me too.” Sousa looks back at the files. “Anything in there about how to contain it?”

 

You shrug. “It’s pretty comparable to trying to contain antimatter.”

 

“I...have no idea what that means.”

 

You shake yourself. “Right, sorry—”

 

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Sousa says, “just means I got more to learn.”

 

“Antimatter and matter annihilate upon meeting,” you explain, “so it has to be stored in a vacuum with magnetic fields suspending it. Because zero matter apparently doesn’t completely annihilate normal matter, you just adjust the polarity of the field generators.”

 

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Sousa says, “any idea why it...showed up?”

 

You shake your head. “The experiment with the nuclear warheads was supposed to be the exact same. They can’t account for what was different. The only observations they noted were a...difference...in...gravitational presence…”

 

No. 

 

No, there’s no way…

 

“Something wrong?” 

 

You shake yourself, meeting Sousa’s concerned look. “Sorry, I just...thought of some equation. It’s nothing.”

 

Sousa nods, even though he still looks a little concerned. “I think we’ve got the tapes in here of the experiment. There’s a projector in the house somewhere, I’m sure of it,” he jokes, clearly trying to ease your spirits. 

 

“Knowing Howard, there’s probably a whole damn theater.”

 

Sousa laughs. “Well, then, let’s find the tapes and we’ll figure out where the hell it is. This place is enormous. ”

 

“I still get lost on my way to the kitchen.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“See, I know you meant that as a joke but it’s not. There’s like three of them.”

 

Sousa shakes his head. “The man is ridiculous.”

 

“Completely.” You look back at the boxes. “I don’t know where the tapes are, I haven’t found any yet.”

 

“Well, they can’t be far.” Sousa starts looking through the remaining unopened boxes as you do the same. 

 

The first one just has more folders, this time it looks like personnel files. You set them aside carefully; maybe you can find Dr. Wilkes’ for Peggy. Or a more detailed account of Agnes Cully. The second one has mostly lab equipment with some documentation of how they were supposed to be used. The third one has a thick stack of files stamped ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ in big red letters. You sift through them. Looks like most of them are from other government contracts; you recognize a few military acronyms. You’re about to put them aside and move on when a little piece of paper flutters to the table. 

 

You frown, reaching for it. It’s small, crumpled up. The color’s faded quite a bit but its yellow still sticks out amidst the manila folders. 

 

“Found it!” Sousa triumphantly holds up a set of tapes. “You think they’ll let us have butter on our popcorn?”

 

His joking grin fades when he sees your face turn pale. “What’s wrong? What’d you find?”

 

With shaking hands, you reach for the paper. 

 

There’s no way. 

 

Not a chance in hell. 

 

You take the paper and start unfolding it with trembling fingers. It’s just a scrap of paper. It probably fell out while some scientist was writing a memo for their boss. It’s something about how the coffee machine needs to be refilled or their favorite pen isn’t working anymore. 

 

You unfold the paper. 

 

The number zero stares cheerfully back at you from the yellow post-it. 

Chapter 16: Fallout

Summary:

It's your fault. It's all your fault.

“Dr. L/N!”

 

Ignoring Sousa’s worried shouts from behind you, you tear out of the room. You have to get to your machine. 

 

No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening, it can’t—

 

You burst into the lab, interrupting the conversation between Howard and Dr. Wilkes and all but throwing the post-it at Howard. Of course, just to spite you, it proceeds to fly straight up into the air and straight back down. 

 

“Y/N?” Howard leans against the desk, catching his breath. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me, why are you—hey, what’s wrong?”

 

“It’s my fault,” you pant, chest still heaving from the run to the lab, “zero matter, all of it, it’s my fault.”

 

“Whoa, hey,” Howard laughs nervously, holding up his hands, “what the hell are you talking about, there’s no way you could’ve—”

 

He’s cut off by you picking up the post-it note and slamming it onto the table. Still taking in your wild eyes and frantic breathing, he picks it up gingerly and unfolds it. “What’s this?”

 

“That,” you say through gritted teeth, “was my test run. When I turned on the machine, I ran a test. I tried to send that post-it back twelve hours. It disappeared. I thought it just vaporized but it turns out —”

 

You whirl around, gesturing wildly at the lab around you. 

 

“That it ended up here. And wouldn’t you know it, it just so happened to coincide with the nuclear test that discovered zero matter in the first place. ” 

 

“Wait, but then how does that make it your fault?”

 

“Because,” you snarl at Howard, “it’s the perfect missing piece. What’s the thing stopping us from understanding how I jumped?”

 

Confusion slowly turns to realization and then to dread. “Something to strip away the connections tying you to the first universe to make room for the ones to the next.”

 

You throw your hands up in a mock celebration. “We found it! We found the thing that wraps the equation up in a neat little bow except, oh hey, it’s also a weapon of mass destruction we don’t understand that is now possibly going to destroy the world and could wipe out all of existence as we know it! Great job, me!”

 

“Hang on—” Dr. Wilkes—right, he’d been here the whole time—just manages to keep himself from flinching too hard when your frenzied gaze turns to him— "go back, what...what’s it doing?”

 

“Zero matter is the manifestation of nothing,” you manage through your clenched jaw, “a voracious, monstrous nothing that wants to make everything else into nothing. It strips away energy of all kinds, including passive energy patterns that would tie something to existence.”

 

“That’s why you exist outside our visible spectrum,” Howard explains, “it messed with the energy signatures of your particles.”

 

“It cannot, by definition, exist,” you continue, your voice rising to the point of hysteria, “because our normal, non-zero matter dimension can’t handle it. It makes no sense. By definition, things cannot exist within it. So it has to exist in the space in between dimensions.”

 

“But there is no space between dimensions,” Dr. Wilkes tries, “they’re just occupying the same region of spacetime with—”

 

“I know, ” you cut him off, “which is why we never realized it was there. We don’t account for zero values in equations because we assume the zero can be filled. But this stuff is the opposite.”

 

“Everything has to be made nothing for it to be changed into something,” Howard mutters. 

 

“When I came here,” you say, turning your attention back to Howard, “or when that stupid post-it note came, it ripped a hole in the space between dimensions. It’s like if someone took the freaking needle and tried to use the same thread to sew another piece of fabric.”

 

“Now there’s a hole in both of them.” Howard looks down at the post-it. “And the gateway to the nothing is wide open.”

 

“I have to go back.” 

 

Howard looks up. “What, you just figured out that there’s a whole ‘nother non-dimension of this stuff and your first idea is to throw yourself into it?”

 

“I have to close the stitch, Howard!” Your hands tangle themselves in your hair and you start pacing back and forth. “The longer I stay in the wrong universe, the more unstable the rift becomes, and then who knows what the hell could happen next?”

 

“And what if you traveling rips it open even more,” Howard counters, matching your volume, “what then?”

 

Your mouth snaps shut, trying in vain to come up with some words to argue with him. Howard comes closer, holding his hands out in a placating manner. 

 

“The first one opened the rift in the first place, your arrival pushed it further, how do we know you going back won’t wipe out both universes?” As he reaches you, Howard takes your hands out of your hair, holding them in his. “We don’t have half an idea about how this thing works, the last thing we should do right now is mess with it further.”

 

“And what am I supposed to do,” you challenge, meeting his gaze defiantly, “sit on my ass? Not do anything? Watch as that freaking thing—” you point at your machine, still merrily working away like it hasn’t been predicting the downfall of your two universes since you built it— “churns out datapoint after datapoint until we all die?”

 

“Y/N—”

 

“How many more people?” 

 

Howard blinks at you, face going wide with shock as you shove yourself away from him, eyes brimming with anger. 

 

“How many more people,” you repeat, “have to die or get hurt because of this stuff? How many more lives will be consumed by zero matter before we say ‘screw it’ and mess with it further? What’s it gonna take, Howard, how many?”

 

Howard falters and you seize it. 

 

“How am I supposed to stand by and watch something I did wreak havoc on innocent people? How am I supposed to sit, on a sunny patio,” you snarl, your voice mocking, “while a rift in the fabric of the multiverse stays wide open? Am I supposed to just, what, let it keep doing it?”

 

You gesture around the lab. “I don’t know the rules of this universe! I don’t know how to make these things, I’m not an inventor. I’m a theorist and literally every single freaking thing I know says the longer I stay here the more damage it’s going to cause.”

 

“And impulsively jumping into a problem we have no idea how to solve could end things a hell of a lot faster,” Howard cuts you off, grabbing your shoulders. “ Listen to me, Y/N.”

 

“Why should I listen to you?”

 

“Because you know I’m right.” Howard takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. “Look, I know you don’t want people hurt. I don’t either. But you also know that doing anything without knowing at least a little bit more about zero matter works is gonna do more harm than good.”

 

He’s right. You know he’s right. Hell, you all didn’t know this stuff existed, let alone how it really works. 

 

The thought makes the rage burn hot in your gut again. You didn’t even know it existed. 

 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” you hear Howard say faintly, “but the best thing for you to do right now is stay put. I know how you feel, I—”

 

“How,” you cut him off, your voice dangerously low, “can you possibly know how I feel?”

 

Howard stops, mouth forming shapes but you don’t give him a chance to respond. 

 

“Have you been ripped from your universe,” you ask, walking toward him, “have you been stuck in a time that tells you you can’t exist as you are? Have you been physically unable to work because the technology that did this to you hasn’t been invented yet? Have you been told,” you continue, your voice beginning to rise again, “that not only is there some supernatural substance that has the power to destroy the world right freaking next to you, but that it’s your fault it’s there in the first place?”

 

Howard’s backed up against a table. You lean in a little closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. 

 

“Have you been told you’re pretty much powerless to stop it?”

 

Silence. 

 

Somewhere far, far away, a clock ticks. 

 

Howard wets his lips nervously. “...no.”

 

You smile. “Then you don’t fucking know how I feel.”

 

With that, you turn away. There’s nothing for you in this lab right now.

“Y/N!”

 

You ignore him. He’s right but that doesn't mean you have to like it. 

 

In your determination to get as far away from the lab as possible right now, you miss the clicking of Sousa’s crutch as he finally makes it to the lab. You miss the concerned and confused look he gives Howard and Dr. Wilkes, both still shocked at your outburst. You miss Jarvis ducking into the lab, having heard the shouting and wondering what happened. 

 

You miss the way Peggy sees you leaving, concern written plainly on her face, before she sweeps into the lab and sees Howard still leaning against the table, regret and sorrow plain as day. 

 

You miss the way she takes one step closer to him and orders: “Explain. Now.”

Chapter 17: Bravery is By Far the Kindest Word for Stupidity

Summary:

You have to try and do something, don't you?

You take a deep breath, soaking in the warm evening air, letting it help calm your racing heart. You keep breathing, trying to clear the clouds in your mind, soothe the anger still gripping your chest. 

 

You’re not angry at Howard, you decide, you’re just...very frustrated with your situation right now. 

 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were just supposed to see a post-it note disappear and text the janitor who cleans your workstation and find out she picked it up twelve hours ago. At the very least, you were supposed to see it fail, go back to square one, and try again. 

 

You weren’t supposed to get thrust into another universe. You weren’t supposed to rip open the multiverse. You weren’t supposed to unleash some terrifying black hell slime that would ooze along the connection your machine pointed out until it—

 

You pause. Your machine. 

 

Maybe...maybe you can use it to help you. 

 

After all, if it can tell the difference between your quantum signature and the rest of the world, surely...surely it would be able to detect something with no quantum signature...right? You take another shaky breath, the anger hardening into resolve. You can’t do much at all, but this...this you can do. 

 

Shit, that probably means you’re going to have to go back to the lab. You don’t know if you can face Howard and the rest of them after that performance. Plus, Howard might just tell you to stop again. 

 

Still, it’s better than standing out here thinking about it. 

 

You walk quietly back inside, treading down the stairs, listening for voices inside. You don’t hear any. Peering carefully around the door shows the lab is empty. Everyone else must’ve gone somewhere, maybe Howard decided to turn in. You don’t know where Dr. Wilkes is, but then again you never do. 

 

Jarvis probably won’t come to check on you, you muse as you step inside, checking carefully to make sure Howard’s not tucked into a corner or anything, and it’s unlikely Sousa’s still here. It’s late, after all, and it’s not like he’s gonna stick around after you bolted and didn’t give him any explanation. 

 

You glance at your machine. It rumbles faintly, readouts still faithfully producing the measurements. You walk over, looking at the results. There it is, painfully clear. The line it draws between your two universes neatly cuts the two. 

 

You walk over to the other side where a different set of readouts shows your position and the position of the necklace you gave Peggy. The coordinates shift ever so slightly as you move about the lab and, presumably, as Peggy moves around. A small smile touches the corners of your mouth at the realization that Peggy’s still wearing it. 

 

Enough of that. You’ve got work to do. 

 

You grab a fresh sheet of paper and start scribbling down new equations. Now you’re looking for a canvas, a map of every single quantum signature you can get your hands on, looking for the blank spots. It’s going to take a while to render, and they'll probably be at least a few blind spots because god knows the quality of your readouts won’t be stellar which will then have to be differentiated from the actual gaps indicating zero matter…

 

After a good few minutes of hard thinking and wearing your pencil right down to the nib, you step back. There. It’s a good start. You’ve got all the variables right where they should be. 

 

Picking the sheet up carefully so as not to smudge any of your equations, you walk back over to your machine. Moment of truth. You set down the sheet of paper, propping it up against the machine’s face, and start typing in the equations. The keys clunk awkwardly under your hands, nothing like the smooth slide and type of the keyboards you’re used to, but it makes you pay attention, pecking out each character individually, making sure you’ve got it right. There’s no backspace on this thing, after all, so you’ve only got one chance. 

 

You press the enter button. 

 

It flashes once. 

 

You frown and press it again. 

 

Nothing happens. 

 

No, no, come on, you got this right. You took extra time on this stupid keyboard to make sure you got it right. 

 

You press it again, holding it down to make sure the message really gets through here. 

 

The screen flickers and dies. 

 

No. No!

 

You frantically start pressing keys, hoping it’s just gone to sleep or something, waiting for it to flicker to life and start booting up, ready to take your new equations. It doesn't. Instead, a horrible grating whine comes out and the whole thing gets unbearably hot under your hands. It splutters. You watch on, horrified as the chugging slows to a stop and it dies. 

 

“No,” you murmur weakly, watching as it stops moving completely and goes cold, “...no…”

 

The boiling anger and frustration bubbling in your chest immediately freezes and sinks to the pit of your stomach, sending you collapsing to the floor. No, no, you’ve ruined it. You’ve destroyed the only thing that could’ve kept you working, given you more information. 

 

Because you were too damn stubborn to wait. 

 

You should feel something, shouldn’t you? Scream, or rage, or cry, something at the utter hopelessness of the situation you’ve just dumped yourself in but all you can do is sit and stare at your machine. You can’t even blame it, it didn’t do anything wrong. 

 

You did. 

 

You bury your face in your hands as it sinks in, the immensity of the destruction you’ve helped—no, that you’ve caused. And now you don’t even have the brains to get it working again. 

 

Useless. 

 

“I thought I might find you here.”

 

You jump, turning to see Peggy leaning against the door to the lab. You look away as soon as you recognize her, unable to face her. “Hello, Agent Carter.”

 

Jeez, your voice sounds awful. 

 

“Are we back to ‘Agent’ again,” she asks lightly as you hear her footsteps come closer, “did I miss something?”

 

A humorless laugh bubbles unbidden out of your throat. “Oh, didn’t you hear? I’ve single-handedly caused something that could wipe out all of existence.”

 

“I think you’re giving yourself a bit too much credit,” Peggy says, trying to make light of it as she sits down across from you. Distantly, part of you wonders at the fact that she’s willingly sitting on the floor next to you. “The rest of existence has gotten on perfectly well without us, I hardly believe one little human has the power to jeopardize that.”

 

You snort. “I’m the female version of Howard Stark, isn’t it fitting that my ego’s enormous?”

 

“You’re not the female version of Howard Stark,” Peggy corrects gently, encouraging you to look at her, “you’re you. ”

 

The compassion in her expression forces you to look away. “Fat lot of good that’s doing me.”

 

“I don’t know, I’d say being a time traveler thrust into an unknown universe and working her arse off to solve the problem seems pretty good to me.”

 

Your head raises slowly, looking at her warily. “...Howard told you?”

 

She nods. “We—well, I came in to see you storm off. When I came down here, Jason, Mr. Jarvis, and Daniel were all in here worried sick while Howard looked like he’d taken two bites of a lemon.” A corner of her mouth raises. “Said you’d scolded him properly.”

 

Your face flushes. “...maybe.”

 

“I’m sad I missed it,” Peggy jokes before continuing, “he took us up to the parlor and told us the story.”

 

You sigh, bracing yourself. “Go on, then.”

 

Peggy frowns. “With what?”

 

You shrug. “Scream? Yell at me? Scold me? Aren’t you angry?”

 

“Why would I be angry?”

 

“I don’t know, if someone I was working with on a highly classified project just went ‘hey, by the way, I’m not from this universe and I’ve lied to you since you’ve known me and I’m responsible in some way for the thing that’s messing your life up,’ I don’t think I’d be very happy.”

 

“When did you lie to me?” Peggy shifts a little closer. “Did you deny that you were a time traveler when I asked you?”

 

“...no.”

 

“Did you feed me misinformation to try and stop or impede my investigation?”

 

“No.”

 

“Have you hurt anyone that we’ve been working with?”

 

“Dr. Wilkes,” you murmur only for Peggy to shake her head. 

 

“That wasn’t your fault, Y/N.”

 

“Isn’t it?” you ask bitterly. “It was my own arrogance about time travel that opened the damn thing in the first place, doesn’t that make every single zero matter thing my fault? The latest in a long line of evil scientists too blind to see what they were doing?”

 

“You’re not evil,” Peggy corrects, “you’re not, Y/N.”

 

“And how do you know that?”

 

Peggy reaches out, carefully straightening your collar with gentle fingers. “Because you’re you, Y/N.”

 

You huff, looking away until those fingers take your jaw and guide you back. Peggy tilts her head, concerned. 

 

“What is it, Y/N?”

 

You try and muster up something until all you can say is: “I just want to go home. ”

 

Your voice cracks on the last word and you know there’s a tear running down your face. Peggy doesn’t move except to take her thumb and gently brush it away. 

 

The tenderness of the small gesture breaks the icy hold the numbness has on your body and you can’t fight the sob that chokes out. You lower your head to hide your face, not wanting to subject Peggy to witnessing you cry. Her hand leaves your chin and for a moment you’re sure she’s going to leave altogether. Then warm arms wrap around you and pull you into her shoulder, a chin tucking over yours. Reaching up blindly, you hug her back, letting her rock you like a child on the ground. Soft shushing noises permeate the air around you both, curled up on the floor at the feet of the machine. The strength in her arms holds you securely. One of her hands holds your waist, the other wrapped tightly around your shoulders, letting you bury your head in the crook of her neck. 

 

You don’t know how long you stay there, curled around each other, just that when you finally move away your muscles groan in protest. Peggy takes a handkerchief out of her pocket and hands it to you, letting you wipe your red face. 

 

“You know,” she says, breaking the quiet, “I never signed on to any of this.”

 

You look up, surprised, waiting for her to continue. 

 

“I signed up to be a field agent during the war,” Peggy says, the slightest tremor in her voice, “to fight to protect my country from those who would take our freedom. I didn’t sign up for politicians that would blackmail and cheat to get what they wanted. I didn’t sign up for magic that could rip the world apart.”

 

She takes your hand and squeezes it tight. “I didn’t know keeping people safe would include supernatural things, too.”

 

You smile a little, trying to cheer her up. “Brave new world, huh?”

 

“Brave new world.” She smiles back at you, looking at your joined hands. “Doesn’t mean we’re not scared as hell, though, does it?”

 

You nod. She runs her thumb over your knuckles. 

 

“You told me,” she starts, “that it was enough to be myself. To tell the world it’d better sit up and take notice.” You nod. “ You do that, Y/N. And you’ve told the whole multiverse it’d better behave.”

 

She sits up, taking your other hand as well. “There is no one more qualified for this. Nor anyone I’d rather work with for it.”

 

Well, now your face is red for a whole nother reason. All you can do is whisper your thanks and watch Peggy’s smile grow. 

 

“Bravery isn’t the absence of fear,” you manage, “but doing it despite the fear.”

 

“Exactly,” Peggy says, giving your hands another squeeze. “And if it’s a brave new world…”

 

“It’s probably scared too,” you finish. 

 

Peggy grins. “Well, if it gets in our way, it should be.”

Chapter 18: Everything is Fine

Summary:

You solve one problem and run into another. It's alright, though. You can be there for Peggy. That's the important part.

The first thing you do the next morning is apologize to Howard who doesn’t even let you finish before he pulls you into a tight hug. You hug him back, relieved you haven’t alienated one of the only other people who could possibly help you with all of this. He apologizes too, even though you’re quick to assure him he doesn’t need to. 

 

“You were right,” he says, still holding your shoulders, “I’ve got no clue what’s going on. But we’ll figure it out,” he says firmly, taking your hands in his, “you have my word.”

 

“I know.”

 

He smiles at you. “I hope you don’t mind that I told the others,” he continues, “but, uh, it seemed like it would help.”

 

“I think so,” you say, “at least they know now. And I don’t like keeping secrets.”

 

“I don’t blame you.” Howard pulls you into another hug. “I know Daniel was more than happy to have you on the team still, and Peg...well, Peggy likes you a lot, even if she ain’t about to come hug you for it.”

 

You frown. “What?”

 

“Peg ain’t exactly the hugging type,” Howard explains as the two of you walk down to the lab again. Peggy hadn’t joined you for breakfast, dashing off to get to work. You hide a smile at the memory of Peggy hugging you on the floor, the warmth of it still in your bones.

 

“Whoa…” Howard stops at the sight of the machine no longer chugging away. “Uh, what happened?”

 

You sheepishly point to the sheet of equations. “I, um, got impatient.”

 

“Woman after my own heart,” Howard says, grabbing it and scanning your work. “This...this is a lot.”

 

He looks up at you over the top of the sheet. “You really got computers that’ll do all of this for you?”

 

“That and more.”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “Now that I’ve gotta see,” he says with a wink. “The stuff of this time probably ain’t gonna be able to do half of this, not that I couldn’t figure it out, but—”

 

“That’s not the best use of our time.”

 

“No, it’s not. It’s a good start, though. Interesting idea.” Howard puts the sheet down on the table, furrowing his brow. “You think we could track the rift activity and the zero matter the same way we could tell your quantum sig was different?”

 

“If zero matter comes from nothingness, by definition it shouldn’t emit anything of any kind or register on any scans.”

 

Howard chews his lip, looking back at the machine. “If we remade this thing, or repaired it in a way that would allow for that kind of scan, we could refine it to know exactly where the rift is coming from.”

 

“It’s still an overlapping of the spacetime grids,” you say, “it should work off of the same principle, we just...have to add a third ‘dimension.’”

 

“This dimension, the zero matter dimension, and your original one.” Howard walks around the machine, giving it another once over. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

 

“Aren’t you also working on the thing for Wilkes?”

 

Howard waves his hand. “More we understand zero matter the better. Plus, the biggest thing we need for Wilkes is a better understanding of the subatomic and gravitational physics of it and unless any of us fancy hopping on a plane to Peru—”

 

“What do you need to know about it?”

 

Howard pauses, looking up from tinkering with some back panel on the machine. “The way the zero matter’s affected his cells messes with the way gravity behaves around them. If we can figure out how it’s doing that, we can find a force to rebalance them.”

 

“Just treat it as an emergent phenomenon.” At Howard’s puzzled look you continue. “Gravity as something other than a fundamental force, that has its own pattern of behavior. If you treat it as something other than a constant, you can account for the differential created by zero matter’s effects and work out a way to stabilize it.”

 

A slow grin crawls across Howard’s face. “Whaddya say we trade? I do this, you work with Wilkes.”

 

“Sounds like a plan. You happen to know where he is?”

 

“I’m here.”

 

You jump at the sound of his voice right next to you. “Jesus, dude, don’t do that. You scared the crap outta me.”

 

“Sorry.” Dr. Wilkes shrugs, grinning sheepishly. “Can’t help it.”

 

“It’s not your fault. Let’s go over here, away from Inspector Gadget over there.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” You lead Dr. Wilkes over to the other side of the lab, pulling out the few pieces of equipment you do recognize. “How much of that did you hear?”

 

“Most of it.” He raises his arms when you start running a scan of the field around him. “Gravity as an emergent phenomenon?”

 

“It helps answer some of the lingering questions we have about it,” you say, writing down the results, “well, the ones we had about it.”

 

“In the future?”

 

“Right.”

 

“What is it like,” Dr. Wilkes asks shyly after a minute, “your future?”

 

You falter with the equipment for a second. “I won’t lie to you and say it’s perfect. We’ve got a long way to go to even begin to fix all the problems. But it’s better, I promise.”

 

“That’s all I can ask for,” Dr. Wilkes says, “as long as we keep making progress.”

 

“And I have to thank you, Dr. Wilkes.” 

 

“Me?”

 

You nod, starting another scan. “You and people like you, the strength you have. You kick ass and you’re great at it. So yeah, thanks.”

 

Dr. Wilkes nods. “And thank you for telling me.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“So, what’re we looking at here?”

 

You start discussing the particulars of how the zero matter’s affected his cells. It looks like the cells and the zero matter don’t want to have anything to do with each other, the zero matter fighting to get everything back to its nothingness and the normal cells wanting it to get the heck away. Dr. Wilkes mentions how the other samples of zero matter seem to want to get to him, like they’re being attracted. 

 

“That probably means they’re all linked on a quantum level,” you say, scribbling it down, “or at least that’s a common trait.”

 

“You think that means we can reverse it?”

 

“I think it gives us an idea of how to help make you tangible again.”

 

You leave the lab that night reassured, at least a little, that you can help Dr. Wilkes make something that’ll help him. He promises to let you know if anything else changes and goes to help Howard. You end up in the drawing-room with the chair Jarvis had shown you, sinking into it with a sigh. 

 

“Y/N?”

 

“Oh, hi Peggy.” You turn around to see Peggy come in and take a seat across from her. Your brow furrows when you see her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, no, everything’s perfectly alright.”

 

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m no super-spy but I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”

 

She smiles, looking down at her hands. “You may be right.”

 

You scoot a little closer. “Can I help? After all you’ve done for me, it seems like I should return the favor.”

 

Peggy looks at you. You can feel her gaze searching your face, probably evaluating whether or not she can trust you with this. You wait patiently, hoping she finds whatever she’s looking for. Finally, she looks away. 

 

“I’m running into a complication,” she says carefully, “and I’m letting my emotions get in my way.”

 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

 

She nods slowly. “If you’ve got a minute?”

 

“My evening’s free.”

 

Peggy smiles at you in thanks, then looks out the window. “The SSR didn’t always have a branch in Los Angeles. We used to just have the one. In New York.”

 

You nod. 

 

“Chief Sousa moved out here to start this one and it was...there was an adjustment period to getting used to not having him in New York.”

 

“Office salt bud?”

 

Peggy looks at you, eyebrow raised. “A what?”

 

“Salt bud. A friend you bond with over being salty about the same things. Sarcasm, judging people together, other people being idiots…”

 

“Yes, that’s it.” Peggy laughs at your description. “But I suppose by the time he left we were...actual friends.”

 

“I’m sure in your line of work, you tend to get pretty close to your colleagues. You have to, don’t you?”

 

Peggy nods. “I called, you know. When he first came out here. Didn’t get much back. I figured he was busy.”

 

“Seems like a logical conclusion.”

 

Peggy shakes her head, looking away. “I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s unprofessional and he’s a good friend. A good man.”

 

“Peggy,” you say softly, waiting for her to look at you, “feelings suck, okay? Having them doesn't make you a bad person and it’s totally fine if you want to talk about them. I’m not gonna tell anyone and I’m not gonna judge you.”

 

“You know, you’re quite good at that,” Peggy murmurs, “reassuring people.”

 

You shrug. “We value emotional intelligence where I come from.”

 

A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth before she continues. “He’s engaged. Or, at least he’s planning on proposing.”

 

You blink. “Oh. Uh, congrats to him.”

 

“Quite.” Peggy nods sharply. “I’ve met her, her name is Violet. She’s a nurse, and she’s brilliant. She showed me around when I first came, insisted on it.”

 

“She sounds wonderful.”

 

“She is.” 

 

There’s a moment of silence as you wait for Peggy to continue. The clock on the mantelpiece ticks on. You watch as her mouth tightens and her fingers fidget with the hem of her blouse. An uncertainty crosses her face. Oh. 

 

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing your eyes. 

 

“You love him.”

 

Peggy ducks her head. “I think I do.”

 

“Do you know how?”

 

“He’s a brilliant man,” Peggy says quickly, “one of the most resilient and resourceful—”

 

“I didn’t ask why,” you cut in gently, “I asked how.” At her confused look, you continue. “Do you love him as a friend loves a friend? Do you love him how you would love a brother?” You’re quick to lay a hand on hers when she flinches. “Or do you love him—”

 

“As a woman loves a man?”

 

You swallow the knife that drives in your heart and nod. Peggy holds your gaze for a few moments before looking away. 

 

“I don’t know,” she confesses, focusing on your hand, “I—he—”

 

She cuts herself off. You wait a few moments to see if she’ll continue, and when she doesn’t, you start stroking her hand reassuringly and asking if she’ll look at you. 

 

“You care about him a lot, that much is clear,” you say quietly, “and it’s obvious he cares for you, too. And because you care about each other, the thing you want is for them to be happy, right?”

 

Peggy nods. 

“I know now maybe isn’t the best time, considering the mess we’re in—” you smile as Peggy chuckles—”but...maybe you should talk to him.”

 

Peggy shakes her head. “He’s happy, I can’t interfere—”

 

“I didn’t say you should.” You tighten your grip on her hand. “Let him know you’re happy for him, and that he’s important to you. Get the reassurance that you both care deeply about each other, in whatever way you do. Then you can work it out together. As a team.”

 

You smile when Peggy’s look turns hopeful. “Everyone’s always said you two work great together. And you’re right, he seems like a good man.”

 

“He is,” Peggy echoes, “and you’re right. I should talk to him before these...feelings muck everything up. And before I start getting confused about my feelings for him and my feelings about—”

 

She cuts herself off again. This time, she’s not the only one who’s had their breath stolen. You freeze, still holding her hand until you realize what she must be talking about. 

 

“Dr. Wilkes?”

 

Peggy nods, cheeks going pink. “You must think me mad.”

 

“I think you’re a woman entitled to her own feelings,” you say, “there’s nothing mad about that.”

 

Peggy smiles gratefully at you. “Suppose I should figure myself out first before I start anything, shouldn’t I?”

 

“That’s probably for the best.”

 

“Keep things professional,” she continues, “do my job. Survive this first, yes?”

 

“Survive first, how about that?”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” She reaches for your other hand and gives them both a squeeze. “Thank you, Y/N. For everything you’ve done for me.”

 

You smile back, watching her stand up and leave the room. Only then does your smile fade and you sink into the chair. 

 

Right. 

 

How could you forget where and when you are?

 

You stare out the window. Sousa’s a good man and you can’t deny he and Peggy would be a wonderful couple. Nor can you fault her for being attracted to Dr. Wilkes. The man’s a genius, and come on, an interracial couple of a genius scientist and a badass agent? They’d take the world by storm. 

 

A sad smile grows on your face. Peggy has the right to choose whomever she likes. Your job, as her friend, is to support her as best you can. Her last words come back to you. 

 

‘Keep things professional. Do my job. Survive.’

 

You can do that. For yourself. For Howard. For Sousa. For Wilkes. For Jarvis. For Ana. For Rose. 

 

For Peggy. 

Chapter 19: Oh, Would You Look at That?

Summary:

Well, that's going to put a hole in your plans, now isn't it?

It’s not easy. 

 

The next morning you barely talk to Peggy or Howard at breakfast, leaving them to mostly make conversation between themselves. Each smile she sends your way leaves a strange twist in your chest. You excuse yourself well before you’ve finished eating, ignoring the concerned look Peggy shoots after you.

You explain that you’ve been thinking about how to help Wilkes when Howard asks if you’re alright. He accepts the explanation and keeps working away at the machine. Dr. Wilkes answers any questions you have and the two of you get closer and closer to a solution. You wave off Jarvis when he tells you that Peggy’s asked for you to have dinner with her and Ana. 

 

“I’m in the middle of a big block of this,” you explain when he asks why, “I just...I have to get it all down before I forget it.”

 

“I understand, Dr. L/N,” Jarvis says, “though I will ask you when the last time you ate was.”

 

“What time is it?”

 

“Quarter past four.”

 

“Few hours ago? I snuck to the kitchen. Made a sandwich.”

 

“I see.” Jarvis gives you a look. “Do come eat something when you’ve...finished with your block.”

 

You promise you will, watching him leave with a dropping smile. Peggy asked after you. 

 

No, you say, going right back to your calculations, stay professional. Do your job. Survive.

 

You don’t end up going to eat something until quite late. Ana gives a raised eyebrow as you gobble down another sandwich. 

 

“I can assure you, Y/N,” she says as you help clear away your dishes, “that you must take care of yourself first. It will do us no good if you work yourself out.”

 

“I’m sleeping, I’m eating, I promise,” you say, “I’m just in the middle of it and I don’t want to lose it.”

 

It works. You spend the next few days dodging everyone you can, making little things for yourself to eat and burying the rest of your awareness in the equations. You’re so close, you can feel it. There’s something hovering right there about zero matter, something that will make all of this make sense. 

 

Then someone brings in the sample from Jane Scott’s body. 

 

“Any second now,” Dr. Wilkes says as Peggy watches. The bit of zero matter contained in the sample latches to the side of the jar, following Dr. Wilkes’ hand as he moves it back and forth. 

 

“It’s drawn to you,” Peggy says, awed, coming closer. 

 

“I’m drawn to it.” Dr. Wilkes frowns. “It’s calling me, it wants me…”

 

“Hey!”

 

You all rush forward as the zero matter phases through the glass, disappearing into Dr. Wilkes. Peggy grabs his arm to steady him—wait, grabs his arm?

 

Your eyes stay fixed on the pair of them, watching as Dr. Wilkes staggers, blinking, until Peggy’s hand phases through again. You both look at each other in confusion. 

 

“Dr. Wilkes?” you ask finally, “are you alright?”

 

He blinks again and a look of...horror? Understanding? dawns on his face. 

 

“I know where Jane Scott’s body is.”

 

“How is that possible?”

 

“Quantum entanglement,” you murmur, not taking your eyes off Dr. Wilkes. “The zero matter...it’s all connected along the same thread. It always knows where the rest of it is. That’s why it’s always been drawn to itself, trying to make more of it.”

 

“So it can tell us where the rest of it is,” he finishes. 

 

Peggy darts out of the room, presumably to wake up Jarvis. Soon enough, there’s an entire scheme concocted to steal the body in the hopes that it’ll help Dr. Wilkes cure himself. Peggy looks at you. 

 

“Would you come with us? We could use all the hands we can get.”

 

You shake your head. “I’m better off here. Now that I understand a little bit more—”

 

“—we can get started on an actual plan,” Dr. Wilkes finishes. “Take into account the duration, the sample size—”

 

Neither of you notice Peggy and Jarvis leaving, too wrapped up in the plans. Howard stumbles in a few hours later, surprised to see you two already bustling. You catch him up, his smile growing as he claps you on the shoulder. 

 

“Knew you could do it. I’m almost done here,” he calls as he makes his way over to your machine, “shouldn’t be long now.”

 

“Hey!”

 

Dr. Wilkes’ shout makes you turn. Peggy and Jarvis walk back into the lab. Empty-handed. Oh no. 

 

“Where is it?”

 

“Whitney Frost took the zero matter,” Jarvis begins.

 

“And she’s now after the same atomic rods used in the original experiment,” Peggy continues, “she believes that recreating the explosion will bring her more zero matter.”

 

“I hesitate to ask this,” Jarvis says, “but will it?”

 

“It’s possible,” you say, “if the rift is already unstable, any sizeable...influence could rip it open again.”

 

“With the odds of making it worse,” Howard finishes. 

 

“So we have to stop her,” Peggy declares, folding her arms. You tune out the subsequent planning as to how they want to do that, focusing on the equations. Now that you won’t have more zero matter, you’ve got to make do with what you’ve got. You’re snapped out of your daze when Peggy touches your shoulder. 

 

“I’ve been missing you in the mornings,” she says, too quiet for Dr. Wilkes and Howard to hear, “won’t you join me for a quick bite?”

 

You swallow the need to say yes and instead shake your head. “I have to keep working,” you say, injecting as much professionalism and decorum into your voice as you can, “and I think any sort of interruption would impede my ability to do my job.”

 

The look of hurt that flashes across Peggy’s face twists the lump in your throat. “I understand.”

 

“I’m sorry,” you say, truly meaning it.

 

“No, of course, you’re quite right.” Peggy steps away. “Good luck, Dr. L/N.”

 

Your title hits you like a slap in the face. 

 

“Hey, Y/N!” Howard drops his wrench on the table like it’s a microphone. “All fixed up over here!”

 

You pull your gaze away from where Peggy stood and see Howard grinning triumphantly. He proudly gestures to the finished machine, now equipped with twice the gadgets and gizmos you remember it having. 

 

“It should work now?”

 

“Well, it ain’t gonna be able to handle the monster you wanted to give it,” he says as you walk over, “but yeah, she’s got more processing power and a hell of a lot more kick.”

 

“Good.” You rest your hand on its side. “Good.”

 

“The old equations should still be in there,” Howard continues, “all we have to do is—”

 

“Delete them.”

 

Howard freezes, looking up at you. “Y/N, that’s all the stuff we put together, the relationship between the universes, your way home.”

 

“And if we get rid of it, we’ll have more processing power devoted to finding the zero matter,” you counter, “and right now, Whitney Frost has all of it and she’s willing to start a nuclear explosion to rip a hole in the universe and get more.”

 

Dr. Wilkes comes up behind you two. “Y/N,” he says quietly, “I know how much getting home means to you.”

 

You do want to go home. But going home means you could wipe out two universes. Going home means you’re handicapping the people trying to stop someone destroying the world. Going home means you can’t help fix the damage you’ve caused. Going home means no more late nights working to solve this. Going home means no more fascinating—albeit terrifying—new discoveries. Going home means no more of this. 

 

Going home means no more Peggy. 

 

“Staying here and fixing the problem is more important,” you say decidedly. It sounds much better out loud. “And I can always go home afterward.”

 

Howard searches your face but you stay determined. “Are you sure?”

 

In response, you walk up to the machine. Your hands hover over the keyboard. You bring up the equations, all sitting pretty, ready to run. You delete all of them, fingers growing more confident with each keystroke. When you get to the tracking algorithm, you pause.

 

“We’ll keep this one,” you decide, looking over your shoulder at Howard, “after all, you never know when a tracker might come in handy.”

 

Howard nods, a smile growing on his face. “Guess we’ve gotta program the rest of it now, right?”

 

“We’ve got the space.”

 

“Alright.” Howard gestures to your pages of scribbling. “Show me what you got.”

 

“The zero matter affects a particle's relationship with spacetime by altering its quantum signature,” you explain, “including its gravitational effects, drawing it close to the zero matter’s signature.”

 

“Of nothing.”

 

“Right. But because that doesn’t work in our physics—or, the physics of this universe, at least—it wants to glob up. Become as much nothing as it can be.”

 

“Which is how I knew where Jane Scott’s body was,” Dr. Wilkes says, “the quantum relationship between the zero matter in me and the zero matter in her need to be together.”

 

“So we can use that relationship as a tracker,” Howard finishes, “figure out the common link and hone it.”

 

“Because it has no quantum signature, we have to make zero a scannable value.”

 

“Giving the nothing something because of its nothingness.”

 

“Try saying that five times fast.”

 

“And if we figure out the specific ways it affects normal matter,” Dr. Wilkes says, “we can make me tangible.”

 

“And make sure no one else does this ever again.”

 

Howard rubs his hands together. “Let’s get going.”

 

Dr. Wilkes and Howard focus on getting the designs for the new machine drawn up while you scribbly equations as fast as you can think of them. Using the equations you’ve drawn up previously for the quantum signatures and accounting for the influx of modified gravitational waves—

 

“Wait, gravity has waves?”

 

“Listen, no one really understands how gravity works, okay? We just suspend our disbelief and hope ‘cause if we didn’t we’d never do anything.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

—you pull together an algorithm that should be able to pinpoint the zero matter. All that’s left to do is start typing it in. 

 

“Hey, come on,” Howard protests, draping an arm over your shoulder as you turn to start typing, “take the night off!”

 

“You can,” you say, pushing his arm lightly off your shoulder, “you’ve had a more hectic schedule than I have.”

 

“Yeah, but what am I supposed to do?” He pouts and you laugh. “Don’t make me do it alone!”

 

“You have people.”

 

“Peggy and Jarvis are off on missions. And Ana’s out playing bridge tonight.”

 

“ You could go out.”

 

“And who drives?”

 

“You could.”

“Y/N!”

 

“Not that this isn’t perfectly entertaining enough,” Dr. Wilkes cuts in, clearly trying very hard not to laugh, “but I’m happy to take the night off too.”

 

“At least someone here sees sense,” Howard mutters, quickly herding Dr. Wilkes out of the lab, leaving you to work. 

 

You shake your head as you get to typing. Honestly, the way the man ping pongs between the two modes…

 

You’ve always enjoyed the monotony of typing in equations. There’s something very satisfying about seeing them take shape, neatly resolved. Your eyes scan the screen as they come up until your gaze catches something that makes you pause. 

 

Peggy’s tracker. 

 

The numbers flickering back and forth reassures you, knowing that she’s out there, kicking ass and taking names. It’s an honor just to watch her work, let alone help her. 

 

The warm fuzzies fade in your chest and the smile you’ve had on your face goes with it. It’s not that you need anything else out of your relationship with Peggy. And haven’t you just spent a night telling her a friendship doesn’t have to be less valuable or strong than a romantic one? Aren’t you being one hell of a hypocrite right now?

 

Yes. Yes, you are. 

 

It’s so hard to pull back. To refrain from giving Peggy all your free time, spending the mornings having breakfast, talking in the lab, making her all her cool spy gadgets. To not touch her as casually as you have been. To be her friend, whatever that means here. 

 

You’re honestly not sure what that means. 

 

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, trying desperately to figure out what it means when you notice something. 

 

The numbers aren’t moving anymore. 

 

Something’s gone wrong. 

Chapter 20: How To Run From the Mess You Just Made

Summary:

Peggy's hurt. So are you.

You watch the display, your heart in your throat. Only when the numbers start moving again do you breathe a sigh of relief. She’s alive. 

 

She’s alive. 

 

You rush upstairs, calling for Howard, Ana, Dr. Wilkes, anyone. Ana comes rushing out, catching you in her arms. 

 

“Something’s gone wrong,” you pant as Howard runs up to you, “the tracker—it went still for a moment, Peggy—”

 

“Calm down, Y/N,” Ana soothes, “you said it was only for a moment?”

 

You nod. “It’s moving now but it was still for too long, she’s hurt, something’s wrong, I—”

 

“Hey.” Howard takes you by the shoulders and gives you a shake. “She probably just had to hide for a bit. She’s fine.”

 

“But they—”

 

“And even if she isn’t, there’s nothing we can do for her right now. She’s with Sousa, she’s with Jarvis, she’s with her people.” Howard looks over your shoulder at Ana. “We won’t hear from them until they’re done, will we?”

 

Ana shakes her head. “We do not have the radio frequencies and even if we did, we risk blowing their cover if we attempt contact.”

 

Howard steers you back down to the lab where you can watch the numbers move. They start changing more rapidly, they must be in a car. 

 

A hearse, your mind supplies helpfully and you push it away. No. She’s fine. 

 

Howard’s probably right. Espionage requires being patient, waiting for long periods of time, she was probably just hiding. 

 

The shake in your hands that won’t go away tells you otherwise. 

 

“Y/N.”

 

Howard’s hand on your shoulder makes you jump. You stand up, a million questions already burning on the tip of your tongue. He stills you and looks at you sympathetically. 

 

“Jarvis called,” he says quietly, “he’s on his way back with Peggy. She’s hurt.”

 

“How bad? What happened? What can we—”

 

“I don’t know,” Howard interrupts, his face a mess of concern too, “he wouldn’t tell me.”

 

“I’m sorry.” You throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I know you two are close.”

 

Howard doesn’t try to reassure you either. You stand there, holding each other tightly, waiting for Jarvis to arrive. Peggy has to be okay. She has to. You’re not sure either of you would be able to keep going if she wasn’t. 

 

A clattering of footsteps on the stairs makes you break apart. Jarvis appears, his face a mess of barely concealed concern. 

 

“Mr. Stark. Dr. L/N.”

 

“Is she alright?”

 

Jarvis looks at Howard and that tells you all you need to know. Without another word, he leads you both out of the lab, up the stairs to Peggy’s room. He pauses outside. 

 

“She needs to rest,” he says quietly, “but I know you both will not be able to until you see her.”

 

“You go first,” you say to Howard, knowing they’ve been friends longer and that Howard would grill poor Jarvis until he got to see her. Jarvis gives you a strange look but you’re too worried about how he looks. “Are you okay?”

 

“Ms. Carter was the only one injured,” Jarvis says, still harried, “and we are fortunate that Violet was close by.”

 

“Violet…” You glance at the door. “Sousa’s fiancée, right?”

 

“Correct.” 

 

She had a trained nurse and Sousa to take care of her. Good for her. 

 

The longer you stand out here, the more sure you are that maybe you shouldn’t be here. After all, there’s being professional and there’s insisting you see her right now. She has to rest, you’ll see her in the morning. 

 

“I should go,” you murmur. 

 

“Don’t you want to—”

 

“Of course I do,” you interrupt, “but I’m not sure it would be good for her.”

 

At Jarvis’ confused look, you continue. “She said she needed to figure things out. To stay professional. Do our jobs. This…” You gesture weakly at the door. “I’m not sure this counts as professional.”

 

“However true that may be—” Jarvis’ tone indicates he doesn’t buy it for a second— “I believe it would do you both good to reassure each other right now.”

 

Howard reappears, looking concerned but a little relieved. You wait anxiously as he closes the door. 

 

“She’s a fighter.” He runs his hand through his hair. “She’ll make it.”

 

He looks at you. “She’s asked for you.”

 

Jarvis nudges you toward the door. You cast one last look over your shoulder before pushing it open. 

 

“Y/N?”

 

Your eyes land on Peggy, lying in the bed, a layer of sweat covering her face. You can’t help but rush forward, the urge to make sure she’s alright outweighing any desire to stay professional. 

 

“You’re alright,” you murmur, letting the relief wash over you, “you’re alright.”

 

“Apart from the rebar through the abdomen, yes.”

 

You stare at Peggy, horror dawning on your features. “You got what through your what? ”

 

Peggy smiles weakly. “Got knocked. Fell.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Peggy.” You bury your face in your hands. “You could’ve died .”

 

“But I didn’t.” Peggy reaches for your hand. “Howard said you noticed my tracker went still and were worried.”

 

“For good reason apparently!” 

 

You tear your hand away and get up, pacing furiously next to the bed. Peggy got impaled, how the—where did—

 

“The mission succeeded,” Peggy says, a touch of concern entering her voice and it sickens you. Not only because apparently that’s the more important thing but she’s just been impaled and you’re making her care about you. “We got the rods.”

 

“Is that all that matters,” you spit, unwilling to keep the venom out of your voice, “that the mission succeeded?”

 

Peggy frowns. “Isn’t it?”

 

“No, Peggy,” you mutter, “no, it isn’t. You got hurt. ”

 

“People always get hurt.” She raises an eyebrow. “You know that.”

 

Her words hit you like a punch in the gut. You just manage to keep from doubling over, ignoring the pain shooting through your chest by grabbing the end of the bed. This is your fault. If you hadn’t opened the rift...if you hadn’t talked about zero matter...Peggy wouldn’t’ve gotten hurt. 

 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Peggy continues and you scoff, “we have the rods, Whitney Frost didn’t get them—”

 

“Of course it matters!” You gesture frantically at her lying in the bed. “You’ve been impaled! You’re hurt!”

 

Peggy scoffs and your chest hitches at how pained it sounds. “This is hardly the first time I’ve gotten hurt on a mission—”

 

“It’s not like you build up an immunity to rebar through your abdomen!”

 

“I’m a big girl, Y/N,” Peggy glares, “I can take care of myself.”

 

“Really?” You gesture at her body, still covered by most of the blankets. You’re sure if you saw you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from breaking down. “This is what you call taking care of yourself?”

 

“It got the job done, didn’t it?”

 

“Is that all you care about?”

 

Peggy’s face hardens. Despite the pallor of her face, her look is almost enough to make you step back. Only the panic to make sure she’s alright keeps you rooted in place. 

 

“I didn’t think you were capable of such hypocrisy, doctor,” she says sharply, “you’ve barely looked up from your work for days.”

 

“That’s not—”

 

“Of course it’s the same thing,” Peggy cuts you off, “don’t you dare try and take the high road here. Just because your work is all numbers and theory gives you no more right to look down on me for trying to do my job. Surely you’re aware the nature of our jobs has no bearing on the consequences they can bring.”

 

The words ring true, striking your resolve with perfect aim. You scramble frantically for something, anything to say in your defense, to make her understand that it’s not about that, it’s not about you.

 

“You told me,” you say through gritted teeth, “that it would be better to stay professional. To do the work and survive. This—” you wave your hand— “isn’t surviving.”

 

Peggy’s face, confused when you begin speaking, turns to anger, glaring at you with an intensity that tightens your grip on the bed. 

 

“I said that about my feelings towards Chief Sousa and Dr. Wilkes,” she sneers, “why the hell would you think I was talking about you?”

 

A deadly quiet falls over the room. 

 

The viciousness of the words robs all the breath from your lungs. Your grip wobbles. You can’t do anything but gape at Peggy, her face still furious, regal in the bed. She raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting an answer. 

 

The one you so desperately want to give, the one right on the tip of your tongue, you don’t say. 

 

You can’t say. 

 

“It’s late,” you finally say, speaking around the pins and needle carpeting your throat, “I should let you rest.”

 

“That’s probably for the best.”

 

You swallow, fighting to keep the tears from spilling over, not that Peggy’s looking at you anymore. Her head is already tilted to the side, trying to find the rest you so selfishly chased away. 

 

“Goodnight,” you murmur, the stony silence following you out the door. 

 

“We heard shouting is everything—whoa, hey,” Howard tries to grab your arm as you come out, “Y/N, what’s—”

 

“I’m fine,” you snap, dodging Howard and Jarvis and all but sprinting to your room. Only after you slam the door behind you do you let the tears fall. 

 

You bury your head in your hands and sob, not caring about how they ring around the room, doubling back to echo in your ears until it’s all you can hear. Shame, guilt, frustration, and fear drown you in waves, a cocktail that won’t let you move from your huddle against the door. 

 

How could you be so selfish? Peggy is hurt and you didn’t try and be sympathetic, no. You stormed in, all self-righteous, scolding her for getting hurt when she’s trying to clean up your mess. You already stole that moment in the lab where you forced her to reassure you that it wasn’t your fault, then you had to be greedy enough to make her try and muster up the strength to comfort you when she’s lying in bed, bleeding out? The sheer audacity of what you’ve done sickens you, makes you retch. 

 

And what if she hadn’t made it? The thought of losing Peggy aches in a way where, for a moment, you’re sure your chest will break from the strain of it. And especially after how badly you’ve behaved these last few days, shunning her attempts at conversation, refusing to join her for meals…

 

A mirthless laugh bubbles out of your throat. You’re the one who asked her to be your friend and you’ve been absolutely awful. 

 

That’s the kicker, too. 

 

When you finally get down to it, you know why you’ve let this get so out of control. Peggy hit the nail on the head because it’s so obvious. Everyone can see it. You’re not Sousa. You’re not Dr. Wilkes. 

 

You’re you. 

 

Of course Peggy doesn’t want that. 

 

You slide further down the door, wallowing in it. A voice in your head barks at you to get up, stop being so pathetic, so weak, it’s not like you’ve been impaled, what the hell is wrong with you? You can’t listen to it. Your body won’t respond except to gasp out more sobs. 

 

Unbidden, your mouth forms the words it wouldn’t let you utter to Peggy. 

 

“Because I love you.”

Chapter 21: Longing

Summary:

Progress is made, but you've got to work fast.

Getting yourself off the floor is harder than you expect. Your head throbs as you try and lift it, protesting the immense strain crying puts on your sinuses and eyes. You can’t open them for more than a few seconds. Even though it’s dark out and you didn’t bother to turn the lights on when you burst in here, the strain of keeping them open when you have no tears left is too much. 

 

You have to do it in stages, first just sitting up, your back against the door. Then you push up to your hands and knees, letting yourself get used to having your head a little higher. Getting the rest of the way to your feet requires way too long, leaning against the door until it shudders in its frame. 

 

You make your way to the bathroom. You have to try and get some sleep and you know your body will thank you in the morning if you try and take care of it a little before you collapse. 

 

Splashing cold water helps the redness even if it doesn’t make your eyes less swollen. You avoid looking in the mirror; you know what you’ll see. Pulling off the blouse and skirt takes more effort, shrugging on the shift more still. Crossing back to the bed saps your strength until all you can do is fall into it. 

 

You’re tired. 

 

Now you know you can’t leave. Not until you fix this. You know you won’t be able to fix all of it, the damage is already done, but you’re damn well going to fix everything you can. 

 

So no one else gets hurt. 

 

Luckily for you, Jarvis and the others seem determined to keep Peggy resting as long as they can. This means your interactions are fleeting, always to the point. You barely exchange words that aren’t related to the mission. You’re not sure whether that’s a blessing or a curse. 

 

Jarvis and Howard are worried, obviously. You have to admit, shouting matches and emerging while you’re holding back tears doesn’t exactly give the best impression. You don’t say anything and judging by the lack of follow-up questions, you’re guessing Peggy didn’t say anything either. That’s fine. It’s fine. 

 

No, really, it is. 

 

The one conversation you do have is about Dr. Wilkes. It seems that while Jarvis fetched you and Howard, Dr. Wilkes went to comfort Peggy. You ignore any residual pain in favor of paying attention when she describes how he started to fade away. The effect of Howard’s developer formula is wearing off and fast. You have to get him stabilized before he disappears completely. 

 

“Have you gotten any further on designing a containment chamber?”

 

Dr. Wilkes nods. “We’ve figured out how to counteract the effects of the zero matter, inverse them in a way that could make me whole again.”

 

“Reflect the gravitational waves around a polarized photon stream,” Howard supplies, “shouldn’t be too difficult.”

 

“The only problem is—” 

 

“You need more zero matter,” Peggy sighs.

 

“Whitney Frost is the only source.” You shuffle through your stack of papers until you find the syringe you three designed. “This will help you get it.”

 

Peggy takes it, turning it over in your hands. “How does it work?”

 

You look at Dr. Wilkes. He nods and explains that holding the end against Frost’s arm or any other part of her body will take the sample in a fraction of a second. 

 

“That means we’ll have to get close,” Peggy muses, “very close.”

 

“You might have your opportunity,” Sousa says, joining you in the lab, “just got off the phone with Rose. Apparently, Chadwick’s holding a campaign event tonight. She’ll be there.”

 

“We won’t have the luxury of backup.” Peggy taps the syringe against the palm of her hand. “We’re going to need help.”

 

She shakes herself, looking around the lab. “I trust you’ll start working on the machine while we obtain the sample?”

 

“Of course,” Dr. Wilkes smiles. Howard calls an affirmative and you nod. 

 

“Good luck.” Peggy leaves, Sousa in tow. 

 

“What do we need,” you ask, “to get started? I’m pretty sure we’ve got most of the calculations done, I just need to refine the last bit.”

 

“I can start building once I have the materials,” Howard says, “but it’s gonna be hard to do with one pair of hands.”

 

“I can—”

 

“No, no,” Howard waves you off, “we need you working on those equations. God knows we won’t be able to do this without ‘em.”

 

Dr. Wilkes spreads his hands helplessly. “It’s not like I’m going to be able to do it.”

 

“Ana.” When they look at you, confused, you smile and repeat, “Ana. She’s got an eye for this kind of thing, trust me.”

 

Howard thinks it over. “Makes sense. Why not?”

 

You smile and run upstairs. “Ana!”

 

“Yes?”

 

You find her in one of the cupboards, coming out and dusting off her hands. “Hi, sorry, are you busy?”

 

“Not particularly,” she says with a smile, “why, did you need something?”

 

“Remember how good you were at helping me with the machine and the gadgets?” She nods with a smile. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble, we’d like your help again.”

 

“Of course,” she smiles and links her arm through yours, “anything to get me out of that spice cupboard.”

 

You giggle as you reenter the lab. “Gentlemen,” you call, presenting Ana with a flourish, “Mrs. Ana Jarvis.”

 

“My lady,” Howard winks, waving her over, “think you can give us a hand?”

 

You smile as they set to work, Dr. Wilkes peering over their shoulders to offer guidance when needed. Refocusing on your equations, you squint. 

 

You’ve discovered that zero matter operates at the most basic level, down where the gluons and the other gauge bosons do their work. Unlike the other fundamental forces, zero matter is its exchange boson, there shouldn’t be a way for it to hold considerable mass or energy but it does. Amplifying its ability to occupy space could make Dr. Wilkens whole again, but you need more zero matter in order to accomplish it. As it is, you’re focusing on making sure you have the right frequencies of high energy electromagnetic radiation to focus the beams. Spreading over a wide enough radius should blanket the inside of the containment chamber, making a whirlpool of sorts the zero matter can fall into. 

 

Howard enlists your help moving some of the tables out of the way to make room for the construction of the chamber. The big copper coils take shape before your eyes during the glances up from your work. As you scribble down the final one, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and start transcribing the frequencies onto a separate sheet. 

 

“Doc, you got a minute?”

 

“Sure.” You set down your pencil and join the two of them. “It’s looking good.”

 

“We just need another set of hands to make this part steady.” Ana takes one side, you take the other. Howard directs you to lower a large beam into place. “Ah. Thank you. How are the calculations coming?”

 

“All done.” You gesture at your sheet. “I’m just finishing up the last ones. All we need is zero matter and we’re good to go.”

 

“Dr. Wilkes!”

 

You whirl around. He’s flickering. You all crowd around him, hoping fruitlessly that it’ll help somehow, waiting with bated breath until he reappears. 

 

“We need to hurry.”

 

“I’m afraid it might be a little more complicated than that.” 

 

You look up as Sousa and Peggy march into the lab. You frown. Neither of them meet your eyes and instead set to work on setting up a different machine. Peggy slides something across the table. You pick it up. There’s the zero matter, frothing away inside. 

 

“So you got it.”

 

“What?” Dr. Wilkes rushes over, staring at the sample. A relieved smile breaks onto his face. “You can’t imagine how relieved I am to see this.”

 

You nod, happy for him, but you keep your eyes on Peggy and Sousa. They’re working away on something and the fact that they haven’t even stopped to smile makes you worry. 

 

“What happened,” you ask softly, interrupting Dr. Wilkes’ enthusiastic explanation of how the machine is coming. 

 

Sousa looks up at you. “Dottie Underwood gave us the slip.”

 

“Underwood?” Your blood runs cold. 

 

“As long as she’s unaccounted for there’s no way to calculate how many lives are in danger.” Peggy winces as she leans against the table. 

 

“What do you need?” When she looks up at you in surprise, you give her a faint smile. “How can I help?”

 

Dr. Wilkes gestures to the chamber, still barely constructed. “What about this?”

 

“You’ve got Howard and Ana,” you say, “plus, my part’s done. The calculations are over there. You focus on that, let me help them.”

 

Dr. Wilkes shoots an uncertain look at Peggy, then Sousa, then you. Finally he nods and turns back to Howard and Ana. You refocus your attention on Peggy and Sousa. 

 

“How can I help?”

 

Peggy gives you a tiny smile and your chest lightens. Maybe things aren’t as far gone as you thought. Before she can say anything, though, Jarvis comes down, saying Chief Thompson is upstairs. 

 

“Don’t go.”

 

“Stay.”

 

Sousa’s closer. He takes her by the arm, saying he’ll take the heat, to send Thompson packing. Peggy gives him a smile. 

 

“I can handle Jack Thompson,” she says and disappears upstairs. 

 

“She’ll be alright,” you say, half to reassure Sousa, half to reassure yourself, “come on. What do you need?”

 

“Underwood was wearing a necklace with a tracer inside.” 

 

Your heart races. “A circular pendant?”

 

“What? No, looked like a diamond choker.” You breathe a sigh of relief as Sousa points to the machine they’d been trying to set up. “Transponder got broken. We need to fix it.”

 

“I can do that.” It’s basic electrical engineering, even you can fix this. “You go...do more agent stuff. I can handle this much.”

 

“I will help,” Jarvis says, coming to join you, “one doesn’t stay in the company of Howard Stark without picking up a few things.”

 

“Damn right!”

 

You all laugh at the pride in Howard’s voice. Sousa catches your hand for a firm shake. “Thank you, Dr. L/N. We couldn’t do this without you.”

 

“Here, here,” Jarvis agrees, “but may I make a suggestion before anyone does any more work?”

 

“And what is that,” Peggy asks, reappearing at the door. You shoot her a concerned look, silently asking if everything went alright with Thompson. She gives you a little nod. 

 

“I suggest we all get a little bit of rest,” Ana says, picking up on her husband’s idea, “at least for a few hours.”

 

She gestures between herself and Dr. Wilkes. “We will keep working as I have just gotten up from a wonderful night’s sleep. The rest of you, off to bed.”

 

You all know better than to argue. As you leave the lab, you catch Peggy’s gaze as you both turn to go to your respective rooms. You nod. She does too. 

 

Yeah, you’ll be alright. 

Chapter 22: For The Love of God, Just Talk

Summary:

Success has its consequences.

Working on the transponder is easy enough. Jarvis tells the truth, he does know enough about electrical engineering that the job’s a breeze. You two occupy one corner of the lab, Ana and Dr. Wilkes in the center, still working on the containment chamber. Howard has yet to appear this morning. 

 

“Mr. Stark has a habit of getting his sleep in large doses,” Jarvis remarks when you ask him if you should be concerned, “going for long stretches of time without any rest and then sleeping through a day.”

 

“Well, we’ll wake him up if we get stuck, won’t we?”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“Dr. Wilkes?”

 

Ana’s concerned voice draws your attention. He’s flickering again. Your heart jumps in your throat until he reappears.

 

“It’s getting more frequent, isn’t it?” Ana looks him over, concerned. 

 

Dr. Wilkes nods. “We don’t have much time.”

 

The door opens and shuts as Peggy steps through. “Have you finished?”

 

“Nearly,” Ana says, her gaze flicking worriedly between the machine and Dr. Wilkes, now hunched over a table, “we’re running out of time.”

 

Peggy walks slowly over to him. “How are you?”

 

He huffs. “You want an honest answer?”

 

“At this moment, no, not particularly.”

 

“I’m doing great.”

 

“I believe,” Jarvis says from next to you, “we’ve done it.”

 

The transponder gives one final spark and you pluck out the spare metal. Peggy comes to stand beside you. 

 

“It’s fixed?”

 

“To the best of our ability, yes.” You turn one of the dials and it flickers on. “All ready to go.”

 

“Thank you both,” Peggy says, and you start discussing the ways to find the signal that hasn’t appeared yet. 

 

“Why,” Dr. Wilkes interrupts as you discuss ways to increase the range of the device, “she’s a Russian spy, a murderer. Why mount a rescue for someone who would kill you the moment she was able?”

 

“I agree,” Peggy says, “Dottie is despicable, but she was acting under my orders.”

 

“So this is about saving yourself?”

 

You wince. Those words are a little too close to your own a few nights ago and, honestly, you’re regretting them more and more. You and Jarvis take a step back, not willing to get in the middle of this. 

 

“Dottie is my responsibility,” Peggy says firmly, “I wouldn’t abandon her or anyone else to the likes of Whitney Frost.”

 

“Don’t abandon her.” Dr. Wilkes walks forward. “The kill switch on the necklace is attached to a different circuit. Activate it and be done with her.”

 

“Jason, I understand that you are under considerable—”

 

“You understand nothing,” Dr. Wilkes cuts her off, “this isn’t simply about my death, I am facing much worse than that!”

 

Stunned silence falls over the room, first because Dr. Wilkes just suggested killing Dottie because she wasn’t worth it and second that he’s facing a fate worse than death. 

 

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he stutters after a moment, “I’m not thinking straight, I’m—I’m sorry.”

 

“Jason—”

 

“Ana, we should get back to work.”

 

Ana shoots a concerned look at the rest of you before returning to constructing the machine. Peggy and Jarvis exchange a look. 

 

“Uh—” you wave to get their attention— “I heard something about something near the pool house?”

 

“Yes, quite right.” Jarvis springs into action again, snapping up the transponder. Peggy follows you two as you take it to another part of the vast grounds you haven’t been before. Unfortunately, nothing happens. “I don’t believe the range is the problem, Ms. Carter.”

 

“No.” She crosses her arms. “It’s a pity that the signal could be so easily blocked, I’m sure Ms. Frost would’ve had some way to get around it.”

 

She shoots you a glance. “We should’ve had you make one instead.”

 

You can’t deny the rush that gives you. You really need to talk to Peggy. 

 

Ana comes dashing up, breathless but eyes sparkling with joy. “It’s done!”

 

Well, never let it be said I’m not getting my exercise, you muse as you all dash through the house again. The second you all burst through the door of the lab, Peggy darts for the zero matter. You stand on Ana’s other side as she takes Jarvis’ arm, watching anxiously as Dr. Wilkes steps inside and the machine flares to life. Your breath catches when he slumps over in pain, stopping when his hand hits the floor with a solid, tangible thud. 

 

“It works,” he breathes, “it works!”

 

“Splendid!”

 

You clap along with the rest of them, smiling so big your cheeks hurt. You did it. He’s back! Ana hugs you and Jarvis, thrilled all your hard work had paid off. Peggy steps closer, reaching out her hand. After a brief hesitation, he takes it. He’s real. 

 

He pulls her forward to kiss her. 

 

Your smile fades. Ana’s mouth drops open and you and Jarvi take the polite approach of admiring the ceiling. After a few moments, you look back and they’ve separated, Dr. Wilkes laughing awkwardly before admitting he’s starving. 

 

“Of course you are,” Ana laughs, “you haven’t eaten in days. I shall make you a meal fit for a king. A true Hungarian feast!” She marches off upstairs. 

 

“I’ve never had Hungarian food before,” Dr. Wilkes says, leaning— leaning! —against the walls of the chamber, “is it any good?”

 

You chuckle at Jarvis’ expression. 

 

“Well, I’m sure I will love it.”

 

A beeping sound interrupts your festivities. Your gaze darts to the transponder and you swallow. 

 

“We’ve got a signal.”

 

“I’m going to call Chief Sousa,” Peggy announces, “let him know the news.”

 

You nod as you start taking down the coordinates. You and Jarvis give Peggy the location and she too disappears upstairs. 

 

“You’re aware this is most likely a trap, right,” you mutter to Jarvis as she leaves. 

 

“I am.” Jarvis casts a concerned look at your surroundings. “And I am unsure that we can deal with it.”

 

“I’ll go tell Peggy.”

 

You find her leaning against the table. She turns to you upon your entry. “They’ve gotten the SSR.”

 

“Who has?”

 

“Vernon Masters. FBI Agent.”

 

“One of the bad guys?”

 

She nods. “We won’t be able to count on them for help. That takes Sousa and Rose out too; we can’t risk getting them.” She looks lost. It looks wrong.

 

And you know what, no, I’m being petty. Whatever makes her happy, if it makes her happy, I’ll be happy for her, the last thing she needs is more nonsense. 

 

You fumble with your hands. Now or never.

 

“Peggy,” you start slowly, “I owe you an apology. I have behaved atrociously over the past few days and said things to you that I never should have. I understand that your job requires risk and I know you are more than capable of handling yourself.”

 

You swallow heavily and force yourself to meet her gaze. “Seeing you hurt like that was...more difficult than I could have ever imagined. I didn’t think about how my actions would then hurt you further.”

 

You force yourself to smile a little. “I am willing to offer any and all assistance you may need to try and make up for it.”

 

Peggy looks at you for a moment and the fear that you’ve messed this up, even more, finds room in your chest. Then she smiles. 

 

“You know,” she says, “I think that’s the best apology anyone’s ever given me.”

 

You blush, stammering that it’s only right, you messed up, but she cuts you off, stepping closer. 

 

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. And I think with all the help you’ve been giving us, I’d forgotten that you’re not an agent, that you aren’t used to this type of thing.”

 

“I forgive you,” you say without hesitation because of course, you do.

 

“I forgive you too,” Peggy says, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze. “Now, since I don’t have the SSR, I’m afraid I’m going to need some more of your gadgets.”

 

You smile. “What did you have in mind?”

Chapter 23: Things Go Wonderfully Right (Or Horribly Wrong)

Summary:

It seems the equation is in equilibrium: you solve one problem, another is created.

“Just one more thing…”

 

“I can assure you,” Peggy says through a smile, “that your wonderful creation is untouched.”

 

“It’s not that I’m worried about,” you say, pressing a few more buttons and double-checking them against the readouts. “We deleted pretty much everything off this thing to make room for the zero matter tracking algorithm. I need to make sure I didn’t delete anything important.”

 

“You did what?”

 

You glance over your shoulder to see Peggy frowning at you. “We needed the space.”

 

“Y/N, that might’ve been your way home.” Peggy steps forward but you catch her hands before they can land on your shoulders. 

 

“I know what I’m doing,” you say, “and being here, helping you guys fix this, that’s more important right now. Plus,” you add with a smile, “it’s not like the dimensions are going anywhere.”

 

“Quite right.” Peggy steps back.

 

“Can you take a few steps to your right for me,” you ask, turning back. You hear the click of her shoes. It corresponds to the change in the readouts. “And to your left?”

 

“Shall I do a spin for you as well?”

 

“Best not to put too much strain on yourself,” you murmur, “especially if you’re going in there knowing full well you’re walking into a trap with just you and Mr. Jarvis.”

 

“And this.”

 

You both glance around to see Jarvis holding...something. You pronounce the necklace still fully operational and follow Jarvis outside. 

 

“Are you planning on making biscuits?”

 

“This,” Jarvis says proudly, “is the jitterbug.”

 

“I really hope its function is more intimidating than its name.”

 

“I can assure you, Dr. L/N,” Jarvis says, “it is. It is a non-lethal concussive device with a blast field of 170º.”

 

“Howard couldn’t’ve sprung for the other 190º?”

 

Jarvis guides you and Peggy to stand behind him as he types something into the number pad on the back of the device. A few seconds later and the entire picnic table, chairs, and small statue in front of you goes tumbling over the ground in pieces. 

 

Your eyes widen. “That’s, uh, yeah that’ll do it.”

 

“Splendid.”

 

As Jarvis picks up the jitterbug to place it in the trunk of the car, you see Ana watching out the window. In a few moments, she appears out the front door, holding a darker jacket draped over her arm. You smile at the two of them. 

 

“They’re a lovely couple,” Peggy murmurs, coming up behind you, “aren’t they?”

 

“They’re fantastic.” You turn to her. “Now, before I say this, I know you are perfectly capable of taking care of both yourself and Mr. Jarvis, but...I, uh—”

 

“You’re worried,” Peggy fills in helpfully, smiling when your shoulders slump in relief. “I understand.”

 

“It’s just—you’re walking into a trap, Peggy. And I know you’ve done things like this before but…” You shrug helplessly. “I worry, that’s all.”

 

“Your kindness is appreciated,” Peggy says, resting a hand on your shoulder, “more than you know.”

 

You cover her hand with yours, taking in the feeling that she’s solid, she’s here, she’s safe. The worry that you won’t feel it again is sated when she flips her hand over, pressing your palms together. 

 

“I’ll come back,” Peggy reassures, “and I won’t begrudge you your worrying.”

 

“I’d make you promise, but I won’t give you anything else to worry about.”

 

Peggy smiles and heads off to help Jarvis finish packing up. You come to stand by Ana’s side, taking one of her wringing hands in yours as you watch the car drive off. 

 

“Won’t you come sit with me?” Ana turns to you. “I don’t think I can go back to work for a little while.”

 

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

 

“Actually—” Ana pulls you in the opposite direction from the drawing-room— “would you like to help me instead? I cannot imagine we would be able to talk like normal, and it would be good to take my mind off of it.”

 

“Sure, what are we doing?” Your eyes widen as you turn the corner into the kitchen. “Wow, you’ve been busy!”

 

Ana shrugged. “I promised a meal fit for a king, didn’t I?”

 

“I’m not much of a whiz in the kitchen but I can do basic things,” you admit, letting her slip an apron over your head. “At least...I think I can.”

 

“Well, it’s not rocket science.”

 

“No, that I can do. This—” you wave at the bubbling pots and plates of food— “I’m lost in this.”

 

“Then you’d better pay attention,” Ana winks. 

 

Ana’s patience with you is remarkable as you have to apparently come to terms with the fact that you’ve been holding kitchen knives wrong your whole life. 

 

“No, no,” she says, gently moving your hand, “don’t press with your finger. It will get tired long before you are done.”

 

“But then how do I make sure I’m cutting straight?”

 

“Hold a little closer to the blade.” Ana indicates the small piece just above the handle before the blade starts. “That way, you have more leverage and you can control it better. It’s physics.”

 

“Yeah,” you say as it works out so much better, “yeah it is.”

 

You continue working, dicing up vegetables, meat, and washing all the required things as Ana describes each dish. You’re ashamed to say you can’t pronounce half of them, but you remember a few of them. There’s a Goulash steaming in a large bowl, a large helping of Fisherman’s soup, several more stews and bread dishes, and a large deep-fried flatbread. 

 

“What is that one again?”

 

“Lángos,” Ana says as you start making room for all the dishes, “but we will do a proper description of everything once we are downstairs.”

 

As Ana finishes the meal prep, you hurry down to the lab and open the door to Dr. Wilkes’ chamber. “Almost ready,” you say as you start bringing the table and chairs over, “just you wait. It smells amazing.”

 

“I’m excited.” Dr. Wilkes helps you spread the table cloth, catching your hand as you leave to help Ana bring things downstairs. “Thank you, Y/N. For all that you’ve done.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“I know Peggy’s grateful too.”

 

You smile. “For both of us.”

 

Bringing all the dishes in takes too long, in your opinion, because you want to devour each and every one the second you pick it up. Eventually, you get everything laid out just to Ana’s liking and you eagerly pull up a chair, waiting for her to explain everything. 

 

“We have traditional Goulash,” she begins, serving each of you, “Fisherman’s soup, Főzelék, pörkölt, túrós csusza, and of course, lángos.”

 

“I don’t know what any of those words mean,” Dr. Wilkes says, laughing at his own ignorance, “but I would love to find out.”

 

“Goulash, surely you have heard of it?”

 

“That’s the only one I know,” you confess. 

 

“It is a cross between a soup and a stew,” Ana explains, “with beef, carrot, potato, and spice.”

 

“It looks delicious.”

 

“It should pair very well with the túrós csusza,” Ana says, “which is a pasta dish with cheese.”

 

“How can you go wrong with pasta and cheese,” you say, “even I know that.”

 

“This,” Ana says, indicating the thick vegetable stew, “is the főzelék. I am afraid it cannot be translated into English, but I assure you, it is no less delicious.”

 

“I can’t wait.”

 

“The last one is another stew,” Ana says, taking the ladle and spooning some onto her own plate, “it is roasted pork with onion, paprika, and a few other spices.” She picks up the bottle of wine and pours some into Dr. Wilkes’ glass. 

 

“No, thank you,” you say when she offers some to you, “one of us shouldn’t drink.”

 

“As you wish,” she shrugs, pouring her own glass. 

 

“Ana,” Dr. Wilkes says, already on his third bite, “please tell Mr. Jarvis that he is a very lucky man.”

 

“I’ll be sure to send him the message,” she laughs, getting up to serve him some more. 

 

You dig in as well. “Oh my god, this is great. I’m sorry, you two, but I’m afraid I’m going to be awful conversation.”

 

“You’re not the only one.”

 

Ana smiles at the two of you enjoying her cooking so much. Privately you wonder if Jarvis’ dislike for Hungarian food is based in his British upbringing. Well, more for you. Seriously, this stuff is incredible.

 

“I feel born again,” Dr. Wilkes announces, raising his wine glass. “Salud. 

 

“L’chaim.”

 

“To Agent Carter and Mr. Jarvis,” Dr. Wilkes toasts, “and their safe return.”

 

You take a drink of water, watching as Ana’s face falls slightly. You eat for a while in silence, refilling their wine glasses when they run dry but you can’t help but notice that Ana’s face doesn’t quite make it back to her normal, cheery self. 

 

“Ana?” When she looks up, you rest a hand on hers. “You seem...off.”

 

Dr. Wilkes leans forward. “Are you alright?”

 

She looks between you and Dr. Wilkes. She huffs quietly. “Careful what you ask me. I’ve had just enough wine that I may answer honestly.”

 

“Well,” Dr. Wilkes says, gesturing at the chamber around him, “if you wanna talk, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“Me neither,” you say, “and the least we can do right now is lend you a listening ear. Especially after this.”

 

Ana smiles at you gratefully, pulling her chair around until she’s a little closer to the both of you. “When Edwin told me about his previous exploits with Ms. Carter, he didn’t want me to know what dangers he faced.”

 

“Sometimes we lie to protect those that we love,” Dr. Wilkes says kindly. 

 

“But there’s only so much good that can do,” you say, “before it ends up hurting more.”

 

Ana nods. “Yes. I know. I find that now,” she sighs, “I miss the lie. But you’re right, Y/N. I think I say that but the surprise of it would...not be much better.”

 

She composes herself, smiling at Dr. Wilkes and taking the bottle of wine again. “But today, we have much to celebrate. Now that you’re whole again, what is your next step?”

 

Dr. Wilkes shrugs. “Well, that’s the thing, I...I don’t know.”

 

He glances around. “Even before all this happened, all of Isodyne’s resources were focused on zero matter. We were still ten years away from unraveling even its basic principles.”

 

He looks at you. “Without you, Y/N...I don’t think we’d’ve done any of this.”

 

“Well, I have the benefit of over half a century of scientific exploration,” you say, “that’s hardly your fault.”

 

“Well, from what it sounds like,” Ana says, “you saved us ten years.”

 

“That is a long time.”

 

Dr. Wilkes laughs again. You look at him quizzically. “Look at us,” he says, gesturing between the three of you, “just crying into our $400 bottles of wine.”

 

Ana raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to cry into a thousand-dollar bottle?”

 

Dr. Wilkes just clinks his glass against the bottle. Ana smiles and stands up, promising she’ll see them in a minute.

 

“Well,” Dr. Wilkes says, “d’you mind passing me my notebook? Just had an idea.”

 

“Sure.” You hand it through the open door. “I hope you don’t mind, I’m afraid I have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

 

You duck out of the lab, frowning when you hear Jarvis’ voice echoing over the intercom. Maybe there’s another security measure on the wine cabinet. You’re sure Ana’s got it covered. 

 

You come back out of the bathroom and freeze. 

 

There’s someone else in the lab. 

 

You peer around the corner, heart in your throat. You catch Dr. Wilkes’ eye and he frantically motions for you to stay out of sight. You do as you’re told, hiding behind one of the nearby walls, close enough that you can hear what’s happening. 

 

The sound of the woman’s voice makes your heart stop. 

 

Whitney Frost. 

 

“Dr. Wilkes,” she says, every bit the predator, “the last time we saw each other...that was quite an evening, wasn’t it?”

 

You hear his shuddering breaths; she must be getting closer. 

 

“I’m impressed…” You gulp. “To design all this by yourself? You are very special, Dr. Wilkes.”

 

So she doesn’t know about Howard or you. 

 

“Isn’t it marvelous,” she continues, “the zero matter? Retaining its base property while affecting each host differently…”

 

Ana. You have to warn Ana. Leaving the two of them alone, Whitney talking about the power zero matter gives them both, you sneak upstairs, desperately trying to find Ana before it’s too late. 

 

Curse Howard Stark and his massive mansion. 

 

You hear her. Where the heck is she?

 

You finally run into one of the countless sitting rooms, finding her on the phone. 

 

“No,” she says as she turns around, “and I must admit I’m starting to get worried.”

 

“She’s here, ” you whisper frantically, “Whitney Frost is here!”

 

“She’s what?” Ana turns her head as the person on the phone says something. “Chief Sousa, Y/N says Ms. Frost is here.”

 

“She’s with Dr. Wilkes! They’re downstairs, she—”

 

That’s her voice. Outside. Right now. You rush to the window and see someone carrying Dr. Wilkes slung over their shoulder. Ana forces the phone into your hand. 

 

“Dr. L/N?” Sousa sounds frantic. “Is that you?”

 

“They’re taking him away,” you cry as Ana runs out of the room, “Whitney Frost and someone else, they’re taking him. He’s only got about a few minutes before his tangibility wears off.”

 

“Stay where you are,” he orders, “I’m—”

 

There’s a loud knocking from his side of the line. 

 

“Hold on.”

 

The line goes dead. You barely manage to get the phone back on its cradle, rushing back to the window just in time to see—

 

Just in time to see Whitney Frost shoot Ana Jarvis at point-blank range. 

Chapter 24: Now is Not the Time

Summary:

Ana is shot and you deal with the consequences. Let everyone else worry about what's really important, you can handle the little things.

You don’t remember the hospital. 

 

You don’t remember the car ride. 

 

You don’t remember the waiting room. 

 

You remember materializing next to Ana’s side, your hands covered in red as you rip off your scarf and press down on the wound. 

 

You remember the mad scramble for the car doors, your hands never letting up on the pressure. 

 

You remember the cool night air on your face as Jarvis carries his wife in his arms into the hospital. 

 

You remember clutching his hand tightly as she’s taken away down the long, empty hallway, shepherded away by the white uniforms of the nurses. 

 

“It’s my fault,” Jarvis says brokenly, slumped over with his head buried in his hands, “it’s my fault.”

 

You can’t say anything that would ease his burden but you can make sure he doesn’t go through this alone. Ana...wonderful, fantastic Ana…

 

She has to survive. She has to. 

 

Peggy disappears a few times, voice bristling with authority, snapping at the officers to move faster, barking on the phone to important people, taking in all the information the doctors and nurses rattle off with a sharp nod of her head. You can tell it’s her survival instinct keeping her moving, never letting anything slip. Not on her watch. Not again. 

 

She comes back, sitting down, and immediately you can tell something else has gone wrong. She’s not telling you what you need to know in a soft, caring voice, she’s just quiet. Jarvis murmurs that Ana’s still in surgery, that they’re not sure if she’ll survive. Peggy takes his other hand in hers and holds it tight. 

 

You’ll stay as long as you need to. 

 

The wait is agonizing. 

 

Too soon, the sun comes up and Peggy glances out the window. 

 

“I have to go,” she says, her apology clear, “there’s…”

 

You glance at Jarvis, who barely seems to register that she’s spoken. You nod instead, telling her you’ll let her know as soon as you find out what’s happening. She gives his hand one last squeeze and disappears, her armor falling back into place with each step she takes. 

 

You squeeze Jarvis’ hand as the doctor walks up. When you hear Ana’s out of surgery, your heart leaps and you both stand, following him anxiously down the corridor. 

 

“Ana…” Jarvis lunges for the figure in the bed, too small, too frail under the covers. 

 

“Easy, sir,” the doctor says, “she’s still out.”

 

“Is she alright?” You take the chair and place it close, so Jarvis can sit near his wife. 

 

The doctor hesitates. “This is the hard part. We’re not sure if…”

 

“If she’ll wake up.” The resignation in Jarvis’ voice weighs the room down like a wet rag. 

 

“Thank you, doctor.” You place your hands on Jarvis’ shoulders as the doctor leaves, willing all of your reassurance through the contact. 

 

“Look,” you murmur, “she’s out of surgery. She’s got color in her cheeks.”

 

“They’re not even sure if she’ll wake up.” Jarvis doesn’t move under your hands when you squeeze. 

 

You swallow, letting your own sadness fade in the face of reassuring your friend. “All she needs right now is you,” you murmur, “your voice, your presence. No one else.”

 

Silence. 

 

“I’m going to go home,” you say, crouching down to take his hand, “and fetch a change of clothes, a toothbrush, a razor, and one of Howard’s radios so that when she wakes up, you will look like you.”

 

Jarvis glances at you and then back to his wife. That’s pretty much all you’re going to get, isn’t it? 

 

“Good,” you say, standing up. You’re almost out of the room when a hand catches yours. 

 

“You’re going to have to tell her.”

 

You frown, coming back to Jarvis’ side. “What?”

 

“Don’t wait until she ends up like this,” Jarvis says, his voice far too gravely and hoarse but his words carefully chosen, “tell her. You’ve seen how little time we actually have.”

 

Your throat runs dry. “Jarvis, I—”

 

He looks up at you and your words die in your throat. He’s grieving, terrified, and furious, but his eyes shine clearly into yours. 

 

“Tell her,” he repeats, “before it’s too late.”

 

With that, he returns to watching vigil over his wife. 

 

You swallow, waiting a moment more before disappearing and leaving them alone in the room. 

 

He knows. He knows and he chose this moment when his wife’s just been shot to tell you that you should talk to Peggy. 

 

Fuck. 

 

By the time you pull up to Howard’s, he’s already out front, fiddling with a suitcase. 

 

“Oh, good, you’re back,” he says, catching you the second you step out of the car, “this is his emergency overnight kit, it’s got two suits, the razor, the cream, all the necessities, and I’ve put the radio inside, there’s the special cakes he likes in the waterproof pouch—”

 

You cut him off by throwing your arms around him. He sags into it, wrapping his own around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

 

“I slept through it,” he mutters bitterly, “how did I sleep through it? ”

 

“You’re awake now,” you say as you pull back, the regret and guilt on Howard’s face burning into your mind, “so go to him. Go be by him the way he’s been by you.”

 

Howard glances over his shoulder. “I should work, help Peggy—”

 

“I’ll do that,” you cut him off, “your butler’s just had his wife shot. Go be there for him.”

 

He doesn't take much convincing, launching into the car and speeding off. You sigh, knowing Ana will receive the best treatment possible. While that happens, you have to work. 

 

Let them be worried about what’s important. You can pick up the slack. 

 

You walk inside to see...Sousa?

 

“Y/N?”

 

“Uh, hi,” you say, “why—whoa, what happened to you?”

 

“Daniel?” Wait, where’s Peggy calling from?

 

“Uh, yeah, Y/N’s back.” He gestures over his shoulder, not turning around. At your concerned look he shakes his head. “Vernon Masters ordered a beatdown. ‘M alright.”

 

You nod, still not entirely sure, given the bandage on his face. 

 

“Ana,” Sousa says, reaching for your arm, “is she alright?”

 

“Out of surgery,” you say, “other than that I don’t know. Howard’s on his way, has Jarvis’ emergency kit. What are you…”

 

“Masters took over my branch.” Sousa shakes his head. “He’s looking for the uranium rods for Frost.”

 

“Which is why,” Peggy calls—she must be getting changed— “we’re going to give them to her.”

 

“Uh, why?”

 

“We’re not actually going to,” Sousa reassures, “at least I don’t think we are.”

 

“Okay good.”

 

“We’re just trying to find her at the moment,” Peggy says, finally coming around the corner. How she looks absolutely polished again you have no idea. “We have a lead.”

 

“But then what,” Sousa asks, “what’s your plan?”

 

“Whitney Frost wants the uranium. We want Jason.” Peggy tucks her blouse into her skirt. “We trade.”

 

“With fake rods.”

 

Peggy smiles as you put it together. “Precisely.”

 

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” you mutter, “we can create a radium mixture and paint it over a uranium-238 rod, it’ll give off the right signature...won’t be lethal...and it definitely won’t be a bomb.”

 

You look up at them. “I’ll get that started. I’ll also make sure the zero matter detector is working properly, if she tries anything or if this doesn’t work we’ll be able to see it. Shouldn’t take too long. Should be done by the time you guys get back from...whatever lead you’re chasing.”

 

“Oh, it’s—”

 

You hold up a hand. “I’d rather you didn’t tell me. That way, if, uh, someone decides to order something like this—” you gesture to Sousa— “I won’t be able to tell them.”

 

You turn around, your head already buzzing with preparations. You know Howard keeps a set of rods in one of the lab storage cupboards, investigating the rest of them shouldn’t take too long…

 

“Y/N,” Peggy calls. You turn around to see both her and Sousa smiling at you. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course. Now go. Save the world.”

 

You were right. Whipping up the fake uranium rods barely takes more than a few hours. Setting them aside to finish drying, you turn your attention back to the machine. Running your fingers over the display for Peggy’s necklace, you smile. 

 

“Tell her, before it’s too late.”

 

Your chest tightens. 

 

As your fingers begin to fly over the keys, you start thinking about Peggy. How her strength in the face of 1940s sexism and misogyny pushed you through all the professors who laughed in your face, all the academic advisors who tried to guide you away from the path you wanted, all the other scientists who treated you like a secretary. How her resolve, so brilliant and so her, inspired you to stay true to yourself and embrace your femininity in a masculine dominated work environment. 

 

How she smiled at you, looking at you with respect when you talked about your work. How she looked to you before she looked to Howard when asking questions about the zero matter. 

 

How she held you when you were upset, how she held your hands. You run your hands over each other, remembering the security of her grip. 

 

How she looked so happy when she saw Jason, how much she’s willing to do for him. How well she works with Sousa, her unwavering belief in his abilities. 

 

How your heart dropped like a stone when you saw those numbers standing still.

 

You sigh. Now is not the time for this. But as you resume trying to ensure the tracker’s up and running, you come to another decision. 

 

You need to talk to her. Again. 

 

The phone rings. Dropping the paper from your hands, you rush to it, picking up the receiver and cradling it like some precious token. 

 

“Stark Residence.”

 

“Y/N?”

 

Your heart pounds. “Mr. Jarvis? How is she, is everything—”

 

“She’s awake.”

 

You slump in relief, a breathless smile coming over your face. “Oh my god, that’s so great, she’s alright?”

 

“Yes, she is awake, and talking, and beautiful, and everything.” The words wash over you like warm rain, the happiness in Jarvis’ voice making your smile stretch and drawing relieved laughs out of your chest. 

 

“Oh, I’m so glad. Please—”

 

“Yes, yes, I will keep you updated.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis,” you sigh, finally getting back to your feet, “oh, I’m so happy for you.”

 

“And, Dr. L/N—” you bring the phone back to your ear— “...thank you.”

 

“Of course,” you murmur, “now you take care of your wife.”

 

As you put the phone back on its cradle, you exhale. Oh, thank god Ana’s alright. You’ve got no idea what the hell would happen around here if she weren’t. 

 

“Y/N?”

 

You glance around to see Peggy and Sousa coming inside, concern written all over their faces. 

 

“She’s alive,” you breathe, watching as they turn to relief, “she’s awake, she’s alright.”

 

“Oh, thank god,” Peggy mumbles, pulling you into a hug. You stiffen in surprise before quickly getting with the program and hugging her back. 

 

“Hey, you,” you say, waving a hand at Sousa, “get in here too.”

 

Sousa protests lightly as you tug him closer until Peggy loops an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in, all three of you hugging each other close, taking a moment to breathe a collective sigh of relief. 

 

“Alright,” you murmur, finally forcing yourself to disentangle, “did your lead go well?”

 

“Yes,” Peggy says, brushing herself off a little, “we have a plan for the exchange. Are the rods ready?”

 

You nod, gesturing to them already in the box. “Here,” you say, handing Peggy a Geiger counter, “see for yourself.”

 

She does as you ask, running the Geiger counter over the rods to see that, sure enough, they crackle just as they should. 

 

“You,” she says, putting the counter away and turning to face you, “are amazing.”

 

“Wasn’t that hard,” you mumble, blushing the compliment away, “but thanks.”

 

“Now then, we have Dr. Samberly on his way—”

 

“Who? Sorry,” you say immediately when they look at you, “probably not my business.”

 

“You’re part of this team,” Peggy says, “of course it’s your business.”

 

“He’s one of the SSR scientists,” Sousa explains, “he helped us get into Roxxon. He’s going to be driving the van.”

 

There’s a look on their faces that makes you narrow your eyes. “You can trust him, right?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Sousa says, noticing your concern, “it’s just that he’s...well…”

 

“His work ethic is,” Peggy tries, “different.”

 

You raise an eyebrow. “So he’s a little bit on a high horse about his abilities and he desperately wants to prove himself useful to the work but he’s acting all pissed off that you don’t seem to appreciate or value him enough.” At their surprised nods you shrug. “I’ve had my fair share of those.”

 

“I’m sure you have.” Peggy glances over her shoulder. “We’ll need to move Wilkes’ containment unit into the truck, do you think you can disassemble and reassemble it?”

 

You nod. “When Dr. Samblery gets here, I’m sure he can help too.”

 

“With what?”

 

All three of you turn to look at the door. 

 

“Mr. Jarvis?”

Chapter 25: I Need Explanation, What is Going On?

Summary:

There was only supposed to be one spike. They were only supposed to open one rift.

You rush forward to find out more about Ana but Sousa holds you back, watching as Peggy approaches him to ask if everything’s alright. You frown when Jarvis doesn’t even let her touch him. 

 

Something else has gone wrong. 

 

Noisy footsteps echo outside the lab until another man arrives, carrying a toolbox. 

 

“Chief?” He looks between Sousa and Peggy. “Carter?”

 

“Dr. Samberly,” Sousa calls, “over here.”

 

Peggy gives you one last concerned look before she and Jarvis leave, presumably to talk upstairs. You watch them go until Dr. Samberly blocks your vision. 

 

“What do you need, Chief?” Oh, he sounds like some of your coworkers too. 

 

“We need to take this apart and put it in the back of the truck,” Sousa says, gesturing to Wilkes’ containment chamber, “so you can drive us to the mission point.”

 

Dr. Samberly looks it over. “Yeah, okay, sure. No problem. Um—” he laughs nervously when you start disconnecting the cables— “that’s alright, ma’am, I can do it myself.”

 

“It’ll go faster if we both do it,” you say politely, already working on one of the sides. You can tell Dr. Samberly wants to say something else but Sousa cuts him off, reminding him they’re on a tight schedule. You exchange a glance and wow, okay, Sousa looks so done. 

 

This will be exciting. 

 

Getting the machine into the van takes almost no time, you working away to make sure all the pieces are just as they were, politely listening to Dr. Samberly’s suggestions and ignoring the incorrect ones. 

 

“Thanks,” Sousa says when you exit the truck, dusting off your hands, “appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Samberly declares, “even though I uh, thought you wanted me for something other than driving a van.”

 

“We need a scientist we can trust,” Sousa says, “you’re the only one left at the SSR.”

 

As Dr. Samberly straightens his coat, obviously proud as a peacock, Sousa shoots a glance at you. You roll your eyes and he smiles slightly. Then Peggy bursts downstairs. 

 

“You three. Up here. Now.”

 

You follow obediently, finding Jarvis bent over a table with three pieces of paper. He looks up when you enter. You’re relieved to see he looks much better, back in his properly pressed suits with his hair done neatly but there’s a darkness in his expression that unnerves you. 

 

“We just received these through the telex,” Peggy says, “we presume from Howard.”

 

“Wait, wasn’t he at the hospital with you?”

 

“Mr. Stark had to leave as soon as we found out Ana survived.” Oh wow, Jarvis never talks with that much steel, what— “It’s not a code I recognize.”

 

Dr. Samberly takes a seat, peering at the documents. You peer over his shoulder, the others gathering around you. 

 

“This isn’t code,” Dr. Samberly pronounces finally, “these are design specifications.”

 

A note of pride enters his voice. “H-Howard Stark wants me to build a machine.”

 

“Wait, you?” You bite back a laugh at the disbelief in Sousa’s voice. “It says that?”

 

“Well, no, but you see someone else here who can?”

 

“Me.” You ignore Dr. Samberly’s surprised huff in favor of leaning over the schematics. “It’s a design for a gamma cannon. Fires a pulse of high-frequency photons.”

 

You look up at Peggy. “They could eliminate zero matter.”

 

“We could cure Jason Wilkes,” she says. 

 

“Or stop the rift opening.”

 

“Or kill Whitney Frost.”

 

Jarvis, my good dude, you gotta stop with this, you’re wigging me out. 

 

Sousa taps your shoulder. “Can you build it?”

 

“Whoa, wait—”

 

“Samberly, I—”

 

“No, hang on.” Dr. Samberly turns around to look at you. “No offense, sweetheart, but I’m a qualified scientist—”

 

“I’m not your sweetheart.” You look at him. You’ve had this discussion before. You’re not about to have it again. “I’m just as qualified as you. I’ve worked with Howard Stark before. I understand how zero matter works in ways you don’t. This machine is complicated and we don’t have time to stand here arguing about who is better made to build it. Are you going to help me or not?”

 

His mouth opens and closes a few times, making him look vaguely like a frog. Finally, he ducks his head and nods sheepishly. 

 

“Good.” You turn to the others. “I don’t know how long it will take, but we’ll work as fast as possible.”

 

“That’s all we need.” Sousa claps you on the shoulder. “Thank you, Dr. L/N.”

 

“Wait, ‘doctor?’”

 

You ignore him in favor of scooping up the specs and making your way back to the lab. You toss them onto the desk and start running calculations. 

 

“There’s another set of goggles over there,” you call as Dr. Samberly finally makes it into the lab. “Material’s in the storage unit three doors down.”

 

“Um, can we—”

 

“We don’t have much time,” you say, looking to face him, “please.”

 

“I was just gonna say I think we got off on the wrong foot.” You blink in surprise when he holds out his hand. “Dr. Aloysius Samberly. SSR.”

 

You take it. “Dr. Y/N L/N. Pleasure.”

 

“You said three doors down?”

 

“Yes, uh, there’s a dolly in there too. Should help with the heavy stuff.”

 

“You got it.”

 

Maybe he’s not so bad after all. 

 

Dr. Samberly didn’t lie, he’s smart as hell. Between the two of you you get the machine up in no time, Dr. Samberly putting on the final touches while you cross-reference the frequency with your calculations. Howard’s right; a concentrated burst of photons in the gamma region should have enough ionizing radiation to create a sort of buffer shield, holding the effects of zero matter at bay long enough for the rest of the normal matter to get in there and get rid of it. 

 

“That’s it!”

 

“Great,” you say, “and that looks like it’ll wrap everything up nicely. That’s the nice thing about gamma rays, they don’t really care what type of matter you are, they’ll mess you up the same.”

 

“Yeah...that’s how I was gonna say it too.” Dr. Samberly scratches the back of his head. “So, uh, how’d you end up getting pulled into this mess?”

 

“Agent Peggy Carter.”

 

“Yeah,” he laughs, “she’s something, isn’t she?”

 

“Sure is.” Maybe you can use the gamma frequency to fine-tune the tracker...get a better sense of how the quantum signature plays into it…

 

“So—”

 

The phone rings. You drop the specs and pick it up. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Is it done?”

 

“Yeah,” you say to Peggy, “it’s done.”

 

“Good. We have the coordinates where she’ll open the rift.” Shit. “Load it and have Dr. Samberly bring it to us.”

 

“Give me the coordinates,” you say as you scramble for a pencil and paper. 

 

“There’s no—”

 

“The tracker is up and running,” you say quickly, “let me make sure that’s the right place.”

 

She’s quiet for a moment before she rattles off the coordinates. 

 

“Got ‘em.” You put the pencil down. “Samberly’s on his way.”

 

“Thank you, Y/N.”

 

“We have to go,” you say the second you hang up the phone, “get the thing into the truck and take it to the SSR.”

 

“Wait, what about you?”

 

“I’m staying here.” You help him start moving it towards the truck, “I’m gonna make sure nothing else goes wrong.”

 

He gives you a strange look then off he goes. 

 

You rush to your machine, typing in the coordinates that Peggy gave you. You wait anxiously for it to calibrate properly, then watch even more anxiously as the quantum signature pattern starts fluctuating. You have no way of knowing what’s happening out there other than these small readouts. 

 

A spike. 

 

Then nothing. 

 

You breathe a sigh of relief when the massive black spot on the readouts fades to nothing. They did it. 

 

A moment passes and you stand up, running your hands through your hair.

“Okay,” you mutter, pulling out your digital recorder, “let’s do this.”

 

“This is Dr. L/N,” you say, “and uh, well, it’s been a freaking ride. I have no idea what day it is and I certainly have no idea what time it is and, to be honest, I lost count of what number log this was ages ago.”

 

You lean against the table as you recap what’s happened since you recorded the one with Howard which seems like, god, years ago. You skip over the awful argument with Peggy, and you have to take a moment before you can manage to say what happened to Ana. 

 

“She’s made it through,” you say brightly, “promise. She’ll be right as rain. And uh, well, now I’m looking at the zero matter machine and whoo boy, it is a doozy. Y’all thought the time machine was weird, well, you should see this thing.”

 

You end by explaining what just happened, including Dr. Samberly—”Seriously, it’s like someone reskinned Dr. Unsworth, it’s uncanny—” and the gamma cannon— “Imagine every cartoon turbo engine ever and you’ve got a pretty good idea of what this thing looks like—” before deciding that you’ll just have to wait a few hours until they come back. 

 

The hours pass. 

 

You end up going over your calculations a couple more times. 

 

More hours pass. 

 

Okay, now you’re starting to get worried.

 

More hours pass. 

 

You’ve taken to pacing by the phone. 

 

More hours pass. 

 

You rush back to the machine, only to see nothing’s changed. No more zero matter, nothing. 

 

Peggy’s tracker is still moving, what the hell is going on?

 

A door. Are they back?

 

You rush upstairs only to see—

 

“Oh my god, Mr. Jarvis!” You shoot forward to catch him, he looks dead on his feet. “What the hell happened?”

 

You listen as the whole tale spills out of him, about Ana not being able to have children—you can’t help the noise that escapes you when Jarvis sobs—about shooting Whitney Frost, about getting captured, about what they plan to do next.

 

“I have to get to Ana,” he mumbles as you drag him through the house. 

 

“You have to drink something, eat something, shower, and then you will go to Ana.”

 

You never thought you’d have the chance to mother Mr. Edwin Jarvis, but here you are. You get him all pressed and polished and give him a hug, feeling him hug you back in a way you weren’t expecting. 

 

“Dr. L/N,” he says as he pulls away, “I said upon one of our first meetings that you were a breath of fresh air.”

 

You blush but he holds out a hand to stop you. 

 

“Now, I must say I do not think we would be able to breathe at all without you.”

“Mr. Jarvis,” you say around the truly spectacular rush of heat to your face, “please. Save the compliments for when we’re done, alright?”

 

“Quite right,” he nods, “now, will you come with me? I’m sure Ana would love to see you.”

 

You shake your head. “I’d better stay here. From the sounds of it I need to make sure there are no more zero matter spikes.”

 

“As you wish?”

 

“Give her my best?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Well, you think as he drives off, now we’re properly in shit, aren’t we?

The rest of your day is spent turning over the information you have. Conspiracy...rifts...Peggy getting captured...what the hell is going on now? Did they get more zero matter? Is Dr. Wilkes okay? Are any of them? What about the SSR?

 

Your machine beeps. 

 

As you turn to watch the readouts, it spikes. 

Chapter 26: Not On My Watch

Summary:

Everyone is back, and you've got to figure out what to do. You're a little tired of being told you can't do things.

As soon as you see Howard step out of the car you’re out the front door like a shot. 

 

“Run off like that again without any explanation,” you say the second he opens his mouth, “and I will use you as a baseline for the next rift experiment, do you understand?”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Howard says, raising his hands in surrender, “uh, if it’s any consolation I gave you the specs for the gamma cannon?”

 

He smirks as Peggy, Jarvis—and thank god Dr. Wilkes is with them—get out of the car. “From what I hear, you whipped the other scientist into shape.”

 

“He’s not that bad,” you mutter, focusing instead on catching Dr. Wilkes when he stumbles. “Thank god, you’re alright, what happened?”

 

“He’s clean,” Peggy says, “no more zero matter.”

 

“Thank god.”

 

“But you were right,” Dr. Wilkes says, worried, “zero matter is nothingness. It’s all nothing, it’s like a disease, spreading from one dimension to the next.”

 

You swallow heavily. “But if the nothingness gets free…”

 

“It will destroy everything.”

 

Howard claps his hands. “Let’s eat something. I’m starving.”

 

“You freaking ran off, ” you say, whirling back on him, “and you think—”

 

“Yell at me over the food, won’t you?”

 

“No, I will not, you absolute coat hanger—”

 

Needless to say, by the time you’re seated around the table Howard looks a least a little ashamed. Peggy and Dr. Wilkes, meanwhile, look like they’re having a great time. 

 

“Why’re you so happy,” Howard grumbles as you finally finish telling him that you are not allowed to disappear when there is monstrous black slime everywhere and sees Peggy grinning, “and where’s the mustard...Jarvis! We need mustard!”

 

“Because she’s right,” Peggy says simply, “and you should’ve seen her with Dr. Samberly.”

 

“I’m sorry I missed it.”

 

“Well—” Peggy shoots you a glance— “she’s yet to meet Jack Thompson.”

 

“Wait I have to what now.”

 

“Gamma cannon got destroyed,” Dr. Wilkes says, “and we’re going to have to make another one. Only…”

 

“What?”

 

Dr. Wilkes looks at Peggy. “I hate to be a naysayer, but…”

 

“Nay?”

 

Dr. Wilkes puts down his roll. “Let’s say we’re successful. We use the gamma cannon to separate Whitney Frost from the zero matter. Then what?”

 

“It’d still be here,” you say, chewing your lip, “and angry as all get out.”

 

“Whaddya say we whip up a new containment unit,” Howard says, “and we capture a small amount of it so we can safely study it in Stark Labs?”

 

“You’re joking, right?”

 

“That’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard in my life.”

 

“Well, I’m only trying to help!”

 

“Yourself,” Peggy says, “get custody of the zero matter so you can make a profit on it.”

 

“That stings.”

 

“You’ll heal.”

 

“We have to get it out of here,” you say firmly, “banish it back to the depths from whence it came or some such dramatic statement that will get you to agree.”

 

“Fine…” Howard goes back to his food. “And at any rate, we have a bigger problem...we’re out of mustard.”

 

You roll your eyes. 

 

“Jarvis? Are you cultivating seeds in there?”

 

Footsteps. 

 

Two sets. 

 

Your eyes widen and you shoot out of your chair when Jarvis comes out with his hands up, followed by another man holding him at gunpoint.

 

“Introducing Mr. Joseph Manifredi of the Yonkers Manfredis,” Jarvis says as the rest of you scramble. 

 

“I see a gun, this guy sees Heaven,” he says and oh we’re going old school gangster accent okay—

 

“Easy,” Howard says, “easy. Let him put the condiment down.”

 

Really? Jarvis puts the mustard on the table. You search his eyes worriedly until he gives you the smallest of nods. 

 

“Now listen to me, Manfredi,” Howard continues, “you can’t just walk into a man’s home and take his butler hostage.”

 

“Oh, yeah? Well you can’t steal my underwear.”

 

Who can’t steal what now?

 

“I told you then and I’m telling you now—” Howard what the shit — “you can’t wear your skivvies in a schwitz.”

 

Okay now you’re even more confused. 

 

Then they both start laughing and hugging each other like they’re old friends and yeah okay someone needs to tell you what the heck is going on. Jarvis gives an affronted huff and drops his arms, coming to your side where you grab his arm in reassurance that he’s not apparently about to get shot. 

 

“Someone explain to me what the heck is going on.”

 

“You know Joe Manfredi?” Howard asks, coming out of a hug with the man. 

 

“Yes, we do,” Peggy says sharply. 

 

“This man kidnapped me,” Dr. Wilkes says, and yeah that’s awkward, “he strapped me down so that Whitney Frost could torture me and extract the zero matter from my body.”

 

“That was wrong—” yeah no shit — “mea culpa, doc. Mea culpa.”

 

Oh so here’s the kicker, okay, hold on to your everything. 

 

Apparently this guy’s here to help because we’re all ‘worried about Whitney.’

 

That’s one way to put it. 

 

Turns out, Manfredi’s convinced Whitney’s been driven insane by the zero matter—no shock there—and he wants all of your help to save her.

 

“Save her?” You agree with Jarvis’ incredulous tone. “She’d kill us all if she had the chance!”

 

“Yeah but that’s not Whitney!” Sure, buddy. 

 

He continues: “she’s talking to herself about opening the rift again.”

 

“She can’t,” Peggy says, “the last of the Roxxon uranium was used up when she detonated it in the desert.”

 

“Unless she figured out a way to do it without an atomic explosion,” Dr. Wilkes says, “I wouldn’t underestimate her genius.”

 

“It wouldn’t be that hard at all.”

 

Manfredi leans back in his chair to look at you, hovering around the table where you’ve been pacing. “I’m sorry, but who’re you?”

 

“Dr. L/N,” you say, unfolding your arms. “Resident expert on zero matter.”

 

“You seen this stuff before?”

 

“Worse.” You spread your arms. “I’m responsible for the whole thing.”

 

“Y/N—”

 

“The rift consists of two rips,” you say, cutting Howard off, “one in our dimension, one in the fabric of spacetime. Doing that required an understanding of a particle’s relationship to its thread through that fabric, its quantum signature. To make the leap, you need the signature of where you started and where you want to go. The zero matter, the nothingness, is the middle ground.”

 

“Whitney’s got the quantum signature of the zero matter,” Dr. Wilkes murmurs, “she’s the two coexisting in the same body. She contains the zero matter and the zero matter contains her.”

 

“I don’t know how much of that she knows,” you say, “and I have no idea how she plans to go about it—”

 

“But what matters is we do,” Howard interrupts, standing up, “which means we can make one faster.”

 

“Whoa, wait, hold on,” Manfredi says, waving his hand to get your attention, “what’re you talking about?”

 

“If we open a rift,” Dr. Wilkes says, “she’ll feel it. She’ll come.”

 

“And then we zap her and the rift in one shot,” Peggy says, “get the zero matter out of her and close the rift.”

 

“And we make sure no one ever does that ever again,” you finish. 

 

“We should still try to slow her down as much as we can,” Peggy says, idly toying with a fork, “perhaps we can arrange some way to get an idea of how much of an idea she has.”

 

“I think we can handle that,” Manfredi says, standing up and adjusting his waistband. He points at you. “You...you said you were responsible for this, what’d you do?”

 

“Dr. L/N is a theoretical scientist,” Peggy cuts in sharply, “her work revolves around different dimensions.”

 

Manfredi walks toward you. You hold his gaze as he stops right in front of you “You managed to survive that stuff,” he says, searching your face, “how’d you do it?”

 

“Zero matter is nothing,” you say calmly, “nothing incarnate. It consumes things at a rate you wouldn’t believe.” 

 

He nods. 

 

“I’m not nothing,” you say, “and I moved faster.”

 

Wow, that felt good. 

 

Manfredi seems satisfied with your answer, turning back to the others as they start discussing how they plan to slow Whitney Frost down. Jarvis comes to take your elbow when you don’t move. Saying all of that out loud...it felt right. 

 

It is right. 

 

You’re not nothing. 

 

And you moved fast. 

 

“Dr. L/N?”

 

“Mr. Jarvis?”

 

He smiles at you. “Might I offer you one more compliment before you begin work again?”

 

“If you like.”

 

“You are extraordinary,” he says, too quiet for the rest of them to hear, “and I have the utmost faith that you will help us carry the day.”

 

“Y/N! Jarvis!” Howard waves you over impatiently. “Get over here, we’ve got something.”

 

“Shall we?”

 

“Manfredi’s gonna create a diversion,” Howard says once you’ve rejoined the table, “Peggy and Sousa are gonna sneak in and figure out how she’s doing it. See if they can slow her down a bit.”

 

“We,” Dr. Wilkes says, motioning between the three of you, “are going to take your machine and turn it into something that will open the rift.”

 

“We’re gonna need to fix the gamma cannon as well,” Howard says, “we’re gonna need something. ”

 

“I suggest you do this at the SSR,” Peggy says, “you’ll have the old gamma cannon and more hands.”

 

“Wait, wasn’t the SSR—” you wave a hand— “all conspiracy and shady politicians?”

 

Peggy gives you a smile. “It’s better now. Found the rats. Sousa, Rose, and Thompson are cleaning up the rest as we speak.”

 

“Wait wasn’t Thompson one of them?”

 

“He’s one of ours,” Peggy says, “and I trust him.”

 

“I trust your judgment. Wait, that means I’m gonna have to meet him, doesn’t it?”

 

“What with the way you handle Dr. Samberly and Howard—”

 

“Hey!”

 

“I’m quite sure you’ll have no trouble cutting Jack Thompson down to size.”

 

“Not that this isn’t lovely watching you two flirt,” Manfredi butts in, “but can we get a move on?”

 

Your cheeks go bright red as everyone starts bustling about, getting back to work. As you, Howard, and Dr. Wilkes start heading for the lab, you miss a similar blush on Peggy’s cheeks and the look Jarvis gives her. 

Chapter 27: Things Historians Pretend Aren't Gay

Summary:

The calm before the storm.

“Please tell me you kept the calculations for the dimension alignment,” Howard says as the three of you spill into the lab. “I don’t feel like recalculating the intersection between two different spacetime grids right now.”

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you where they are,” you muse, starting to pack up the bits you’ll need to work on it at the SSR labs. 

 

“Oh come on, Y/N, I said I was sorry!” 

 

“I know,” you giggle, “I’m teasing.”

 

“Don’t,” Howard sighs dramatically, “you’ll break my heart.”

 

“You’ll live.”

 

“The gamma cannon shouldn’t be that hard to repair,” Dr. Wilkes says, ignoring your banter, “but we’ll have to construct some other kind of interference to ensure the zero matter doesn’t spill over.”

 

“Or the rift cracks too wide,” you agree, “but I think if we keep the bandwidth low, narrow the range of space over which the signature can spill, we can manage it.”

 

“You wanna try and use the gravity of it?”

 

“Using the coordinates from our spacetime grid will give it something to latch onto,” you explain, “and if we treat that as the source of the gravity—”

 

“—then the zero matter should fold around it,” Howard finishes. “Have I told you I love you yet?”

 

“You’re still wrong,” you sing as you continue checking your sheets again, “you’re just excited about science.”

 

“Nah.” Howard catches your arm as you continue packing. “I ain’t in love with you, Y/N, but you’re real important to me. That’s enough, right?”

 

“I am going to need everyone,” you mumble as your cheeks burn, “to stop it with the compliments or I’m never going to get anything done.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Howard shrugs, “but the second this is over—”

 

“Yeah, yeah, apparently there’s gonna be a line.”

 

“Y/N,” Dr. Wilkes says, “I heard what you said out there, about making sure no one ever does this again. You...don’t you wanna go home?”

 

You pause, setting down the sheet of paper in your hands. You do want to go home, but the ache has lessened. It’s just a tug every now and then, not the aching yank it was when you first arrived. And yeah, the 1940s aren’t great, and there’s a lot of mess to clean up, but…

 

Turning to face Dr. Wilkes, you look up. “This is more important.”

 

“Then we don’t have a minute to lose.”

 

It’s almost like you’re doing the opposite of what you originally set out to do with your time travel machine. Instead of trying to isolate the particle by examining its relationship to the overall thread, you’re using the overall thread to find the right place to return the particle. The relationship Dr. Wilkes experienced during his time with the zero matter is invaluable, helping you understand how the zero matter interacts with normal matter, especially when it comes to its gravitational effects. 

 

“You’re sure we can keep the gravity set to the emergent phenomenon? Not as a fundamental force?”

 

“Since the convergence between the two dimensions depends on it, I’d say so.” 

 

“Hey, you two!” Howard pokes his head through the lab door. “Just got the call from Peg, they’re back. They’ve got the stuff.”

 

“You two go ahead,” you instruct, “take the big stuff. I’ll wrap up here and catch up.”

 

“I’ll have Jarvis give you a ride.”

 

By the time you’ve got all the sheets of paper organized to your liking and tucked them into a folder, Jarvis is back, waiting for you with the car out front. 

 

“Well,” he says as he pulls away, “it’s been...quite the journey, hasn’t it?”

 

“To say the least,” you agree. “Um, how is Ana?”

 

“Oh, she’s doing quite well,” Jarvis assures, “thank you for asking. She’s being discharged in a day or two.”

 

“Oh, that’s fantastic!” You clasp your hands together in relief. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear it.”

 

“Yes.” You drive for a few seconds in silence. “In all likelihood,” Jarvis continues after a moment, “I will be going with Mr. Stark and Ms. Carter to...wherever.”

 

“I expected so.”

 

“Would you...do you mind...I understand that you have all the right to be there, probably more right than I do—”

 

“Mr. Jarvis,” you interrupt gently, “I would be honored to keep your wife company.”

 

He takes one hand off the wheel to squeeze yours. “Thank you.”

 

You pull up outside what you’re gonna assume is the SSR, even though it looks like a run-down theatre agency. But there’s confidence in Jarvis’ step as he walks through the halls, turning the filing cabinet handle to reveal a sliding doorway. 

 

“That’s a bit cliché, isn’t it,” you mutter as you step through. 

 

“Perhaps a little dramatic.” Jarvis directs you up the stairs. “It’s just through here.”

 

“Uh, actually,” you say, “if you don’t mind I need the bathroom. Meet you?”

 

As soon as you step out of the bathroom and make your way upstairs, you regret not going with Jarvis. 

 

“Whoa, hey,” Jack Thompson says, holding out his hands, “I’m sorry, Miss, I don’t know how you got in here but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

 

You don’t have time for this. “I can assure you,” you say, stepping around him, “that if you want as big a chance at beating Whitney Frost as you can get, I’m supposed to be here.”

 

You can hear him coming after you all the way to the lab, right up until you push the door open to see everyone, including Dr. Samberly, working away. They look up when you arrive. 

 

“I’m sorry, Peg,” Thompson starts, “she just—”

 

“Doc!” Howard calls, “thank god, you’re here.”

 

“When I came without you,” Jarvis says apologetically, “they got worried.”

 

“Talk to me.”

 

“Rift generator’s coming along nice,” Rose says brightly, “just need to do some tweaks on the final parts.”

 

“Gamma cannon almost fully repaired.” Dr. Samberly leans against the side of it. “With some modifications.”

 

“We’re gonna need your eye for the calibration,” Sousa says. 

 

“You have the final ones, right?” You nod and hand your folder to Dr. Wilkes. 

 

“Pretty much everything’s under control,” Peggy says, “just need you to make sure we’ve got our eye on the right time.”

 

“Wonderful.”

 

“This is your mystery scientist?” You roll your eyes and turn back around to see Thompson gesturing incredulously at you. “Her?”

 

“We’re currently constructing a machine that will tear a hole in the space-time continuum in order to stop a leading Hollywood actress who’s actually the genius behind one of America’s leading science companies from destroying the world with black goo,” you say, “and the thing you’re confused about is the fact that I’m a woman?”

 

You shake your head. “Come on, dude, get with the program.”

 

You don’t bother to listen to anything else, you’ve got work to do. You join Sousa and Dr. Wilkes, making sure the generator is sensitive enough to tune into the minute differences at the quantum level but sturdy enough to handle the high-frequency x-rays it’ll be firing. 

 

“Alright, so,” Thompson starts, “I’m not a scientist, but I’m here to help.”

 

“How about collecting the dinner orders?”

 

Yes, Peggy. 

 

“You know what, Marge,” he starts, and for a moment you’re scared it’s going to devolve into a shouting match, but then he smiles and goes: “I’m gonna do that for you.”

 

Yes, Peggy. 

 

It’s easy to lose yourself in the work. The conversation flowing between everybody is focused, easy, but still light. Hands exchange parts, notes, pencils, and you check over everything you know how to until you can step back satisfied. You find a small smile growing on your face as you work. 

 

It’s almost like being back home. 

 

It’s finished, finally. The rift generator is done. Hugs and high fives all around. 

 

“So,” Howard exclaims, rubbing his hands together, “tomorrow we’ll take this up to the studio, get it going.”

 

“You’ve given everyone the day off?”

 

“They couldn’t run home fast enough.”

 

“So who’s going?”

 

“Myself,” Peggy says, “Dr. Samberly, Dr. Wilkes, Mr. Stark, Mr. Jarvis, Chief Sousa, and Chief Thompson. Rose, you’ll stay here to watch the SSR.” She turns to you. “Are you coming?”

 

You shake your head. “Can’t risk throwing off the baseline.” Any quantum variance too close to the rift could punch a hole through to your universe and then we’re all screwed.

 

Peggy nods, even though she looks a little disappointed. “Let’s all grab a few hours of rest.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

You disband; you, Peggy, Jarvis, Howard, and Dr. Wilkes cram into the car and start the drive back. There isn’t much to talk about, everyone nervous and on edge in anticipation of what’s about to happen tomorrow. Getting back to the mansion proves that. Jarvis and Howard split off immediately, Dr. Wilkes wishing the both of you a good rest. You and Peggy loiter for a moment near the hallway where you’d head your separate ways. 

 

“That,” she says after a moment, “was the best thing I’ve ever seen happen to Jack Thompson.”

 

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” you laugh, “having him take the dinner orders.”

 

You both laugh for a moment until Peggy reaches out to take your hand. 

 

“I can’t thank you enough for how much you’ve done.”

 

“Don’t thank me yet,” you say, unable to look away from her hand on yours, “it’s not over yet.”

 

“No,” she agrees, “it’s not.”

 

There’s a moment of quiet. The hallway clock ticks. 

 

“We should—”

 

“I want to—”

 

You both giggle nervously when you try and speak at the same time. You motion for Peggy to go first. 

 

“I’d like to talk to you,” she says, swinging your hands lightly back and forth, “when I get back.”

 

“I think I’d like that.” You shift your weight from side to side. “I, uh, I want to talk to you too. And um, real quick, do you have a second?”

 

Peggy nods. 

 

“Can you wait here?”

 

You leave her there with the assurance you won’t be a minute, hurrying to your room to retrieve the necklace you got for her. When you dash back up, a little breathless, she catches you as you stumble. 

 

“I, uh, here.” You thrust it into her hand. She takes it, smiling when she sees what it is.

 

“And what does this one do?” She turns it back and forth. “EMP? Radio?”

 

You shake your head, blushing. “I, um, it’s pretty,” you manage lamely, “and it reminded me of you.”

 

Peggy stops looking at the necklace, her gaze trailing upwards until she finds your eyes. Collapsing the necklace into one palm, she takes your hand and deposits it gently into your grasp. 

 

Keeping her gaze fixed on yours, she raises her hand to her neck and undoes the clasp on the tracker necklace, slipping it into her pocket. 

 

“Put it on for me?”

 

Her voice is barely more than a whisper and you can’t speak at all. She turns around, using one hand to guide her hair out of the way. You swallow and step forward as she waits patiently, standing on your tiptoes to get it over her head. Careful not to catch any loose hair, you hook the clasp with shaking fingers. She turns back around, the pendant nestled just below the hollow of her throat, the gold and red gleaming in the lowered lights of the hallway. 

 

“How does it look?”

 

You couldn’t look away if you tried. 

 

“Perfect,” you whisper, “it looks perfect.”

 

“Of course it does,” she says, taking your hands, “you picked it out.”

 

You’re tired. You’re both so tired. But you can’t stop now. 

 

“Rest,” you murmur after a moment, “we have to rest.”

 

“You’re right,” Peggy murmurs back, pulling you closer until your foreheads bump, “but we can stay here a moment longer.”

Chapter 28: No Beta, We Die Like Self-Sacrifical Idiots

Summary:

You stay with Ana and you talk. You've got some things in common.

You see them off, feeling every bit the concerned family seeing their loved ones off to war. Peggy wanted to wear the tracker necklace again but you said you’d have no way to track it, as all your equipment has gone into making the rift generator. So when she turns away from you, the red stones catch the light and you follow them until you can’t see them anymore. 

 

The house is too big. Too empty. 

 

You pick up the phone and call for a taxi to take you to see Ana. 

 

“How is she,” you ask the doctor as he comes out of her room, “is she doing better?”

 

“She’s doing wonderfully,” he says, “she’ll be ready to go home by tomorrow barring any further complications.”

 

“Well, let’s hope there are none.” You thank him for all that he’s done and knock lightly on the door, waiting for the okay to come in before pushing it open. 

 

“Dr. L/N,” Ana says, sitting up in bed, “I am very cross with you.”

 

Her words freeze you by the door, your hand still on the knob. “Um, why?”

 

“Because this is the first time you’ve come to see me,” Ana says with a smile, “even though my husband says you waited with him while I was in surgery.”

 

“Please don’t scare me like that,” you sigh, coming to take a seat next to her. 

 

“Which one, getting shot or pretending to be angry at you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Ana laughs. It’s a wonderful sound. You smile at her, so pleased to see she’s alright. “I’m so sorry,” you murmur, “I’m so sorry that this happened.”

 

“You didn’t do it,” Ana says, taking your hand, “and I doubt there was much you could do to stop it.” She levels you with a look. “This should sound familiar.”

 

You duck your head a little. “You mean with…?”

 

“Zero matter, yes.” She gives your hand a squeeze. “You did not know, and now you do, and you have done all you can to help fix it.”

 

“How is it that you’re the one in the hospital bed and you’re the one reassuring me?”

 

“Because I know I have done nothing wrong and I do not regret the things that led to me being here.”

 

Yeah, okay, she’s got you there. 

 

“When my husband left,” Ana says, “he said they were planning something. Did it go well?”

 

You shrug. “They’re off to save the world now. I don’t know what’s happening.”

 

“Did you not go with them?”

 

“I’m just the theory person,” you say, shaking your head, “that’s not my place. I’ve done all I can to help, now it’s up to them.”

 

“I like that.” Ana gives you a smile. “You have done your part, and now it is out of your hands.”

 

“Doesn’t stop the worrying, does it?”

 

Ana’s smile turns sad. “No, it doesn’t.”

 

You glance around the room. Ana’s favorite teacup sits on the side table next to a teapot. There’s a wooden box next to it. Ana follows your gaze. 

 

“Preparations,” she says softly, “that my husband made in case he did not return.”

 

“He’ll come back,” you say. 

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

 

“I can keep this one,” you say. Jarvis lives. He has to live. “Trust me?”

 

Ana squeezes your hand again. “Alright.”

 

“He’s lucky,” you murmur, taking in her colored cheeks and strengthening grip, “to have you. We all are. You...you do things that we wouldn’t think of, you provide a sense of security and reassurance that’s really hard to find, you…”

 

You take a deep breath and smile at her. 

 

“You give us homes to come back too.”

 

“Oh, Y/N,” Ana says, smiling, “how are you so good at saying what people need to hear?”

 

“Someone has to be able to communicate, right?” That’s not one of the main things that pisses you off about this franchise no absolutely not what are you talking about Civil War who? Don’t know her. “Plus...it’s something you deserve to hear.”

 

“I have always said that the home front is equally important.” Ana’s head flops back onto the pillow. “That it is more important to be human first before a soldier.”

 

“I think it’s hard, right?” You glance out the window. “It’s their life…”

 

“But they have to stay alive to live it.”

 

“Exactly.” You look back at her. “Here’s to the noble, self-sacrificing idiots, hmm?”

 

Ana smiles. “And to the people who love them.”

 

“The people who love them,” you repeat, quietly, testing the words on your tongue. 

 

“People like Ms. Carter and Mr. Stark,” Ana says out of nowhere, startling you, “are quite dramatic.”

 

You snort. “That’s putting it mildly.”

 

“Not their penchant for flair, although they do have that,” Ana says, “but they are very large figures. They occupy a lot of space. A lot of attention. They draw people in that way.”

 

You nod. God knows they’re larger than life, even on screen. In-person, well, you could drown in them. 

 

“People like Dr. Wilkes and Chief Sousa,” Ana continues, “do not necessarily cast as long a shadow, but they are formidable in their own right. They stand beside Ms. Carter.”

 

You nod again, unsure of where this is going. 

 

“Then there are people like my husband, like Rose, like me.” Ana locks her gaze with yours. “Like you.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes, you.” Ana smiles. “We help support them as best we can, even if we do not get much outside credit for it. We are our own people, as they are, and we must do our work just as they do theirs.”

 

“I’m...I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.”

 

“When you see a policeman or a government worker on the radio or the news taking credit for something they have done,” Ana says, “have they done it alone?”

 

You shake your head. “They’re just the spokesperson.”

 

“They are part of a larger team. The rest of the team may not get the same spotlight, but they are there, and they are just as important.”

 

Ana sits up a little more, reaching for your other hand. You give it to her. She smiles. 

 

“You are a theory person, and you may not be a brilliant inventor the same way Dr. Wilkes and Mr. Stark are inventors, but that does not make your contributions any less valuable. As you said,” she continues, “you have done your part.”

 

“So have you,” you murmur, “please don’t underestimate your importance. You kept us all people.”

 

“We shall do it together then, hmm?”

 

You smile. “Together it is.”

 

Ana sighs, flopping back onto the pillows with an exasperated huff. “I am ready to never look at these four walls again.”

 

You giggle. “Cabin fever?”

 

“The worst case.”

 

“Well, the doctor said they’ll release you tomorrow.”

 

“I can’t wait.” Ana’s head turns to face you. “Will you do something for me when I am released?”

 

“Of course,” you say, “anything.”

 

Ana smiles. “Will you wear the dress again? The one you arrived in?”

 

“The one—” you blush— “the one we made the necklace with?”

 

“Yes. I would like to see you in it, although I have heard from Rose that you have another dress?”

 

“I have a few new ones,” you say, “I’m wearing one today, see?” It’s the pastel one with the larger skirt. 

 

“She said it was burgundy?”

 

Oh. Oh, that one. 

 

“That one’s really fancy,” you laugh nervously, “I don’t have any place to wear it.”

 

“You’ve seen Mr. Stark’s mansion, that’s plenty fancy.”

 

You still hesitate. It’s the same feeling you had when you first arrived, hesitant to enjoy the luxuries of Howard’s mansion because, well, they’re luxuries. You with your science and your notebooks and your lab clothes always feel just a smidge out of place. 

 

“We don’t have all the time in the world,” Ana says softly, “what is the use of things if we do not enjoy them?”

 

“Mr. Jarvis said the same thing when I first came here,” you say, “when I didn’t want to sit on the chairs.”

 

Ana frowns. “You didn’t want to what?”

 

You tell her the story of your night in one of the drawing rooms when Howard was out being Howard; Jarvis encouraging you to sit somewhere other than the one footstool that didn’t look like it cost a fortune, talking about how the adjustment to the different time period was...interesting. 

 

“Of course you are not imposing,” Ana says, shock coloring her features, “you have been the most wonderful house guest I could ever ask for!”

 

“At least I helped to make it up to you, hmm?”

 

Ana frowns. “Y/N, why do you think you have been a burden?”

 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant, I’m not trying to hop on some self-pity train—”

 

“But it is true, is it not?”

 

You bite your lip. “I know it was not my fault,” you say slowly, “and I know I have been helpful—valuable, even—during all of this, and it’s been easier, I feel like I have a place here, but…”

 

You sigh. “My work is over now. And…”

 

“And you still feel out of place,” Ana fills in. You nod. “You think you cannot be liked so you settle for being useful.”

 

“...well it sounds weird when you put it like that.”

 

“It sounds weird no matter how you put it,” Ana declares, “and it is still wrong. You are liked, Y/N, you are not imposing, and you are allowed to enjoy the things you like.”

 

“I—”

 

“Do you like being with us? Helping Ms. Carter, working with Mr. Stark?”

 

Well, that’s easy. “Yes, I like to do that.”

 

“Do you like spending time with me?”

 

“Of course I do.”

 

“Do you like the dress you chose?”

 

Ah, that’s where she’s going with this. “Yeah, it’s really pretty.”

 

Ana smiles. “Then you should enjoy it.”

 

“When you get released,” you promise, “I’ll wear them both for you.”

 

“Good.” Ana glances at the box. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got an excellent winning streak in Hangman going and I would like to try and beat my personal record.”

 

“What is it,” you smile as you fetch the notepad, “your personal best?”

 

“34 games in a row.”

 

“What’re you at now?”

 

“32.”

 

“Ah, well, let’s get to it.”

Chapter 29: The Worse Sense of Timing

Summary:

Why must bad things always come in threes?

You always did have the worst sense of timing. 

 

First, you’re on the—god, you’ve lost count, whatever— the insert-number-that’s-way-over-32-here game of hangman and you’ve picked a word that’s probably more than a little mean, but hey, Ana got ‘onomatopoeia’ so all bets are off, and the phone rings just as she’s about to guess the last letter. 

 

“Hello?”

 

“Dr. Y/N?”

 

“Mr. Jarvis?” Through the window, you see Ana sit up a little straighter. “How did it go, is everything—”

 

“It went marvelously,” Jarvis says and you can hear the relieved smile in his voice, “it went marvelously.”

 

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you sigh, giving Ana the thumbs-up through the window, “I’m so happy, is everyone alright?”

 

“Everyone is alive and well, Ms. Carter, Mr. Stark, Dr. Wilkes, and I are back at the house. We were worried to discover you are not here.”

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you!”

 

“Not at all,” Jarvis says graciously, “I am relieved to have found you. If I may ask, how is Ana?”

 

“When you said she was ready to go home, you weren’t kidding.”

 

Jarvis sighs. “That does not surprise me.”

 

“Good news is,” you say brightly, “she’s ready to be released tomorrow!”

 

“Oh, splendid! Shall I come get you now, then?”

 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to, I—”

 

“Nonsense, I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

 

“Mr. Jarvis—” 

 

The line goes dead. You sigh, replace the receiver, and go relay the news to Ana. 

 

“That’s a shame,” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “I was just about to win my 78th game.”

 

“I can’t believe you,” you sigh dramatically, “and your incredible grasp of the ridiculousness that is the English language.”

 

“It is not that hard.”

 

You stare at her. “Surely you’re aware, as a person who speaks another language, that English is three languages stacked on top of each other wearing a trench coat that mugs other languages in a dark alley and rifles through their pockets for spare grammar.”

 

“I said it was not that hard, not that it makes sense.”

 

You’re still laughing when Jarvis bursts through the door, looking every bit the conquering hero. He squints. “What are you two laughing at?”

 

“The fact that English makes no sense, darling.”

 

“Well that’s ridiculous, it makes just as much sense as anything else.”

 

“You work for Howard Stark, that’s not a very high bar,” you point out. 

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“I’ll give you a moment,” you say, squeezing Ana’s hand. 

 

“Don’t forget your promise!”

 

“I won’t!”

 

Jarvis looks at you curiously on the way back to the mansion. 

 

“I promised I would wear the dress that I arrived in,” you explain, “she wanted to see it on when we were—” You cut yourself off, blushing. 

 

“When you were…?”

 

“When we were making the tracker for Peggy.”

 

“Ah, I see.” You drive for a few minutes in silence. “Yes, I think she would like to see that.”

 

“Anything for Ana.”

 

“Oh, Ana, yes, certainly,” Jarvis says, looking at you out of the corner of his eye, “but Ms. Carter too.”

 

He chuckles when you blush again —honestly, it’s more than a little ridiculous at this point, you should really get a hold of yourself— “She told me she had a similar conversation with you about enjoying things.”

 

He levels a mock stern glance at you. “I thought we had discussed this before.”

 

“I know, I know,” you say, “I’ve been busy!”

 

“That you have, Dr. L/N,” Jarvis says kindly, “that you have. And I think it would be prudent,” he adds as you pull up to the house, “if you were to join everyone else in sleep.”

 

It’s a very good instruction for someone who has a sense of time. You, however…

 

Second, you remember to pull on the dress. You sigh as it falls around you—clothing from this time period does not have nearly enough elastic in it, and your fingers are still too tired to manage all the buttons of some of your other clothes. As you pull it on, you glance out the window to see Peggy and Ana talking outside the car. Wonderful, you can show both of them at once. You duck into the bathroom before going outside. 

 

When you emerge, however, the car has sped off and only Ana is still outside. She turns around to give a massive hug as you welcome her home, stepping back to take your hands and admire the dress. 

 

“Oh, Y/N, this is simply gorgeous on you!” She spins you around. “You must let me look at it when you are not wearing it, I must have one made for myself immediately.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll look fantastic in it,” you smile, “you look fantastic in everything.”

 

“Flatterer,” Ana teases, before her smile turns a little sad, “it is a shame Ms. Carter will not be around to see us both.”

 

Your smile dims. “Wait, what do you mean?”

 

Ana’s face drops. “Oh, no, did you not see her this morning?”

 

You shake your head. “No, why?”

 

“She is leaving.”

 

Your heart drops. “She’s what?”

 

Ana gestures to where the car has just left the driveway. “She’s going back to New York, to her office there. Oh, no, I thought you had seen her already!”

 

You stare after the car as Ana starts tugging you back inside. 

 

“She is on her way to SSR,” Ana says, “we will call Rose and insist that she wait to say goodbye to you.”

 

“Yeah, um,” you swallow, “let’s, um, let’s do that.”

 

Ana leaves you in the foyer to dash to the nearest phone, letting you hover, the dress already feeling too coarse against your skin. 

 

Peggy...Peggy was going to leave? Without saying goodbye?

 

Scratch that, she did leave without saying goodbye. Without having that conversation with you…

 

Maybe she’s…

 

“Dr. L/N?”

 

You spin around, seeing Dr. Wilkes standing there. You smile, brushing your uncertainty aside and reaching out for a handshake. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you in one piece!”

 

“Me too,” he says, resting a hand on your shoulder, “we couldn’t have done this without you.”

 

“You sell yourselves short, but you’re welcome.”

 

Dr. Wilkes smiles. “I’ve got news for you.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ve been offered a position at Mr. Stark’s new facilities,” he says. 

 

You clap your hands excitedly. “Congratulations!”

 

“Well, I need something to keep my busy, now that I don’t have zero matter or Agent Carter running my life.”

 

You latch on to the words with an urgency that sickens you. 

 

“What do you mean,” you say carefully, “that she’s no longer running my life? Did…”

 

He shakes his head, a small, sad smile on his face. “Not in this lifetime. Under different circumstances maybe. We’re still good friends, but nothing more.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” he says, smile turning happy again, “she’s got her eye on someone that will really make her happy.”

 

You hate how much your heart sinks at those words. 

 

“What about you,” he says, changing the subject, “what’ll you do now?”

 

You sigh, fingering the hem of your dress. “Zero matter is gone,” you say, “and my work for it is done. It’s too dangerous to try and open another rift.”

 

“But you still want to go home?”

 

You shrug. “It would be a project. And I did say fixing the zero matter problem was more important.”

 

“But that’s over now,” Dr. Wilkes says, stepping closer, “and now…”

 

You smile sadly and shrug again. “I don’t know.”

 

“Y/N!”

 

You turn back to Ana who’s beaming at you. “Rose was just about to call anyway,” she explains in a rush, “they want you to come in and talk to you about things! She’s on her way over.”

 

“Oh,” you say, flattered, “oh, okay.”

 

“You will catch Ms. Carter,” Ana says confidently, “and you will tell her how dare she try to leave without saying goodbye.”

 

“She didn’t say goodbye to you?” Even Dr. Wilkes seems taken aback by that. “You better tell her off.”

 

“You want me to tell off Peggy Carter? ” They both nod. “Do you want me to die?”

 

“You won’t die,” Dr. Wilkes laughs, “you’ll be just fine.”

 

You were not, in fact, going to be just fine. 

 

Why does everything bad come in threes?

 

Rose, of course, is all bright and cheery on the car ride over, telling you about how splendid it is that your work paid off and how much the lab boys really appreciated your contributions. 

 

“I got Aloysius to tell the others about how good you are at this, and I’m sure Peg will vouch for you—”

 

“Wait, what?” You scramble out of the car to follow Rose. “Vouch for me for what?”

 

Rose gives you a strange look. “For your job, of course.”

 

“My job?”

 

She smiles. “Given what happened with Vernon Masters and everything, we’re still not sure which our agents we can trust so we’re looking for more.”

 

“And you think I’m cut out for it?”

 

Rose links her arm through yours as you start walking up the stairs. “Of course I do, Y/N. You’re a genius and you know how to keep your cool under pressure. And we trust you. That makes you cut out for it.”

 

Your heart skips a beat. Maybe that fantasy you had of making spy gadgets and cool tech for Agent Carter isn’t as far fetched as you thought. Then you remember she’s supposed to be flying back to New York. 

 

If you get a job here, don’t get you wrong, you’d adore it, but it wouldn’t be with Peggy. 

 

Rose pauses at the top of one of the sets of stairs, looking you up and down. A sly smile crosses her face. “I think I recognize this fabric,” she says, touching the shoulder of your dress, “you used it to make the necklace for Peg, didn’t you?”

 

“It has the same quantum signature I do,” you mumble, “it was available.”

 

“It’s splendid,” Rose says, “and I think you’re right, it suits you both perfectly.”

 

You know she can see the happiness the thought gives you. 

 

“Plus,” she continues, looping her arm back through yours as you continue down the busy hallway, “Ana was adamant that you and Peggy were supposed to talk about something today.”

 

“We were,” you say, your confidence returning, “I’m eager to have it.”

 

Rose squeezes your arm. “I can’t wait to hear how it goes. Do you know what it’s about?”

 

“I think I have an idea,” you say, hiding a smile. 

 

Rose’s eyes widen. “Is it…”

 

“I hope so,” you blurt, “I, um, I really hope so.”

 

“Ooh, I’m so excited!” She gives your arm another squeeze and starts moving you a little faster, brushing past other agents. “I’ll make sure you have plenty of lavenders on the way home,” she adds with a wink. 

 

You giggle. “Yeah, I hope so.”

 

“She’s just finishing up the last of the paperwork with Chief,” Rose says, bringing you around the corner into a bustling office space, “his office is just over there, it shouldn’t...be...long…”

 

Paperwork, huh. 

 

An agent bumps into you and tells you to get out of the way, quickly shushed by Rose. You don’t care. You’re too busy staring through the open— open! —blinds through to Sousa’s office, where he and Peggy are...well, they’re not doing paperwork. 

 

You can barely see Sousa’s face, what with the way Peggy’s pushing him into his chair, kissing him with a passion that makes an entirely different blush rise to your face, not that you can tell the difference between it and the mortification and shame quickly turning every last ounce of excitement into tar. 

 

How could you forget?

 

You’re in the 1940s. 

 

Homesickness wells up under the tar pit; a rising pressure just waiting to explode. The tar is resolute, spreading determinedly over every inch of your body that it can, smothering you. 

 

Peggy’s not going back to New York. 

 

Somehow that’s worse. 

 

“Oh, honey,” Rose murmurs, her arm still firmly laced through yours, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“No,” you gasp out, forcing the tar to get the heck out of your way so you can speak, “no, it’s fine.”

 

Rose looks at you sympathetically. “It’s not fine, Y/N, look at you.”

 

“Look at her, ” you bite out, nodding back toward the couple that still hasn’t come up for air, “she’s happy. They’re happy. They saved the world. They’re allowed this.”

 

“So did you.”

 

You shake your head, tearing your gaze away and looking back at Rose. “Not the way they did.”

 

“Y/N—”

 

“Look,” you say, desperately trying to get all of your words out before you burst into tears, “I’m happy for her, okay?” At Rose’s disbelieving look, you smile even though you know you still look heartbroken. “She’s happy. Her happiness is all that matters to me. If he makes her happy, then so be it. I’m her friend, that’s enough.”

 

Rose seems to get that if she presses this, it’s not going to end well. It doesn’t stop her from gently squeezing your hand. 

 

“Um,” you say, subconsciously wiping your face, “is there someone else I should talk to about the job? Maybe Dr. Samberly?”

 

Rose frowns. “Do you still—”

 

“Well, I’m not going to get home on my own,” you say, “and I don’t think Howard’s going to let me do it without trying to make a profit on it.”

 

If possible, Rose’s face falls even more but she hides it well, turning you both to start toward the lab. Some stupid, lovestruck, hopeful thing makes you look back.

 

Just in time to see them break apart and smile at each other. A warm, lovely, safe smile that makes the two of them look like they’ve just come home. 

 

You wrench your gaze away, not letting the tears spill. 

 

You always did have the worst sense of timing. 

Chapter 30: I'm About as Straight as a Circle

Summary:

All we can do is our best, and sometimes the best we can do is start over.

As it turns out, you don’t quite make it to the lab. 

 

“Y/N? Y/N!”

 

You hear Peggy’s voice calling behind you and you tighten your grip on Rose’s arm. 

 

“Go in there,” Rose mutters, pushing you toward what looks like a conference room, “I’ll see what she wants.”

 

You do as she says, shutting the door behind you and trying to swallow everything before you have to face her. She’s happy, she has Sousa, she probably knows about the plan to ask you if you want a job here. 

 

She’s going to ask you if you want it, you’re going to smile and say yes, but only until you can go home. She’s going to ask why, and you’re going to explain that you’ve kept your promise of staying to fix the problem before trying to go home. 

 

She’s going to thank you because she’s good like that. You’re going to smile and say it was your pleasure and you were honored to help her. 

 

You’re going to tell her how much she means to you, both as the real woman and her character’s legacy. You’re going to tell her you’re happy for her and Sousa. 

 

You’re not going to tell her you’re queer. 

 

You hear Rose and Peggy outside, muffled by the door. You take a few steps away, leaning on the table. You’ve already managed to stave off the worst of the tears, sliding neatly back into your professional armor. You fix a polite smile on your face and you’re ready to turn around when the door opens. 

 

“Sorry about that,” you say as soon as she comes in, surprised at how steady your voice is, “I didn’t mean to pry. Rose called, said she wanted me to come in to talk. Feel free to take your time, I’m in no rush.”

 

“Y/N—wait, no that’s not—” she takes a step toward you— “oh, dear, please don’t cry.”

 

Shit. You raise a hand to your cheek only to find out, yep, you’re crying. You mumble an apology and turn away. 

 

“No, no,” she calls, catching your arm, “don’t hide, please, just let me explain?”

 

You have an inability to say no to this woman. 

 

“Thank you,” she says, “please, please, sit down.” You let her push you into one of the chairs, pulling another one around to sit in front of you, holding your hand. “Can I get you something?”

 

“If you have something to say to me,” you say, hating yourself for the way her face drops but you’re running out of patience here, “please just tell me.”

 

“Right.” She gets up, pacing around in front of you for a few seconds before looking back. “I’m sorry for running off this morning, I, er, wanted to come in before you to get everything set up. I wanted to surprise you.”

 

You huff a laugh. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised.”

 

“No! No, not with...that,” she says hurriedly, fiddling with her hands, “with, er, something else.”

 

“Rose told me about the job,” you say, “and I’m going to take it, at least until I work out how to get back home.”

 

“That’s not what I—” she pauses, looking at you, surprised— “what do you mean, ‘get back home?’”

 

You square your shoulders, readying the speech you’ve prepared. 

 

“I said that fixing the problems caused by zero matter was the most important thing to me,” you start, “and they were. Making sure everything was alright here was way more important than going home. 

 

“But they’re fixed now,” you continue, gaining confidence, “and I’m sure we won’t let Howard play with it anymore even though I’m sure he wants to.”

 

“He does,” Peggy says softly. 

 

“And with all of that out of the way, well—” you shrug— “I can go home. I just have to figure out how, and I can’t do that by myself. There’s a good group here, I’m sure they can help.”

 

“But Y/N—”

 

“Can you let me finish, please?”

 

Peggy’s mouth snaps shut and she nods. 

 

“Thank you.” You take a deep breath. This is the hard part. “When Howard told you about me, did he tell you I was from another universe where you lot are fictional?”

 

She nods. 

 

“I draw a lot of my strength from fictional characters,” you say, forcing yourself to hold eye contact with her, “and few more so than you.

 

“You, as a woman, as a person, have inspired me to push myself to heights I could never imagine reaching, to hold onto the parts of me that I wanted and craft myself into someone I can be proud of. And that’s just from watching you through a screen.

 

“Here?” You smile. “Here, I got to see it for myself. So thank you, Agent Peggy Carter, for everything. For being yourself and knowing your value.”

 

Ah, yes, lots of words that we realize how embarrassing they are the second they leave our mouths. 

 

“I’m honored,” you say quickly, getting you your feet and holding out your hand for her to shake, “to have had the pleasure of working with you during this, and I wish you all the best.”

 

She doesn’t take your hand, still staring at you, mouth slightly agape. Uh, maybe you need to reassure her a little more?

 

“I’m happy for you,” you add quietly, leaving your hand there, “you and Chief Sousa? I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful future together—”

 

“You’re going to leave?”

 

The question makes you frown, lowering your hand. “What?”

 

“You...you…” Peggy struggles to find the words. “You were going to...go back to the other universe?”

 

“It’s my home, Peggy.”

 

“But I thought—” she cuts off, glancing at the door, presumably to make sure no one else comes in— “...I thought you were happy to make your home here. ”

 

Oh, jeez. 

 

“I would be,” you admit, “but I...there’s things—I can’t—”

 

“What things?” Her head snaps back to you. “What things, I can help, I—”

 

“Peggy,” you say, interrupting the tirade, “I’m queer.”

 

Ah. Well. Plan out the window, I guess. 

 

Peggy freezes and looks at you with wide eyes. “You’re what?”

 

You swallow. “I’m not going to try anything, I’m not going to be creepy, I’m perfectly happy being just friends with you,” you say quickly, holding up your hands, “I’m happy for you and Sousa, but, yeah, I’m a lesbian—”

 

“Oh, thank god,” she murmurs, and before you have time to process why she just said that, there’s a mouth on yours. 

 

She tastes like Bergamot. 

 

Your mind stutters to a glorious pause, too surprised and wrapped up in the fact that Peggy Carter is kissing you to worry about anything else except kissing back. 

 

When she pulls away, just a little, just enough so she can murmur something into your mouth, you’re both breathing heavily, her arms on your shoulders the only thing keeping you standing. 

 

“But,” you pant, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Peggy Carter just kissed you, “I saw you kissing Sousa.”

 

Peggy laughs, her breath washing warm over your lips. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted the practice?”

 

“Did he know that?”

 

Peggy tips your head up, eyes locked on yours. “ This was what I wanted to surprise you with,” she whispers, “not the job. I asked Daniel for the last bit of encouragement I needed to ask you to stay, to properly stay, and he brought up the fact that I haven’t exactly had, er, practice recently.”

 

“So—you—”

 

“I proved him wrong,” Peggy says with a smile. 

 

You laugh. “If it’s any consolation, you’ve probably had far more practice than me.”

 

“Well, we’ll just have to practice together, then,” Peggy murmurs, tilting her head back down, “won’t we?”

 

Kissing Peggy Carter is no less novel of an experience the second time around. 

 

“I must say, my dear,” she says as you separate, “you certainly don’t seem to need much practice to me.”

 

“Although perhaps,” she muses, lifting a hand to run it over your burning cheek, “maybe it would get you to stop blushing so much.”

 

“Listen, it just happens, okay? I have no control over it.”

 

“It’s wonderful,” Peggy assures, “as are you.”

 

Well, that’s not helping in the slightest. You look away from her smug face and your eyes land on the necklace. Your necklace. 

 

“You kept it,” you manage, running your fingers over it. 

 

“Of course I did,” Peggy says, “it’s the first thing you ever gave me. Your offering of friendship. And I believe—” she runs her hands down your arms and onto your waist— “from the very fabric of this dress, no?”

 

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes it was.”

 

“We match.”

 

You look up, grinning. “We do!”

 

Peggy laughs with you, keeping a firm hold of your waist until the two of you stop, a smile staying fixed on her face as she pulls you closer. 

 

“I’m not very good with words,” she confesses against your cheek, letting her lips brush over your cheekbone, “but I will say this: you are one of the bravest people I have ever met. Shh,” she shushes quickly when you open your mouth to protest, “none of that, my dear. It’s true.

 

“You got ripped from your world, your home, ” she continues, her lips ghosting over your temple, “and you came here, determined to fix everything. Zero matter, Dr. Wilkes, Howard, me...you wanted to help everything and you did it. You made the entire universe sit up and take notice.”

 

She kisses you again, breathing the last words of: “if that’s not bravery, I don’t know what is,” into your mouth. 

 

“If that’s what you call ‘not good with words,’” you mutter as you break apart, “I have questions.”

 

She giggles. “You should meet Angie.”

 

“I’d love to.”

 

“She’s flying out here in a week, something about knowing Howard Stark will help her get some roles.”

 

“Good for her, I can’t wait.”

 

“She’s going to love you.”

 

You stand still for a moment, just breathing in each other’s space. 

 

“Stay,” Peggy says quietly, “please, Y/N, stay with me?”

 

“How can I say no to that?”

 

Peggy’s grin is triumphant and not a moment too soon. The door opens and you see Rose and Sousa grinning at you. 

 

“So it worked?”

 

“Yes, Daniel,” Peggy says, “it worked. And I’ve had plenty of practice, thank you.”

 

Rose giggles and Sousa just waves it off. “So, Dr. L/N, shall I take it that you’re sticking around? We’re understaffed here at the SSR, what with the fallout from the whole Arena Club scandal,” he says as they come inside and shut the door, “and we could use someone like you.”

 

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Peggy muses, still not letting go of you, not that you mind, “and I’m not sure the SSR will be able to survive this amount of fallout.”

 

“So what,” Sousa says, “you wanna give up?”

 

“No,” you say, frowning in concentration, “she’s saying you go for something else.”

 

“I ain’t cut out for the FBI or the CIA.”

 

“So then don’t go through the government,” you say, “make your own agency. Outside the government, financed by private investors. Protect the world from threats normal governments can’t.”

 

Peggy grins at you. “God, you’re amazing.”

 

“You’re talking about making an agency from scratch?” Sousa raises an eyebrow. “You do realize how insane that sounds, right?”

 

You raise one right back and step away from Peggy, holding out your hand for a handshake. 

 

“My name is Dr. Y/N L/N. I’m a time traveler from an alternate universe who just helped you defeat a monstrous black ooze from beyond space and time. Insanity is relative.”

 

Sousa laughs and shakes your hand. “Consider me on board.”

 

“We’re going to need more than that,” Rose muses as Peggy laughs, “we don’t have near enough people for that.”

 

“Stark’ll be on board, won’t he?”

 

Peggy nods. “Him and Dr. Wilkes, probably.”

 

“Chief Thompson,” Rose suggests, “he’s still suffering the fallout too, and I’m sure he’d be willing.”

 

“He would,” Peggy nods, “but we’d need more things than just mission personnel. We’d need things like medical coverage, we wouldn’t necessarily be able to rely on health insurance, or at least the bastard excuse for it over here.”

 

“Violet.” 

 

You look at Sousa who shrugs. “Probably?”

 

“She’s an excellent nurse,” Peggy adds. 

 

“She’s a good fit,” Rose says, “and we know she can keep a secret.”

 

“I’ll talk to her.”

 

“No,” Rose cuts in quickly, “I will.”

 

You all narrow your eyes at Rose who shrugs. “We both like lavender, okay?”

 

You give her a high five. 

 

“Well,” Peggy laughs, “we’ve certainly got our work cut out for us.”

 

“But we can take the night off,” Sousa says quickly, “can’t we? We just came off a big case, I”m not about to jump whole hog into something else straight away, let alone something like this.”

 

“That’s a great idea,” Rose says, looking at you pertinently, “doesn’t it, Y/N?”

 

Ah, yes. The other half of your promise. 

 

“Y/N?”

 

You smile at Peggy. 

 

“Let’s go home.”

Chapter 31: Exactly What it Says on the Tin

Summary:

If it's not okay, it's not the end.

“I told you I’d find something you like,” Howard crows in triumph. 

 

You roll your eyes fondly, amused by the pride he’s taking in this. You’re all seated in some private room at this-or-that fancy club, Howard between Jarvis and Ana, the former of which can’t stop making comments about the inability of the waitstaff to do things quickly, the latter smiling fondly at both you and her husband. Dr. Wilkes indulges him in whatever technobabble he’s going off on, exchanging exasperated looks with you over the table. 

 

Rose and Violet sit on their left, amused by the shenanigans of Howard and Jarvis, muttering quietly between themselves. They look happy. Sousa and Thompson sit next to them, both the most relaxed you’ve ever seen them. Granted, it’s been a stressful time recently, and you’re sure it’s a relief for everyone. Thompson still looks a little unsure at points, only to be quickly pulled back in by Sousa or Peggy. 

 

And Peggy, of course, sits next to you. 

 

“You look marvelous,” she murmurs in your ear during an outbreak of laughter at one of Howard’s stories, “that dress was made for you.”

 

Ana squealed, Howard whooped, and Rose applauded when you came down the stairs wearing the dress. Peggy’s jaw dropped completely until you told her how lovely she looked too. She was a knockout in a black suit with red pinstripes, a red hat perched on her head. Then she kissed you soundly in front of everyone. You got the message. 

 

“Hey, Y/N!”

 

You look up to see literally everyone staring at you. 

 

“What?”

 

Howard gestures around the table with his drink. “You gotta tell us your story.”

 

“Yeah,” Violet says—she’s a freaking angel, okay, she and you are gonna bake cookies at her house next week, you’re so excited— “you’re from somewhere where we’re all fictional, right?”

 

You nod. 

 

“Well, then you gotta tell us your story!” She gestures to you. “How’d you end up here?”

 

“Isn’t all science a story?” Peggy winks at you. “Come on, then. I never could resist a good story.”

 

You blush. “Time travel and hopping universes on the menu, are they?”

 

“I’m gonna need another drink for that,” Thompson says, getting up, “who wants what?”

 

The orders go out and he trots away, returning to pass them out. 

 

“Whiskey for the doc, margarita for the ladies, bourbon for me ‘nd Sousa…” He sets a teacup down in front of Peggy. “And tea for the English woman.”

 

“Thank you,” Peggy says, elegantly swirling the drink with the teaspoon until she catches you staring at it. “Did you want one?”

 

“No,” you laugh, “it’s just I realized this whole thing started because of a cup of tea.”

 

Peggy raises an eyebrow, then sets it aside, leaning her chin onto her hand. “Well, now I’m intrigued.”

 

You giggle as everyone else leans forward, eager for you to start the story. 

 

“So first off, I have really bad timing for someone who was trying to invent time travel…”

 

---

 

Holly sighs, opening the door and holding it for Eli. 

 

“Hurry the hell up,” she grumbles, “I wanna get to work.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, hold your pants,” Eli groans, stumbling as he wanders inside, “I gotta hangover.”

 

“You always have a hangover,” Lea says, “you’d think you’d be used to it.”

 

“Shaddup.” Eli swats at Lea halfheartedly before wincing as the rest of the lights turn on. “Y/N, get out here, we got things.”

 

Holly frowns when there’s no response. “Y/N?”

 

They find the lab empty. Lea frowns. “Did she go home last night?”

 

“Dorothy said she didn’t see ‘em,” Eli says, “oh hey.”

 

“What?”

 

He holds up an item from the desk. “It’s her recorder. Maybe she left us a message.”

 

They gather around as Eli presses ‘play.’

 

“Whoa, wait,” Holly murmurs as the recording starts playing, “is that—”

 

“Nah, it can’t be.”

 

“Shut up and listen, you idiots.” 

 

They listen to the whole thing, all of the logs, struck dumb, until they get to the last one. 

 

“To Eli, Holly, and Lea,” your voice says, “if you’re hearing this, that means I was right and Howard was wrong, and we got this recorder back to my lab in my original universe.”

 

“It’s not gonna work, Y/N?”

 

“Shut up, yes it is!”

 

“You tell ‘em, Y/N,” Holly mutters only to get shushed by Eli. 

 

“So, anyway, what I was gonna say is you’re close. You’re really close to inventing time travel. You’re just missing one step that’s gonna keep you from ripping a hole in the multiverse. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

 

Lea scrambles for a notepad. 

 

“Dude, it’s not going anywhere,” Eli mutters, “we can just play it back again.”

 

“Shh!”

 

“You just need to add a variable for the quantum signature,” your voice says, “to make sure you stay in the same spacetime fabric. I’m sure you can figure it out from there. 

 

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Holly says. 

 

“Shh! There’s more!”

 

As you may have guessed, I’m not coming back. Too dangerous. But I’m alright.” They can hear the smile in your voice. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Y/N? It’s time to go!”

 

“Coming, Peggy! I’m almost done!”

 

Lea’s eyes widen. “Peggy Carter? ”

 

“Sounds like it.”

 

“Dude, she got Peggy freaking Carter! Our girl did that!”

 

“Hell yeah, she did!”

 

“Guys, she’s still talking!”

 

“I’m sure you guys will be fine too,” you say, “you got this. Oh, one more thing!”

 

They all press in close.

 

“Always set your timer for a cup of tea.”

Notes:

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