Chapter 12

And now, a bittersweet reflection on how things have unfolded so far.

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Chapter 12

"And she has suffered no ill effects?" Peggy asked.

"Apparently," Steve said. "Banner gave her a clean bill of health."

He paused, unable to put into words that vague sense of unease he had whenever he looked into Natasha's eyes. He hadn't lived in this century long enough to get to know Black Widow or her discreet lover Hawkeye all that well. Even at the best of times, Agent Romanov was aloof. Untouchable. The only time she ever displayed any warmth was when she was under cover and friendliness was part of the role. But still…

"What bothers you, old friend?" Peggy asked. She'd taken his hand to draw him back from whatever dark path his mind had travelled down.

"I fear she will never be the same," Steve said, shrugging it off. "Whatever they did to her, it traumatized her. Banner thinks there may be some residual brain damage."

"Do you trust her to watch your back?" Peggy asked.

Steve paused, that vague feeling clamoring for attention even though he couldn't put his unease into words.

"Perhaps that's what's making me so uneasy?" Steve said. "Loki was able to use the tesseract cube to seize control of Hawkeye and Erik Selvig. Who's to say they haven't done something like that to Natasha? Only gotten more subtle about it so we would not know?"

Peggy raised her oxygen mask to her face, breathing in the nourishing air as she contemplated his concerns. Despite disappearing out of Howard Stark's life and taking time to rear a family, Peggy had never completely abandoned the spy business, remaining on Office of Strategic Services payroll long after it had become the CIA. Separate from the politics of the top-secret entity which eventually became S.H.I.E.L.D., and yet never completely away from the machinations of governments.

"Your instincts were always pretty good," Peggy said. "Even when you didn't have enough experience to put what you were feeling into words. What does your gut tell you?"

"Grounding her will alienate her," Steve said. "If nothing is wrong with her, I'll be squandering my most reliable agent. If, on the other hand, she's suffering from brain damage, she could get somebody killed."

"Are they certain it wasn't the tesseract cube?" Peggy asked.

"Thor took the cube back to Asgard when he extradited Loki," Steve said. "The All Father has assured him every gate key has been accounted for. And besides, Banner took instrument readings when they recaptured Hawkeye before the effects wore off. They could find no sign of that energy signature. Whatever made Natasha's brain flatline had nothing to do with the tesseract cube."

The mask rose to Peggy's face once more, her skin bluer than he'd ever seen it. She was leaving him, this woman he loved. She was leaving him and there was not a damned thing he could do about it. And now Natasha had been compromised. Or so he feared. For all the venom carried by the black widow, at least he'd always felt he could rely upon her to complete the mission.

"It is an old dance," Peggy said, her eyes turning to a past that didn't include him. "One we played many times in the OSS. Is someone a double agent? Or are they still on your side? Can you trust them? Or not? Will they sell you out to the Soviets the first chance they get? Or will they lay down their life to defend their country?"

She looked back at Steve, for a moment appearing as though she didn't recognize him. She reached out with a trembling hand, impaled by an IV they'd jabbed into her vein to force fluids, and placed it upon Steve's cheek.

"So beautiful, my perfect soldier," Peggy said, the British accent which had all but disappeared under decades of life as an American citizen growing thicker as she spoke. "And so cruel, to pull you out of your time just because we needed you more now than we did back then."

She had that look about her. That same look Lieutenant Hernandez had gotten in his eyes when he'd looked over Steve's shoulder and said there was a woman waiting to guide him someplace where only the bravest of the brave were welcome. She was leaving him, this woman he loved. And there wasn't a damned thing Steve could do about it. He sniffed, ramming down the lump which rose in his throat as he stared into Peggy's deep brown eyes, the only part of her that time hadn't ravaged. She was looking at right at him, but it was no longer him she saw.

She blinked, looking just for a moment confused, before the ever-present oxygen mask was lifted to her face and inhaled, helping to clear the fog that threatened to consume her mind. Her son had warned him that sometimes Peggy got forgetful, but Steve didn't think that was what was going on. Peggy's mind was as sharp as ever. Part of it had simply begun to make the journey the rest of her would soon make into the place Thor called Valhalla.

They were quiet, Peggy's hand still upon his cheek. Steve closed his eyes and pressed his hand over hers, the moment of silence stretching between them as he felt her icy hand gradually warm beneath the heat of his own. It would not be long, he knew. He suspected she only lingered for him. Soon, not even Peggy's will would be enough to keep her here. It was a miracle she had survived long enough to cross paths with him a second time. Ninety-four years old. Even in this day and age of miracle lifespans, Peggy had lived a very long life.

"She favors you," Peggy said at long last.

Steve opened his eyes. Peggy stared over his shoulder not at a Valkyrie or angel this time, but to a sketch taped upon her wall done by her granddaughter. Him, seated across from the woman he loved, heads pressed together in conversation. Bernice could have only caught the quickest glimpse of them in this pose the time she had peeked her head into the room and seen them here together. A talented young artist with an eye to recreate in breathtaking detail any scene she gazed upon but one time. A rare, and useful, talent. He had pulled some strings to make sure she would get a position which would make the most of her gift. But she was not Peggy.

"She is very young," Steve said at last, dismissing the insidious thought which had taken up residence in his mind the first time he had lay eyes upon the young woman and whispered to him at odd hours of the night. He didn't add, 'and she is not you.'

Peggy lifted the mask to her face once more, the wheeze audible in her lungs as she struggled to inhale the clarified air pumped in by the oxygen mask.

"She has been shielded from the ugly reality in which you and I both walk," Peggy said at last. "I was not entirely successful sheltering my children from my work. There were incidents … times we feared my cover was blown and the family was relocated for safety."

Steve listened, engrossed. Peggy had always been tight-lipped about what she had done for their government after he had been gone. Until a few weeks ago, she'd let him think she'd simply retired as Fury had led him to believe the first time he'd told him that Peggy was still alive. The hesitation Steve had noticed in Fury's voice, the things he had known Fury wasn't telling him. Knowledge Peggy would take with her to the grave.

The soft hiss of the oxygen was the only sound as she pulled air into her lungs and exhaled.

"Bill was such a good husband," Peggy said, her eyes taking on that far away appearance once more. "He always had a story to tell the kids about why their mother was suddenly unable to go to their school play. Bill claimed he didn't have the stomach for cloak and dagger, but he covered for my absences without complaint."

Another breath, longer this time. Each time Peggy breathed, it took longer to get enough oxygen to form her thoughts.

"The kids weren't stupid," Peggy said. "Nowadays it's common for women to work outside the home. But back then, women were expected to sit at home and bake. Bill was always a much better mother than I was."

"But your children adore you," Steve said. He had met three of Peggy's five children and three of her grandchildren over the course of visits with her. Including Bernice. All of them had her determined set of chin and brown eyes.

"They do," Peggy said, her lips curving up into that wolfish smile that even 67 years away from him couldn't steal away. "But they also heeded my warning when they became old enough to understand I did not wish any of my children to follow in my footsteps. They sheltered their children from the ugly realities you and I know."

"I understand," Steve said. Peggy wished for him to keep Bernice in the dark. It was the right thing to do.

"No you don't," Peggy said. "When Bernice was in high school, her aptitude tests showed she has a full eidetic memory. Not merely a photographic one. The ability to recreate in intricate detail not only things she sees, hears, and understands, but also accurately reproduce things she does not understand. Military recruiters got their hands on those scores and tried to convince her to enlist."

"You discouraged her?" Steve asked.

"Yes," Peggy said. "I didn't want to watch them…"

Tears welled in Peggy's eyes.

"I didn't want to see them steal her love of art they way they had done with … you," Peggy whispered. She lifted the mask to her face and coughed, trying to catch her breath.

"It wasn't stolen," Steve said. "I just … set it aside."

"You never drew another picture after they put you out in the field," Peggy said. "The day you rescued the 107th Infantry, you stopped drawing. Not even a monkey on a wire."

"I…" Steve said.

"You never drew another picture," Peggy said.

"I drew … one," Steve said.

Peggy. Standing in front of a map of Europe. Pins showing the exact location of the fortresses Red Skull had scattered throughout Europe. A map he had recreated from memory.

Eidetic memory.

The mask was drawn to her face once more, longer this time. He suspected she was lingering on purpose, to collect her thoughts before he could interrupt her and deny what they both knew to be true. After the Pentagon had realized he was capable of leading a unit into the belly of the beast and blow it all to hell, they had put his talents to good use all right. Only every single picture he had drawn after that day had been to draw from memory enemy assets on a map.

"She inherited the ability from my sweet Bill," Peggy said at last. She gave him a wry grin. "Bernice inherited her love of art … and her eidetic memory … from my husband."

"He was an artist?" Steve said. "I thought he was…"

"A milkman," Peggy said. "Yes. Of course he was. But just because you are one thing doesn't mean you can't also be another. Isn't that true, Captain America?"

"Yes," Steve said. He glanced to the faded, black and white photograph of the man Peggy had married. A tall, skinny man with a mop of blonde hair upon his head, carrying a carton full of glass milk bottles. A man she had married because Bill, of all the men who had sought her hand, had reminded her of him. And yet, it was obvious she had loved this man dearly and looked forward to rejoining him in whatever world lay beyond this one. Peggy had let go and moved on with her life. She wished for him to do the same.

"Don't let them steal that part of Bernice that I love," Peggy said. "Promise me."

"I'll call Pepper," Steve said. "I had no idea…"

"Don't," Peggy said. She brought the mask to her lips once more, only this time he could see beneath the clear plastic that she smiled. "It is where her natural inclinations lay. And with the knowledge we are not alone in the universe, there is no way to shield any of our children from the ugly reality in which we both walk. All I ask is that, when they discover what use her talents can be put, that you don't allow them to turn her into a weapon."

"I promise," Steve said. He took her cold, blue hand and placed it over his heart. "You know I would lay down my life to protect your children. All of them."

Peggy sighed, some tension leaving her body he hadn't realized until now was there. "It would grieve me greatly if I were to look down from heaven and see my sweet Bernice is as lost and lonely as you."

They sat in silence, the blue tint to Peggy's skin giving her an elfish appearance, like the movie Steve had watched one night about a military incursion into a world full of blue people who worshipped trees. Back when he had first met Peggy, she had been the one versed in the art of war and he the sensitive, artistic kid who didn't know when to back down from a fight. Now, it appeared their roles had reversed and it was she who wished for him to stop fighting long enough to look and see what grew in the forest.

"I admire him, the son," Peggy said at last. "Howard's son. For all his genius and love of a good fight, he knows when to say 'no' to the military. I think my Bernice will fit in there, don't you?"

No? Yes. If there was one thing Tony Stark liked rubbing everyone's face in, from the Pentagon to Congress to S.H.I.E.L.D. to the United Nations to NATO, it was that he had enough power and resources at his disposal to simply turn his back and tell the world to go to hell if he didn't like the way something was going down. It was a trait which infuriated him … and which he also admired. The way Tony Stark drew a line in the sand and refused to let anyone cross it.

"They'll take good care of her," Steve said. "Pepper gave me her word. They won't hand her anything she doesn't earn, but they'll shape her natural inclinations and encourage her to grow."

"That's all I ask," Peggy said.

Her eyelids drooped as her words began to jumble together. She was tired, this fragile shell which was all that remained of the woman he had once loved, and lost. She was tired and she needed to rest.

"Let me help you into bed," Steve said, picking her up as though she weighed nothing at all and settling her into the bed like the fragile old woman she really was. He tucked the covers up around her chin, pushed the button to summons the nurse, and helped her arrange the oxygen mask upon Peggy's face so she would not asphyxiate in her sleep. She was tired and she wished to rejoin her husband, but he was not ready to let her go just yet. He waited, reassuring herself that her breathing had become deep and even, her breath fogging the plastic of the mask, before he gathered his things to go.

"Sleep tight," Steve whispered, pressing his lips to the cool, paper-thin skin of her forehead. "I'll be back to see you again. I promise."

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