War Torn || Civil War

Chapter Twelve: Director's Eyes Only

Music is "Silhouette" by Aquilo.

Picture is Peggy Carter.

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CHAPTER TWELVE: Director's Eyes Only

{February 8, 1991 -- Twenty-Five Years Ago}

R I O  D E  J A N E I R O

I hate it when Rose is right about something. I hate it even more when it involves me being wrong.

Maybe she has a point. The thought of what might happen during this mission has crossed my mind, but the idea that most often occupies my mind is what I will do after Dum Dum, Rose, Howard, and Peggy are gone. They're the last ties to a past I've severed connections with, one I can no longer return to. It's not this mission that bothers her, not as much as the idea of me going back down a dark path. A path she couldn't follow me down or bring me home from. She and Dum Dum are about the only people that keep me stable some days.

What will I do when I am truly, completely, utterly...alone?

I pour myself a glass of vodka from the cupboards of alcohol on the rooftop bar. I down it in seconds, desperate for something to knock off the edge before Peggy and the Starks arrive. I haven't seen either party in ages; it has to have been at least a couple years. Even when we take a break from travelling, and the Dugans go back home to Brooklyn, I remain outside the country. My past has caught up with me, and with rising technology, I can no longer assume another identity just to get into the country. I was almost caught once when going through JFK. I won't risk that again.

For now, Brooklyn is a battle I can't risk losing.

On the horizon, I spot a helicopter flying over the waters. It's taking the shortcut over the bay. When it gets closer, I see the words "Stark Industries" written in big, bold letters on the side. I put the bottle of vodka away and grin.

That's them.

Peggy lands the helicopter easily on the second landing pad on the roof, beside the Sikorsky. Maria grins and waves from the second row of seats, already spotting me at the rooftop bar. I return the gesture, my hair blowing past my shoulders from the wind the aircraft generates.

The blades slow to a halt, and Maria exits the cabin. She hurries over to me, wrapping me in a hug. "You've stayed away for too long, Emma Jane," she exclaims, tightening her arms in a motherly fashion. She pulls back, keeping her hands on my arms as she looks me over. "My god, you haven't changed a bit."

I laugh, the smile reaching my eyes. "Neither have you, Maria. The years have been good to you."

Maria scoffs and absent-mindedly touches the side of her face. "That's very kind but not entirely true."

Maria was a blonde bombshell when I first met her in the American Army, in 1943. Everyone knew that Private Lorraine was one of the most beautiful members of the regiment Colonel Phillips headed up. Everyone loved her, including and especially Howard. But she wasn't just pretty. She was wicked clever and incredibly intelligent. Still is. Her age has only enhanced her beauty, blonde hair lightening to a near-platinum. The smile and laugh lines on her face show that she's had a good life.

I think that this is what caused Howard to stop chasing other skirts and settle down with her. She didn't just engage him in the physical world but also engaged his mind. Even after Howard's hair turned completely white and his sleek, boyish charm had faded away into a masculine maturity, they loved each other the same. Possibly even more. They're a perfect match for each other.