4265/Not-So-Friendly Reminiscing

Not-So-Friendly Reminiscing
Date of Scene:	01 December 2020
Location:	New York City, 1948
Synopsis:	Stranded in 1948, Agent May makes contact with a much younger Agent Carter to attempt to convince Peggy to help her get back home. It doesn't go well. But it does pique at least one other person's interest.
Cast of Characters:	Melinda May, Peggy Carter, Bobbi Morse
Tinyplot:	Times That Bind

---

Melinda May has posed:
1948. Winter is setting in, in earnest, in New York City. One of those cold, sleet filled, early days of the season where the city is still dirty grey and brown rather than white and silver.

Melinda May spent a very cold night making her way from the Roxxon Chemical plant to Chinatown. Because she doesn't stand out in Chinatown. And she knows a lot about the history of Chinatown.

Which means she knew where to go to lift a clean set of far less conspicuous clothing -- including suitable outerwear. Good thing, too, given the storm that blew in with the dawn. She also found herself a current newspaper with a date on it and a decent amount of cash to ease her way. How? Where?

Well, when she was in her twenties, the grandmother of her friend, Wendy Quon, told her stories of an old opium den that was cleaned out single-handedly by a ninja assassin because the den master was trying to go behind the Triad's back. It was supposed to be a lesson on why you don't mess with the Triad. It turned out to be one of the most valuable pieces of trivia she's ever collected to date.

Turns out it wasn't a ninja assassin, after all. It was a pissed off SHIELD agent sttranded back in time.

Who knew?

Thus, the day finds her sitting in the L & L Automat, across from the old Bell Telco building that she knows conceals the SSR. She has a newspaper and a couple of magazines on the table with her, along with a full cup of tea and the remains of a meal. Not to mention a pad of paper and a pencil.

She's wartching out the window, more like a tourist just watching the sights than anyone doing surveillance work. Except, of course, she *is* doing surveillance work. She's looking specifically for the one familiar face she knows in this town... even if she's not sure if it's going to be a friendly one.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Being high up enough in the SSR's roster now that she has her own office these days (a thing Peggy Carter thought she'd never actually see happen), means that she's working even longer hours. Proving to every man in that office she's earned her title and the respect that comes with it. So, she took the elevator past the phone girls up at about 7 am and it's not until well after six that she's come out of the building, ravenously hungry and with no one to go home to. That means, it's time for the Automat.

Margaret Carter, second in command of the New York City SSR branch, doesn't look like a woman you'd expect to be in the military. She's still all seemingly soft lines, hourglass curves beneath a gray and green wool suit with a wider swing skirt of the style that is only now coming into being popular. She's got a matching green hat resting across her soft curls, slightly tilted to the side, and green, heavy cotton gloves with little pearl buttons on them. It's smiliar to her modern style, but everything is better made, properly tailored, and the additional little accessories just speak of an earlier time. She also looks younger. Only a few years physically younger, but there is a freshness to her eyes May has never seen. Even this late at night. High heels carry her into the room and up to the counter, a little, exhausted sigh given in turn. She looks for Angie, the familiar face not there tonight, but chirps out to the girl behind the counter. "Coffee. And tonight's special, as long as it's not meatloaf."

Then she pauses. It's like she can feel eyes on her back. She slowly turns around, dark gaze stretching over the room. Suspicion in them as a new tension enters her shoulders. She slides one glove off, just in case she needs to go for her gun.

Melinda May has posed:
May's eyes can't help but follow Peggy as she enters and breezes past her to the counter. There's a vibrancy to the woman, she notes, that's missing in the future. Less a physical thing and more a recognition that the woman she watches now is younger, missing the years of experience her friend has. The years of stress and burden.

For just a moment, May wants to hesitate. But she realizes that nothing she is about to do is going to take Peggy's future burdens from her. Or, at least, she *hopes* not. Time travel is a messy business. And not something she really knows all that much about from a practical point of view.

She considers how best to handle her approach. She can already see the stiffness coming into Peggy's shoulders and spine. She watches that glove get peeled off. And she lets out a silent sigh, looking down at her newspaper. After a moment more, she takes her pencil and writes a couple of sentences on her pad of paper. Then, she neatly tears the page off and folds it into four.

As a waitress passes by to pick up her plates and offer her a refill on the hot water for her tea, she smiles pleasantly to her and asks her to deliver the note to the woman with the green hat.

It reads simply: 'Agent Carter: I need your help. Please.'

Peggy Carter has posed:
It's rare that Peggy gets a direct answer to what is pinging off her paranoia. Well, unless they are trying to kill her. Then the answers come very fast. But the waitress that slips past her and offers that little, folded note and a nod towards the Chinese woman in the side booth, is a nice little surprise. Well, also a new sort of a mystery. Peggy unfolds the note, reading it briefly and completely not moving for a few heartbeats. Nothing but her eyes. Dark gaze goes from the note, up to the unfamiliar woman, and back to the note. It's a series of rapid fire mental calculations about how likely it is this is a trap and, if so, how likely she'd be able to take the woman.

Eventually, those calculations finally land on satisfying her curiosity, despite danger. She's fought of greater numbers of more muscled individuals. She looks back to the woman at the counter and murmurs quietly, "I didn't realize my friend was here. I'll be taking dinner over there tonight. Thank you." A warm, respectful smile is given to the counter help and she slides 50 cents over as a tip, since she's not sitting at her counter any more, before scooping up her coffee and heading over to the mystery.

Her walk is slow, taking time to size May up as she approaches. It's rare that she's met with someone of her ethnicity, much less a *woman*. In the United States, of all places. She slides into the booth without words, before she starts in fairly clear, if not fluent Mandarin. //Who sent you?//

Melinda May has posed:
Melinda meets Peggy's eyes as she evaluates her from across the room. It's a direct look that is uncharacteristic of woman of her ethnicity in this era. But it's open and frank. She lays her paper aside and places her hands clearly on the table, showing them to be empty. Hopefully conveying less threat that way. Or at least intent not to be a threat.

As Peggy comes over and sits, May gives her a pleasant smile, one meant to sell the friendly smoke screen Peggy gave the waitress. But the woman's Mandarin makes her brows crease just a little. Well. Peggy had to be in the learning stage sometime, didn't she?

"No one," she replies in English, her accent clearly American. She tilts her head back and forth from side to side for a moment, as if debating. "Or, rather. You did. Sort of. It's a long story."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The levelled, open look across the way immediately makes Peggy suspect the woman is not some regular damsal in distress, especially not of her origin. Peg arches a slightly brow, but she doesn't look away from that direct gaze. She just tilts her head in a silent acknowledgment of those empty hands. Perhaps a bit of an indication that the woman should keep them there.

She settles down with her coffee, her left hand remaining around the mug while her right hand remains free, just in case she needs to go for a weapon. Her smile is neutral and friendly, a very good show for anyone else who might be watching, but it doesn't reach her eyes for the woman across from her. The American accent gets another slight glance of surprise.

A spy. She's *definitely* a spy. Those words, however, gain a slight smirk from Peggy's matte red lips. They are the exact color Peggy wears nowadays, hilariously. Some things never change. Besame's 1946 formula. "I can promise you, I'd remember any spy working under my perview. Especially one like you. Try again."

Melinda May has posed:
"Mm-hmm," May agrees. "That would be because I don't work under you." She lets out a slow breath, trying to work through the speech she prepared earlier. Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. But she doesn't have any others. "Right," she says after a moment, clearing her throat. The expression on her face is one anyone on her team in the future would recognize as her Jesus-Christ-this-is-a-really-bad-idea grimace. To Peggy, it may just look like she swallowed a bug.

Slowly, she moves her right hand to where a small clutch sits on the table, closer to the window than the middle. "I'm going to open this," she says, putting a smile back in place as she gently pulls it over and places it between them. "It doesn't have a weapon in it. I'm unarmed." Which is true. She has her SHIELD gear stashed in the Chinese boarding house room she rented with some of the cash she stole from the Triad first thing this morning. All except her badge, which is in the clutch. "If you'd like to look in it yourself, you're welcome to. Otherwise, I am going to pull what is inside of it out. You won't believe it when you see it. I know this. But I can't think of any other way to get you to listen to the very long, very bizarre story I need to tell you."

In fact, the clutch has four things in it: Her badge, a small wallet with a reasonable amount of cash in it (well, it's probably a little more than the average woman would be carrying because... heh... not like she really knows the economic scale), and a lipstick and eyeliner stick simply because she thinks it would be logical for a woman in this era to have it.

Her room key is hidden on her person. In case she loses the clutch.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"I'll open it. Keep your hands where I can see them." Peggy states flatly, her voice a few levels quieter than before. She doesn't want to worry any of Angie's colleagues that she's about to start a fight in the automat again. It's been two years since the last one and she's still not really lived it down. She takes the clutch slowly and with perfect red fingernails, pops it open.

The search is efficient, the amount of money drawing a bit of a surprised look. The make up is ignored for a moment but then she pulls out the lipstick and opens it, giving a good sniff to the top. She's making certain she doesn't recognize the drugged formula that she normally uses for her 'special', working lipstick. Then the badge is drawn out.

She handles it slower, her nails clicking against the strangely thin cellophane. Smaller and tougher than the place she's accustomed to seeing. She stares at the woman's face, a photo imprinted onto the plastic and in full color. That gets more of a frown. Then the SHIELD logo is studied. The acronym that not even half a dozen people in the world know. She lets out a little huff of a breath, handing it all back. "You're Howard's, aren't you?"

Melinda May has posed:
May leaves her hands still on the table while Peggy completes her search of the clutch. The lipstick is a common brand and colour. No special formula. Aside from that badge and the unusual amount of cash, there's nothing in there to rouse suspicion. At the question, she tilts her head side to side again in a manner that could be interpreted as an affirmative or not and smiles, but doesn't verbally confirm or deny anything.

Instead, she gestures to the badge lightly. "My name is Agent Melinda May. Yesterday, I was sent to investigate an anomaly at the site of Roxxon Chemical plant. I believe you were looking into it, too."

She leaves the clutch where it is, so Peggy can put the badge away if she chooses. Though Melinda doesn't really want it flashed around for very long. But she doesn't want to push her 'partner', either... even though she's sure her next words will.

"The difference is, I was looking into it in the year 2020. My partner and I were ambushed by a small squadron of men dressed all in black with goggles. I think you may have met one of them." She meets Peggy's eyes in a way that liars simply don't do. Which means she's either very, very good, or actually being honest. "I'm perfectly aware of how crazy this sounds. But in the middle of the fight he fell into the anomaly and dragged me in after. I need your help to return home, Agent Carter. I don't know anyone one else I can ask."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The badge is given one more look, but she does give Melinda back her entire clutch. Peggy's still paranoid, but now fairly certain her future agency partner is playing some wild prank on her, not another government sending a strange spy after her. She finally pulls off her other glove and slips both into the pocket of her jacket, the motion long enough that she's slightly let her readiness guard down. It's probably a good sign.

Then the 2020 information is dropped. Peggy blinks, staring hard at the woman, but she doesn't start talking yet. She takes a calm, thoughtful sip of her coffee, trying to piece thing all together with that skeptical narrowing of her eyes. "Look..." She finally starts, her voice calm and measured, "I don't know how much Howard is paying you for this...set up. And I hope he paid that poor man we have locked up in holding plenty well. And I *do* understand the need for an international agency who handles such things... Including the ridiculous potential of time travel. But this is an awfully elaborate scheme and you can tell him that if he wants to talk about it more, he needs to come back to New York and sit down with me." She smirks to the clutch. "Though the badge is a nice touch."

Melinda May has posed:
May closes her eyes a moment as Peggy responds more or less the way she expected. Minus the punch-first-ask-questions-later scene she was initially afraid of. That's a bouns. She sighs.

When she opens her eyes again, she says softly, "You were born in Hampstead, England." Her voice does not carry beyond the confines of the booth. "You worked for Bletchly at the beginning of the War. You were their best code breaker. You got engaged. You brother, Michael, submitted your name to the SOE as a potential candidate. You turned them down. Then, he was killed in battle and you decided there was a vacancy at the front you could fill." She watches the woman as she speaks, her expression surprising ly empathetic. Surprising, that is, to anyone who knows her in the future. Melinda May does not typcially betray a lot of emotions. But this is Peggy. And she's desperate. "You transfered from the SOE into the SSR where you worked closely with Captain Rogers until he was forced to ditch his plane over the Arctic in order to keep the Red Skull from destroying New York. And probably half the Eastern Seaboard with it."

She speaks a little more quickly, now. "Two years ago, Howard Stark was accused of selling weapons tech to the Russians. You worked to clear his name, nearly losing your career in the process. You were onsite when a man named Leet Branis stole truck full of nitramene. The factory imploded, causing a great deal of damage that was concentrated into a tight ball of wreckage. The bumper from one of Mr. Stark's cars was within it." Some of this comes from the files she read. Some if it... from Peggy herself.

"You were the one who cleared Howard's name. Not Jack Thompson. Not even Daniel Sousa. It was you. But no one ever gave you credit because you're female. You're in talks with Stark, now, to form SHIELD, but you're still being overlooked by your station chief, despite proving yourself in LA, where Whitney Frost was involved with something called Zero Matter that adversely affected a very good friend of yours. A scientist." A beat. "Wilkes, I think." That was drawn from a file she read.

"I know all this because *you* told it to me. I didn't have long to look at them, but I know the readings in that anomaly included both tachyons and dark energy, in addition to lower levels of gamma and vita radiation. And when it exploded, I fell down a long, dark tunnel and was spit out a hundred feet from a hole in the ground where the factory exploded."

She picks up her clutch and holds it loosely in both hands against the table... just in case the hit-first-ask-questions-later portion of the evening was merely delayed.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The whole of it is laid out in front of her and any pretense of a pleasant, neutral smile is slowly falling away from Peggy's elegant, unlined face. She calmly takes one more, deep drink of her coffee, before she reaches one hand into her own purse and draws out two dollars to pay for the meal she never got. "I do not know how you knew all of that or what your... game is, but you are going to come calmly with me and keep your hands in sight at all points in time, or I will drag you out of here and put you in an SSR holding cell so fast you won't remember your own name, much less what year you are supposedly from. Walk in front of me, slight to the right. We are going across the street to the phone building." Chances are, she still plans on putting her in a holding cell, if she's taking May there.

Melinda May has posed:
"The SSR building," May says matter of factly, completely unsurprised by this response. She debates just how productive being cooped up in a holding cell for the next few hours is going to be for her. And then decides that, really, unless they start beating her... there may be no other way to convince Peggy she's being honest.

Of course, the moment they start asking her about Chiang Kai-shek, she'll probably need a decent exit strategy. Which means she probably needs it now.

"I really wish we didn't have to do it this way," she says, rising slowly and taking her clutch with her. "It's going to get very awkward for both of us before it gets better."

God, she hopes her *friend* Peggy has got Fitz-Simmons on site by now. Maybe her best bet is to go back to the site of the anomaly and see if they've managed to open it up again.

Still, for the moment, she choses not to make a scene and complies with directions. She doesn't really want to risk the Automat any more than Peggy does.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Most Leviathan agents worth their stuff would also know what that building is, yes." Peggy states flatly, paranoia still heavy behind her stern voice. She doesn't know how to believe what the woman is saying, but she also doesn't know how anyone else got ALL that information, and she's not willing to do what she needs to do to get it within the automat.

Therefore, she pulls her jacket and gloves back on, watching the woman in front of her like a hawk, and then starts escorting her to the door and out. Once they are outside, her little gun is drawn from her own clutch. She keeps it hidden between their bodies, but on Melinda's lower side. If she shot, she'd get kidney and stomach. It wouldn't be immediately lethal, probably, but it'd be a long, slow death. "Keep walking. We can figure out who you work for without innocents around."

It's after hours, so none of the phone girls are there. She's marched past the long row of desks, plugs, and head sets that the girls are on most of the day. Then to the elevator and into the hallowed SSR offices. There's one rookie on desk this time of night and Peggy jerks eyes in his direction. "Is holding B still open? Thanks. Try to get Stark on the line. Tell him I don't appreciate pranks that air all that much laundry in the middle of the automat."

"Yes, Ma'am." No smart remarks from him. Peggy's earned a bit more respect around here.

Melinda May has posed:
Leviathan? Yeah. There goes any hope May had that the conversation ahead of her was going to be kept even remotely friendly. She falls silent now, realizing there's nothing she can say that's going to make a difference.

She's sharp, however. She watches everything as they enter the building, commits protocols and security measures to memory with the skill of an agent well used to this necessity. And she realizes, the deeper they go, that the security measures they have in place, while excellent for the time... aren't nearly as good as what she's used to defeating.

A skeleton crew is on at most. None of them, she knows just by watching how they move, haven't the combat skills she does -- though she won't discount their marksman skills. She doesn't know them well enough for that. And she especially won't underestimate Peggy.

Of course, it occurs to her that, this early in her career... Peggy doesn't have the same level of training she expects her to have. But, still. Never underestimate a woman who's learned to overcome a field of men with both her brains and her brawn.

Thus, she remains civil and takes a seat in Holding Room B, studying the room around her casually. Huhn. No cameras. That's... probably not a good thing.

Peggy Carter has posed:
While poor Conners gets stuck with the task of trying to track down Howard Stark this time of the evening, Peggy stares across the desk at Melinda May. Once inside the cell, Peggy not so gently shoves her against the wall and starts a pat down that is meant to well find any hidden weapons, other ID cards, wallet, bugs. Anything that the woman might be sneaking into the place that a regular dinner goer wouldn't have on them. "How did you know all that? I can guess Howard spilled about SHIELD drunk at some dinner party, he's done worse before. But there are things Howard didn't know. So, start talking, or this is going to be a very uncomfortable, long stay for you." Peggy practically growls into the woman's ear.

This Peggy is interesting. She's still clearly, incredibly competent. She might even be a bit stronger than the other Peggy is, not having spent thirty years in cryo freeze and with the energy of youth about her. But she's a lot of sharp edges. The harsh need to still prove herself, not to let anyone get under her skin. Life has tempered and softened Margaret Carter with a gentle wisdom that this woman doesn't have. But she has energy and determination, that much is clear.

Melinda May has posed:
May grunts as she's shoved into the wall. She doesn't resist, other than maintaining enough stiffness to keep her head from being battered against that wall. "I told you," she says as Peggy pats her down. "You told me."

The most the SSR agent will find on her is that room key, tucked under the collar of her dress, pinned beneath her bra strap. Melinda May really is unarmed. Aside from the fact the dress is slightly too loose for her, she purposely dressed to be as unthreatening as she possibly could. She's never needed a gun, anyway.

"Over drinks. At the Swordfish, actually." Yeah, that's another not-so-commonly-known secret. "Smithwicks for you. Guiness for me, usually. I still don't know why you like that swill."

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Hey, boss, Stark's on the line for you..." The night desk guy calls down the hall, his voice echoing through the corridor. Peggy finishes her search, only finding that key. It gets a slight arch of her brow, but she's not cruel enough to steal the woman's house key. She slips it back into May's clutch instead of putting it back in her bra and then shoves her down into the chair at the table. "Stay here. Don't move. Maybe we can reminisce over... Old times again in a bit."

With that, Peggy slips out the door and firmly locks it behidn her. The woman isn't armed and shows no signs of being near so dangerous as she is. Surely, Peggy can take a single phone call in her office for ten minutes without risk? "Put him through to my office. Keep eyes on the woman." Peggy orders Conners. With that, she disappears into her little back side room. It's not a big office, but it's her's. She's about to ream Howard a new one for playing a very strange prank, or getting drunk and letting SHIELD slip to who knows what...

Melinda May has posed:
May considers just how well 'reminisicing' is likely to go. She inhales a deep breath and lets it go with some determination. "Sorry, Peggy," she says softly, hearing the crisp clip of the Agent's heels receding down the hallway. "We're going to need to find a more neutral spot for this conversation, I think."

She waits until she can no longer hear the echo of those heels. Then, she stands up picks up the chair she sits on, and smashes the mirror between rooms. Worst case? There's someone in there watching. But she doubts it. Yes, the glass shatters, and that's noisy. But... again, it's a skeleton crew. She picks up her clutch and uses the table to help her vault through the window without risking a cut to her hands. Why go through this room rather than the other? The door isn't locked.

She pops the door open and looks up and down the hallway. Lucky enough to find it empty, she starts running. By the time Peggy is yelling at Stark, May is easing the door to the main offices open. She peeks around. Connors is at his desk, probably relieved he's not the target of Peggy's ire. May moves on silent feet -- or as silent as the shoes she wears allows -- towards him. When he turns around in surprise, she executes a quick strike that stuns him. She then twists him around, squeezing his neck until he's out cold on the floor.

Keeping low, she moves without further delay towards the door that leads to the elevator. She'd prefer stairs, but right now the direct route strikes her as the best.

The elevator dings. She glances back over her shoulder towards the offices, grimacing. "I'll make it up to you later, Peggy," she murmurs. Then, she's in and heading for the first floor and its empty operator stations. Time from Holding cell to front door? Less than 5 minutes.

She steps out into the cold winter air and looks up and down the steet. A taxi stops when she flags him down. She's had enough of the SSR for one night.

Next stop, a busy theatre in Chinatown. She'll walk back to her room from there.

Bobbi Morse has posed:
It was becoming a bit of a game of cat and mouse. The SSR was very slow to pick up external surveillance techniques. When they'd finally figure one out, Leviathan would simply move on to the next. The operator with headphones on turns suddenly in surprise and taps on the glass behind him. "chernaya vdova," he says.

Dottie peers back at him through the frosted glassing and opens the door. "English only. What is it?," she asks as she looks at the photos recently developed from the Roxxon site.

"There was big smash in the SSR buildink."

"Your English needs a lot of work. It's good you're only doing operations," she replies and puts on the head phones. K-thunk.. sound of a body dropping. She takes off the head phones and walks briskly to the other side of the room and peeks open the blinds just a touch. There, down by the doors. The Chinese woman.

"My haven't you had an exciting day...," she comments and grabs her winter coat.

Peggy Carter has posed:
It's exactly 7.5 minutes that Peggy is on the phone with Howard and has no further answers from him. Though, her assumptions that he got drunk at a party and spilled to an enemy agent have been slightly blunted. He repeatedly insisted this is not something he'd betray. He's been better. More careful. Especially about this. Finally, after a promise they'd meet up this weekend to talk in person, she's hung up on him to stalk back out of the room and towards her prisoner.

The loose arm spilling into the walkway of the desks from the front is the first thing to tell Peggy something is wrong. "Oh hell..." She mutters to herself, double timing it up to see Connors out cold on the floor. She takes just a moment to lean down and ensure he still has a pulse, but as soon as she is certain he's still alive, she's running for the stairs. No time to waste waiting for an elevator. She doesn't even bother looking down the hall, she's almost certain who did this.

She dashes down the stairs, taking them two at a time even in her high heels and somehow managing to not land on her face. Past the phones and out the front door, dark eyes frantically searching up and down the street for her time-challenged, seemingly insane prisoner.

Melinda May has posed:
A taxi disappears around a corner in the distance, just one more car in a sea of evening traffic.