Phil Coulson was very excited.
He was bouncing on his heels, humming a faint song from before his youth about a spangled man with a plan. In his dossier, he'd clipped his mint condition cards together, ready and waiting.
Despite being a fully operational field operative and full time handler, he was escorting several scientists and biologists out to the uncovered wreckage in the middle of a snowy landscape he'd rather never see again. He liked summer, liked sand, not snow.
He peered at the shadows in the ice. One laid down, one vertical, reaching. He put a gloved hand to the wall of solid ice, watched as scientists cut through it with heat beams, warming to them slowly.
The reach of the smaller was significantly more emotional than he thought. Their love, of course, was detailed in all the comics, in all the movie adaptions, in every TV series of documentary it was universally agreed that Lieutenant Mox and Captain Rogers were a true and honest kind of love.
It was weird, he thought as they cut closer to her feet. That she took up with Howard Stark when the Captain went missing, if she loved him so much.
It was documented through SHIELD files, how hard Stark had looked for the fallen hero, but also heavily implied by the press and subsequent photos of Stark taking her out on the town, always dressed impeccably, her red lips and arched brow a signature look that swept across the nation and lingered in the day's age.
Phil couldn't believe it, when the ice cracked like an egg and he saw, first hand, her fingers thaw and curl into a half fist. When they touched her fingers she had a temperature just a little under what they themselves had.
It became significantly more urgent, then, to get them both out of the ice.
It was a dream. They were alive? But how? How did Lieutenant Mox end up with the same temperature as Captain America? How could it be true, or plausible?
Phil sent a quick text to Fury.
What happened to the machine used to create Captain America?
He only waited half a second.
Howard Stark took it back for safekeeping, but it was destroyed a number of years ago.
Phil didn't answer. Fury would know soon enough. He watched them thaw through Mox's position, watching her body loosen and flop uselessly against the ice. She was, to all appearances, dead, but her temperature was regulated - and she had a pulse.
They thawed through the rest of Captain America, and found him in a similar condition. Then they were rushed onto the plane, kept thawing and thawing, until monitors recorded the first steady beats of their hearts, the first breaths they exhaled.
Moxie had a thermal suit removed and found a heating device strapped to the wrist that had been held out to her Captain. She had goggles and a breathing apparatus on that had long since depleted of oxygen, with twin hand guns strapped under the parachute on her back.
"Ever seen this design?" Phil muttered, already on the line to ballistics in France, the best of the best, to whom he had a favor owned.
"Off the record?" he said with a heavy sigh. "They look original. The barrel is long and too wide, the handle fitted for a smaller hand. The pictures of the bullets you sent me look almost old, but different, and the weapon itself is entirely of it's own. I've never seen a thing like that in all my years."
Phil watched them warm up, watching the color come back into their faces. Back at SHIELD, he didn't ask so much as out rightly demand that they be kept together for the duration of their stay.
He watched them be maneuvered into clothes befitting of their own era, and he settled back to watch the monitors.
Steve's eyes opened slowly. There was white noise, a steady blur in his eyes. The sun. He remembered being cold, and wet, and dark, so it was quite the change. He sat, saw the foot of the other bed, and shot out of his own.
"Darcy." he breathed, and went to her bedside, pressing his palms to her cheeks.
Her lashes fluttered, nose scrunched.
"S'not time t' get up." she muttered.
"Darcy, baby." he whispered, and leaned half over her. "What happened? What are you doing here? Are you hurt?"
"Breath smells." she cracked open one bright eye. For a second, Steve could've sworn it was glowing, that the color had been incandescent. Then the other opened, and her lower lip popped from the top, and her hands went up to his face. "Steve?"
"Darcy." he said, quite evenly. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head.
"Never better, baby."
He hoisted her out of the covers, pulling her out of the bed completely, one arm bracing her bum, the other holding her head to his shoulder while he took his time to breathe her in, hold her tight. She wrapped arms and knees around him, rubbing her face against his shoulder, then reached up and kissed the hinge of his jaw
"Hi." she mouthed against his face.
He turned to press a kiss to her lips.
"Hi." he murmured, and kissed the tip of her nose. "Missed you."
"I think I missed you more." she snuggled under his chin. He felt her tears bleeding through his shirt. "Did we die?"
"If this is heaven, I can get used to it." he said, and looked around. "But I don't particularly think we are going to be confined in a hospital room for the rest of our existence, somehow."
"And I gotta headache that just won't quit." she sighed, wiped her cheeks on his shirt, and looked around without making any effort to remove her face from his person. He didn't mind. "Looks a bit too cozy to be the Interventions Office. Might be Logistics, but that doesn't make any sense, they don't do things like this..."
"Who?" he muttered, but there was a knock on the door and a brunette nurse walked in, smiling at the sight of them. Steve didn't let her go and she didn't make a pretense of politeness, just crossed her legs behind his back, hooking ankles together.
"Good morning," she said kindly. "Glad to see you two awake. We've been-"
Steve was listening to the radio now. Darcy was just eyeballing the nurse over his arm, studying the cut of her bra, and the length of her hair.
"Honey?" she mused, rubbing her cheek up to kiss his jaw again.
"I know." he said, and glared at the nurse. "Where are we?"
"I don't know what you're-"
"What year is it?" he narrowed his eyes.
"It was 1950 when I last checked." Darcy muttered, and she felt him tense.
"Now, Captain Rogers," the nurse said, and her hand reached slowly at the small of her back. "We don't want any trouble, we just thought it'd be easier if you-"
Darcy moved like liquid, sliding over Steve's arm and pouncing on the woman. She back flipped off of her, which made her head bounce off the door frame, while Steve decided it'd be a good idea to burst through the wall and put his arm back through it for her.
She was staring at the blood smeared on the wall from her assault. It had been a long time since she saw blood spilt.
"Darce." Steve said, and she took his hand so he could sling her over his shoulder.
"I can run, you know." she grumped, as he took off in a bolt.
"I know you can baby, but-"
"Steve, seriously-" she slid through his grip, and while he faltered to pick her up, twisted through his knees and took off. "Come on, keep up!"
He caught up to her in seconds, then put in a bit of effort and bashed through a wall, while she dove through it to skid on her socks to bump into his side. Oops.
People were every where, staring, and why wouldn't they? Darcy gave a prolonged stare at a woman's shoes before Steve had hold of her hand and they were running again, coming out into a busy street, swarmed by cars, purring, humming, backfiring - all the screens, all the colors, there was a guy in his underwear with a guitar slung around his shoulder.
They were back to back, and Darcy still felt small, but even more small when slick black cars pulled up out of no where, surrounding them. She saw the emblem - her emblem - and put her arm back around Steve's waist, holding onto him. His hand mirrored hers, stretching down to rest against her stomach.
"Shit." she muttered out the side of her mouth. She looked around as a man in a trench coat and eye patch approached them. "I don't know who the hell he is, but he looks like he's in charge."
"Captain." he said, and nodded. "Lieutenant."
She gave him a level stare, ignoring the pound of Steve's heart against her shoulder.
"I'm Director Nick Fury. You've been - decommissioned - for a long time." he fixed his eye on them. "Let's talk somewhere more private."
"Where's Howard Stark?" she bit back, lifting her chin. "I'm not goin' anywhere until Howard Stark shows his godawful mug and-"
"Howard Stark is dead." the director said, cutting her short. She froze, her hand clawing on Steve's shirt. "Has been for a number of years. Car accident." he said, and inclined his head to her.
"Margret Carter." she demanded, her voice sounding far away. "Where is she?"
"Retired." he lifted both hands to them. "Let's talk some where privately. You two have a lot of catching up to do."
"Evidently." she said sharply, and managed to unwind her arm from Steve only to take his satisfyingly hot hand. "Because the Peggy Carter I knew wouldn't retire from her job for no man."
"Not a man." he shrugged. "Her kids."
Darcy winced. She'd known that, right? Known Peggy had kids. She'd just been... busy.
Steve looked down at her, then up at the mono-eyed man, before leaning his head to her ear.
"We got it, baby." he murmured.
"I know." she replied, and gave him a quick kiss on the chin before returning her look to Fury. "Lead on, Director."
1) my wonderful cover art is by LaLashivers (FF) or Usedkarma on Tumblr, check her out!
2) The sequel is in the works, and it will be following the story line of Thor and the Avengers. The third installment will be based on CA:WS, but I haven't even started writing that one and I can't say for sure weather it will be totally cannon compliant. Probably not, considering how heavy Darcy's involvement will be.
3) I hope you enjoyed this! It's just a bit of fun, been sitting in my computer collecting cyber dust. It's mostly been a pleasure to get it up and running, and connecting with people like this.
Hope you have a great day ;)