Fourth in the Timeline series |
Clara Lewis never expected to be back in the 1940s and Howard Stark never expected to have to help her get back...again. But with Howard branded a traitor Clara knows of only one person who can help her: Peggy Carter...
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Jarvis had graciously allowed Clara to stay at Howard's place in New York so at least Clara's accomodation was sorted while she was trapped in the past.
It had been less than a day since Peggy had explained everything before Clara received a phone call. She was just about to go to bed, unaware what time it was but to her it was too late to be calling anyone. Staggering sleepily across Howard's apartment to where the phone was ringing, she groggily picked up.
"Hello?" Clara called out as cheerfully as she could that late at night. She'd had a surprisingly long day and was in dire need of a rest.
"Clara, it's Peggy."
"Why hello Peggy. Are you aware what time it is?" Clara chided.
"Yes. Fancy going dancing?"
"Tomorrow? Yes. Now? Absolutely not." Clara snapped, absentmindedly fiddling with a locket she didn't even know she had stashed away in one of her pockets.
"Oh come on, Clara. Going dancing isn't going to stop you from getting home any quicker. Because you'd just be sleeping now anyway."
"I don't know, Peggy." Clara yawned, opening and shutting the clasp on her necklace.
"Taking a break won't slow the investigation down. We'll come back to it when our minds are fresh." She argued and when that didn't work she said: "Do it for me? I haven't been out dancing since Steve..." She trailed off, her voice hitching as she sniffled.
"Okay, fine. Where?"
"A club called La Martinique. See you in ten." She said, completely fine and hung up.
Clara sighed as she hung up, yawning widely. In her tired state, she didn't realise she had accidentally unfastened her necklace and the locket tumbled to the floor. It clattered delicately as it hit the tiled floor, the locket opened upon impact.
Clara sighed and groggily bent down to retrieve it. As her hands brushed against the cold metal of the locket, her hand brushed against something that was too warm to be metal. Her fingers had brushed against the delicate, browning paper of an old fashioned photograph.
Clara's eyes pricked with tears as she realised what it was.
How old was that locket now? It must have been at least seventy years old to have had a photograph of Bucky still in his soldier's uniform smiling back at her.
She wiped the tears away before they fell as she frantically panicked about where he was in the present day. Her heart broke to know where he was now, in 1946.
*
La Martinique was a rather high profile club and was very, very busy. Clara squeezed her way through the crowd, trying to make out Peggy in the mass of people jiving on the dance floor.
The first thing on Clara's mind, after the day she had had, was to get a drink. She pushed her way through a sea of people until she found herself at the bar. The bar tender taking her order couldn't keep his eyes off her. Every time Clara lifted her head, he was staring. It was relentless.
"Can I help you?" Clara said once it had gone on long enough. He fidgeted and smiled.
"Um, yeah. This is going to sound crazy but," He chuckled nervously, "Is your name, Clara?"
"Yes." She replied, cautiously.
"I have a note for you." He said at last, pulling out a neatly folded scrap of paper.
The feminine, cursive writing Clara was met with gave away her secret admirer.
'Sorry I couldn't be here, couldn't get away from the desk. The SSR suspect I'm up to something. I need a favour from you. One of Howard's experiments is here. The club's owner, Spider Raymond, has a vial of Nitramene. It's a golden liquid. I'll meet you later to retrieve it.
Peg.'
In a club as high profile as this one, it was unlikely the owner would be sat at the bar or mingling with his customers. So Clara had to get past the sectioned off upstairs.
Just off the dance floor, opposite the bar, was a velvet carpeted staircase, fully equipped with a bouncer in a tuxedo guarding it from the wrong kind of person. Somehow Clara figured that a pretty girl was just the kind of person who would be allowed to go up no questions asked.
Clara wandered over to the man at the staircase and batted her eyelids. She was beginning to like the low cut top and short skirt of the dress she had found balled up at the back of Howard's wardrobe. She didn't want to know what kind of woman wore it before her...
"I'm looking for Spider Raymond." She said in her sweetest voice, "I got something to... offer him." She said, reaching down to tug at the hem of her dress. It just so happened that she accidentally lifted her skirt a little right as the man's eyes drifted down. Happy accident. He let her past.
"First door on the right, doll."
Spider Raymond was certainly no class act. He may have looked it in his pristine, white tux but he was just like every other man Clara had had the unpleasantness of meeting at this place: a misogynistic pig.
It didn't take Clara long to seduce him. And it didn't take him long to make a move. As soon as he so much as laid a hand on her, Clara was ready to take him out with a swift blow to the head. His body slumped forward and landed on the floor with a thump that sent dust floating up into the air like snow.
Then Clara began her snooping.
Spider Raymond's office was full of antiques and collections of some sort. Not to mention deeds to dodgy business dealings but that was a matter for another day.
Clara had searched all his desk draws and bookcases, all that was left were the side cabinets. She knelt down and opened cupboard after cupboard then finally she opened one and was met by a rush of hot air and a golden glow.
"Oh God..." Clara mumbled. There it was, encased in a protective layer of wire but whatever was inside was pulsating and letting off white hot steam. "That can't be good."
