SUMMARY: Peggy impulsively decided, on that frozen February day in 1945, that she wasn't going to lose Steve. Instead, she decided to come with him onto the Valkyrie. And while she had accepted that death was always the assumed endgame in that scenario, she hadn't planned on waking up in a modern-day hospital-70 years later. And as it turns out, it's a good thing she did because Thor's adopted older brother, has just turned up, and apparently, he has some mad plans for world domination. STEGGY. Takes place before/during/after The Avengers (2012). T because I love sexual themes, swearing, semi-graphic descriptions, and other slightly explicit content that kids 13 and younger should be aware of. :) :) :)


A/N: Hello everyone, :)

This story will be slow-going and probably, unfortunately, remain in un-updated stasis for long periods of time. But it is a story I've wanted to write for some time so I'm going to write it when life gives me a moment (even if that means for months/years, at a time :/). But, for now, enjoy this little prologue of boring nonsense.

LOTS OF LOVE,

Fel :)


Engineer Tim "Timey" Astron had been ready to call the mission a dud. They had been digging for thirteen hours, chasing after a ghost signal of some kind of rare, alkaline metal, and yet, there was no sign of anything. He glanced up from his work into the freezing, barren landscape around them, as he was greeted by an icy blast in the face. This was summer, apparently, in the North Pole. Global warming his ass—nothing was warm up here. He sighed and adjusted the strap on the back of his goggles. If something even slipped out of place, frostbite could set in, in a matter less than five minutes.

He hated these 'exploratory digs,' as they were called. He wasn't an anthropologist, archeologist, paleontologist, or any 'ologist,' for that matter, he had just been asked to build this intensely, supercharged drill. No one asked him to actually go one the dig. Until SHIELD showed up. And then he didn't have the option.

Fuck. He just wanted to go home to his wife. Too bad she was 30,000 miles away in a much warmer place, probably watching a rerun of Dr. Phil.

He slapped his transmitter against his leg to stop it from beeping. It had been beeping furiously like that for the past thirteen hours—did he already say that? Good. It needed to be said again. They were literally digging a hole that was thirteen hours deep. The real kicker was, that if they had been hand-digging this hole, which they had for part of the day while the drill was refueling, it would take them 20 years to cover as much ground as they had. Twenty years. All in the pursuit of some "rare" metal that could be used to probably fix 1950s-era toilet handles.

He was tired. He wanted to go home. Timey had been tired before he even came to the dig site three weeks ago, because the thirteen-hour (and counting) hole, could only be dug by a massive, industrial drill that he had hand-designed, built, and arranged to be lugged out here to fucking 'freeze your ass off' Antarctica. But when SHIELD shows up on your front door and demands that you build a giant drill, you build a giant drill. Especially, for the amount they were offering him. But he'd go back on that, now. This fucking sucked.

"I'll be back in a minute." He told the SHIELD agent observing the dig. He'd try and send a message to Kiara, his wife, while there was still some signal to use in the fading light of the day.

He handed off the drill's controls to Washington, his firm partner and longtime friend, before pulling himself out of the hole's bordering circumference and stalked to the makeshift base camp they had set up for the night. Overhead, even with the screaming winds and bitterly frigid night air, there were large, puffy clouds overhead, packed with shimmering lights of color. Fluctuations of gas, dust, and light. People traveled all over the world, freezing their asses off to see sights like these—greasy rainbows bursting through the night sky of the artic—when, really, they were all just a bunch of gaseous clouds, clogging up the ozone. Figures that would be the thing humans care about, not the actual content of the colorful, technicolored patterns of the sky, just how they looked on your desktop screensaver.

His transmitter, despite being a good 100 feet away from the dig site, was still vibrating and rattling against his leg with some kind of vehement energy. "Christ." He hissed as he stepped outside the tent in nothing but his under-armor, feeling the instant chill sink into his skin. He pulled out his transmitter and switched it from the iron tracing mode to the infrared mechanism. "What the hell are you pickin' up on?" And that's when he saw it. He probably would have missed it, had it not been for the microscopic reading located nearly half a mile beneath his feet. Holy shit. Something was alive.

Suddenly, Timey didn't care about the arctic air slapping him across the face or the frostbite scare he would have to deal with later, because as far as he knew, something was breathing, something was real beneath all that ice. He was sprinting madly back to the dig site, shouting commands to Washington—"PULL UP TO THE LEFT, WASH, TO THE LEFT." The five other heads of his team (a group of scientists and engineers) looked up to see him madly running towards them, practically naked in the freezing air.

"Timey, you're never gonna believe this—" Washington began to utter in sheer shock as his eyes widened through his protective goggles.

"Let me guess, you've got something?" He was smiling wildly, his hair billowing like some kind of wispy tree on top of his head, while the wind was practically burning the skin off of his face. He looked insane.

"It's something, alright."

A few hours later, Timey and his team hit into the said 'something.' They all stood there, looking down at the shimmering, miraculous sight in front of them. It was a plane. Or something that looked like a plane? It was huge, whatever it was, and Timey just couldn't believe he had just picked up on the sheer 'largeness' of the object. Better yet, he couldn't believe something was alive inside. All thoughts of his misery forgotten, his heartrate madly accelerating, and he could feel sweat beading along his back with nervous, excited energy. They had discovered something big. He could feel it.

"That thing's gotta be old." Another engineer chimed in as they all peered down at the plane.

"I can't tell without closer inspection, but the oxidation looks surprisingly minimal. It might not be as old as we think." The team's head chemist noted.

"Well, let's get down there, then." Agent Andrews intervened, he was already strapping into some bungee cords to be lowered down into the crater. "Astron, you're in charge here, I think you should come with me."


It took an hour to get the two of them lowered onto the surface of the aircraft. It took them another hour just to get the hand-drill into the icy exterior. There was a gentle zuh-zuh-zuh as the ice was cut, block-by-block, inch-by-inch. Andrews was getting exasperated, Timey could tell. But with these kinds of things, he knew you had to be patient. You didn't want to rush it, or you could risk crossing the line. The unknown was the unknown for a reason—you didn't run into the pitch black, you took baby steps, with your hands held out in front of you. So, he continued, inch-by-inch, zig-zagging the drill over the thick ice coating the aircraft, until finally, he could start to see cursive lettering bordering the outside—The Valkyrie.

So, he had been right. It was a kind of bomber plane. He brushed off some ice off of the nose it. They just had to find the right place to enter it. To the one side, he could see the break of a colossal wing freeing itself from the hold of the glacial freeze. Timey was sure the other side mimicked the other, just the same. He blew air threw his teeth, into the protective layers that were swaddled around his face. How do we get in there?

He looked up and saw, to his surprise, the resurfacing of a turn-wheel, like those usually attached to watertight doors on ships. He smiled through his thick layers. He gestured to Andrews, who was sending some sort of message back to the SHIELD base back in mid-Greenland.

The two of tugged on their ropes hooked to their waits to be hoisted up onto the northern ledge of the plane. Timey pulled the hand-drill out once more and began to neatly cut the ice around the door, until the door could be open without assured hindrance from the deep freeze. He placed his thick mittens around the door's handle and gestured to Andrews. "On my count—

"One,

"Two,

"Three." And the two of them tugged with all their strength, grunting in laborious grunts as the door turning forward to open with screaming howl of protest. The light from the crew's work lights above showered in to show the dusty, dark-blue world below of the plane's interior.

And for the tenth time that day, Timey could only ask—how could anything have survived in here?

As the two of them lowered themselves into the plane, Timey felt a trill of crazy anxiety run through him. While he had been waiting for this moment for nearly a month, now, he still felt like there was some part of him that didn't deserve to be here. Not in the sense that he didn't feel 'skilled' enough, or that he felt inadequate, but that he felt, as he looked around at the empty, frozen misshapen lumps and molds of cargo and furniture, that this discovery wasn't something they were meant to 'discover.' It was quiet within the frozen walls of the plane. Sleepy, even. The wind was drowned out by the thick folds of snow and ice that had cradled the plane here for a long time. It felt wrong to be disturbing it. And in the same way, he supposed that's how he knew that there was something here. If it didn't want to be disturbed, then it was definitely with them.

And considering what would happen years following that fateful day of discovery and promise, Timey would look back and ask himself—if it would have been better if had he left that plane (and her inhabitants)—in the ice? He turned to the right, and there, nestled between the pilot's chair and a large box of ammunition, was the undeniable mold, shape, and gleam of shield. A shield with the undeniable star glimmering in the circular cords of blue and red.

"Sir, you're going to want to take a look at this." The engineer called over to Andrews.

Andrews walked over and Timey heard his breath hitch in his throat. He swallowed and blinked, Timey could see the tiny motion through his safety goggles. He pulled his com up from his thick, winter jacket and called to the other SHIELD agent stationed above with the team, "You're gonna wanna call this into the General, Castien," followed by, "No, I don't care what time it is in Washington—this one's been waiting long enough."

Because beneath the shield, wrapped within the frozen arms of the legend, himself, was a young, curly-haired woman. And as Timey stepped closer, his transmitter, lit up like a brilliant, yet dangerously dry Christmas tree. A warning, right in front of him. All of it pointing to the fact that the both of them were unmistakably, irrefutably alive.