6084/A Complicated Carter Reunion

A Complicated Carter Reunion
Date of Scene:	29 April 2021
Location:	Michael Carter's House, Connecticut
Synopsis:	Peggy and Daniel go to visit their son and his wife for the first time in decades. Sharon does her best not to let family drama destroy their second chance to know each other.
Cast of Characters:	Peggy Carter, Daniel Sousa, Sharon Carter, Melinda May

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Peggy Carter has posed:
The drive up towards the rather rich outskirts of New Haven, Connecticut is mostly silently. Peggy's driving this time, since it's only a car full of Carters and Peggy still has some control issues. It also means she can concentrate on the road and not dwelling too hard on just how well, or poorly, this conversation might go. She's dressed quite nicely, in one of her better dark maroon dresses from the 1950s with a pencil skirt, cuban heeled stockings, and a black double breasted jacket over top. She's trying to look softer without being too casual, an edge of business and retro. She's also quietly terrified.

As she turns off the highway and then down the lane where his big house resides, she swallows her heart back down her throat. "How...likely is it you think he's just going to turn us all in?" She asks the whole car but mainly Sharon.

Daniel Sousa has posed:
It was strange driving out here to see a man Daniel last memories of were changing his diapers before going off on his fatal trip to LA. It just would not compute.

Still Daniel dressed well, going for his more casual LA look, a button down and a blazer but not pocket square or tie. As they begin to enter th posh parts of New Haven he figits some, and looks over at Peggy frequently, but only saying once. "It's going to be fine," though his tone suggests he has his doubts about that.

Sharon Carter has posed:
And in the backseat like a petulant child was Sharon. Though she didn't sit back with a salty look upon her face, arms folded and pouting, but she does keep her eyes peeled to the road off to the side, running through many a scenario that she may have to either talk, lie, cheat or steal her way out of. It just wouldn't do. Her dad was her dad, and lying to him?

He'd see through her in a heartbeat.

And lets not get on her mom, even though the woman was sweet as butter she always kept a firm and united front with her father. Sooo...

"It's just dinner." Sharon pipes up, unmoving. "I think the spread will be a mix of Italian and French." Small talk sucks.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"So... they know we're coming then, at least? That's a start." Peggy, usually the one for ALL the information in the world, hadn't asked when Sharon said they were going to visit her father. Peggy just looked at Daniel, it already having been something they discussed several times and never found the courage or time to do, and nodded firmly. Off they went, no complaints, no debates. It's an hour and a half of awkward silence later and Peggy's pulling into the driveway of the house with her big, unmarked, boring gray SUV which is definitely a SHIELD car without having any indication that it's a SHIELD car.

Once she kills the engine, she leans over to kiss the corner of Daniel's mouth momentarily, catching his eyes. "I love you. We'll... figure this out." Then she turns around, levelling her eyes in Sharon's direction. "That goes for you too. I love you... and I barely know you. But I'd move the world for you and...I'll do whatever I need to fix this. You deserve better. He... did too." Peggy states a bit softer.

Then, with that pep talk, she swings out of the car and takes a deep breath, waiting for them both before heading for the door.

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Love you too, Peg," Daniel smiles and gently suqeezes Peggy's hand before she pulls away looking back to Sharon. "That goes for me too," he says of being willing to move the world for her. And sounds like a good meal at least, even if it's not Portugese," that last complaint said with a smile to take all the bite from it. "And is this where you grew up Sharon?" he asks as he gets his crutches and goes about the ordeal of extracting himself from the car. He's a leg short today, no prosthetic, giving his stump time to heal between switching from his old leg to his new one. Still he manages himself well on the crutches and and is soon ready to join the others in heading inside.

Sharon Carter has posed:
"Mmhmm." Sharon says, finally pulling her gaze from the window to give the back of their heads a smile. Her fingers were twisted against one another; working out the last bit of nerves as they pull into the driveway of her childhood home. As always, she takes a minute to stare, then finally moves to unhook her seatbelt.

"I love you both." Is all she could offer, she would move the world for them as well. She would even destroy one to know more.

"I did, Grandpa." She says, finally exiting the car and closing the door, keeping her pace behind Daniel just in case he needed her assistance. "We had a neighbor who once said that his realtor asked if his kids could fight in regards to the area." She snorts a little, knowing it was a joke to lighten the mood before they enter.

Melinda May has posed:
The house in New Haven is a spacious, lot-eating affair. There's a covered porch, a Queen Anne's tower, and all the white trim one would expect against the tasteful, dark blue siding. The landscaping is immaculate and the grass rich and green, even this early in the season. A wide driveway paved with red interlocking bricks has room for four cars -- two of which already sit in the drive. An upscale sedan and a shiny SUV that does *not* shout goverment-issue. (For one thing, it's red.)

The lights are on in the living room and on the porch. Clearly the occupants within are anticipating company. And, indeed, back in the kitchen, toward the rear of the house, the couple who lives there is currently fussing in a manner -- could they see it -- Peggy and Daniel might find familiar:

"I don't know if this is such a good idea, Michael."

"Are you telling me, you really don't want to see our daughter, Amanda?" The tall, lean man lays down the electric carving knife he had been using to attack the roast his wife prepared.

"Of course not!" She sighs, ladelling a light, white sauce over the curls of pasta in the large serving bowl before her. "It's just..."

"My mother."

"I just don't want to see you hurt again."

Michael turns to Amanda, a faint, almost rueful smile on his lips as he steps toward her. "I know. And I love you for it. But this..." He takes a deep breath and lays his hands on her shoulders. "This is a long time in coming."

She turns, looking up into his eyes, her blond hair veiling the concern settled deep within them. "I know." Her shoulders square beneath his touch. "Well. They'll be here soon, so... It's too late, anyway."

He smiles fondly down at her, leaning in for a warm kiss. "And anyway," he smiles. "I really want to see if my father is all my mother said he'd be."

Amanda returns the kiss, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "I hope he is," she says, her worry clear in her tone. "I really do." Then, of course, there are people at the door. "Go," she tells him. "Go greet your family. I'll finish up here and join you."

Michael pulls back, nodding. He meets her gaze for a moment, betraying his own uncertainty. But then, like magic, he's squaring his own shoulders, drawing himself up to his not inconsiderable height, and putting on his game face -- the same one he uses to greet high profile clients: Confident, capable, and direct. Ironically... he learned it from his mother.

The front door opens as the trio approaches. Dressed in a blue button-down and light khakis, he looks good, though it's not something he's specifically conscious of in this moment. He regards the three people clustered on the porch for a moment, studying each as quickly and closely as his mother ever could, sizing them up and making a silent decision. "Sharon. Honey, I'm so glad your home safe." His eyes transfer to Peggy and then Daniel. "Mother... Sir." He steps back. "Please. Come in. All of of you. Amanda's in the kitchen, but she'll be out shortly, I'm sure."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The slightly grandiose, achingly NORMAL style of the house just gets a long look from Peggy. It's almost like what the Long Island house wanted to be if they had more money and didn't have to be as close to the city. The bright red SUV gets a long look from Peggy and just a bit of a smirk but she makes no actual remark. She just walks to the door, pausing to give the duo with her a long look. "God, look at us. We look like it's Eastern sunday and mum is dragging us to church." Peggy's only half teasing there, a joke to echo Sharon's.

Then the door is open. She recognizes her son, of course. He doesn't look much different at over fifty than he did at under 30 and yet... he does. The very reality that he is going to keep aging and somehow, at this moment, she's not? It's never been quite so keen as this moment. She steps back, letting Sharon step forward to greet her father. "...Michael." She greets softly, decades of missing and cracked, quiet love behind her tone. She steps in when invited, dark eyes flickering around the place. "Your home is... Lovely..."

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Daniel takes in the house with a quiet sort of consideration, whatever thoughts he had remain unvoiced, he does smile faintly at the SUV as he moves along beside Sharon, smiling at her story, "And that wouldn't be because of you would it?" he asks her with a wry smile, and a glint of pride in his eyes.

Then he's face to face with his son and his words fail him all together, studying the man who had been barely a year old when he last saw him. "Michael," he echoes once he finds the words. "It's good to see you." For his part Daniel looks like the pictures in the Long Island house despite the modern clothes and the pinned up left pant leg. His eyes remain fixed on his son as if he's not sure he can believe what he's seeing.

Sharon Carter has posed:
Whatever jokingly retort she reserved for her Grandfather fell short once her father opened the door. There was no blush, only a hint of shame that she would usually feel when she avoids him for a week before telling him that she was home. Her hands join behind her back as she watches him, a little smile curling upon her lips, one that would usually sway her father into not being as mad as.. well, whenever!

"Hi Dad.." Sharon says quietly, and would wait until they all enter before giving her father a one armed hug if he lets her. He was Dad, after all.

Melinda May has posed:
It should be no surprise that the house is a little bigger than the place in Long Island. Not given the amount of time Michael spent in the company of Uncle Edwin and Aunt Ana at various Stark Mansions over the years. Indeed, sharp eyes will doubtlessly see their aged faces smiling out of a frame or two on the mantle. Michael clears his throat as he takes in his mother's reserve, her nearly unchanged appearance, twenty years his junior, now. She disappeared when he had only bearly reached manhood. His entire adult life is a mystery to her, really. Just as she is a mystery to him. A stranger in many ways.

But he is her son. His public display, at least among these people, is very British. No wonder, since Edwin Jarvis was his father figure. "Thank you," he says to Peggy. "You're looking... very well." Then his eyes shift to Daniel, with his wholesome, mid-century appearance even in modern clothes and with a pinned trouser leg. "It's... nice to actually meet you," he tells the other man. There's a moment's hesitancy, but he offers his hand. It's what he'd do in business, so it's what he does here.

But when Sharon gives him the side hug... Well, that's something he hangs onto just a moment or more longer than she might expect. He really was worried about her and, in that subtle gesture, he proves it.

By the time he's ushering them into the living room, however, Amanda is emerging from the kitchen. She has left the food on the counter. She wants to greet her guests, first. Her hair is loose. Her trousers are a good quality cotton and her blouse is tasteful and well-fitted. "Hello," she says, a hostess' smile on her face as she enters the room. Her husband is an investment banker. She knows a thing or two about putting on a strong front in front of guests. "I'm so glad you got here safely. Can I offer you anything to drink?" She moves to stand beside Michael, sliding comfortably beneath his arm, her arm around his waist. A show of solidarity and support.

Peggy Carter has posed:
While Peggy is generally one to operate under reserve, and she's trying very hard to do so, the moment she sees her son's hanging onto Sharon that bit longer, something in her heart cracks. He's not as ice cold as she feared, as it's been between them since he went off to college. Her lips press tighter, a welling of moisture making her dark eyes momentarily glassy. Then, unless he pulls back from her, she steps forward to reach one hand up to touch her son's cheek. Her fingertips cup there a moment, aching to hug. But it's the most tender touch she's given him in a long, long time. "Michael. I've... Missed you so... So much." She breathes out softly.

Then she forces herself away, stepping back with an awkward clearing of her throat, "This is... your father, Daniel... Daniel... Michael. He... he grew up to make us quite proud." Then she's looking back to Sharon, her smile warming just a bit more. "Incredibly proud. Raised an amazing young woman and agent. As much as I'm certain he hates to hear it." Then Amanda is coming in and Peggy's trying to put on a proper, calm face again, offering her hand for a brief shake to the woman. "Amanda. It's... lovely to see you properly. I think you were just starting to date when we all last... Spoke. Thank you for taking care of my son..."

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Daniel smiles to see the affection between Michael and Sharon, a bittersweet smile on his face still when Peggy makes introductions and Michael extends a hand to greet him. Daniel shifts his arm on his crutch to shake his son's hand, "Likewise," he hesitates, making a decision. "Michael," he opts for rather than son. "I am sorry it took this long for it to happen," he offers before they're shown inside.

Daniel offers Amanda a smile, "Good to meet you," he says, the one to extend his hand this time.

Sharon Carter has posed:
It was a comfort, hugging her father. The side hug was done purposely, to hide the bruises that she gained on her way back from Russia, but then again, the hug from her Dad and soon Mom would be all that she needed to melt the troubles away. It was good to be home.

She dislodges from her father, to allow the tender moment from her Grandmother to happen, her cheeks tinting just a little as she glances towards the ground. Nothing she could say, at the moment, but enter into her childhood home with the need to head towards the stairs to smell her pillow and the particular fabric softener her mom loves to use.

But she doesn't, leaving the parents to their greetings and small chatter, taking to slowly pacing around the livingroom as she does. To make sure it is all real. Couch. Coffee table. Vase of fresh flowers that were probably purchased for her mother or by her mother.. pictures.

Stairs.. avoid the stairs. But kitchen, yes. Kitchen. While introductions are being made, that is where Sharon slips off to, to the kitchen then sink to turn on the faucet to run her fingers through the warmth of the water. How awkward this all is.

Melinda May has posed:
"Ms Carter," Amanda disentangles herself from her husband, his hand trailing down her back as she steps away to greet Peggy a little more formally. When she and Michael were first dating, Peggy was still the Director of SHIELD and they hadn't gotten that familiar. "Welcome," she says, her handshake firm. "It's been genuine pleasure." And that's no lie. Yes, her demeanor is all hostess, but there's no mistaking the clear affection between the pair. They fit as easily together as Peggy and Daniel ever have. Even so, Amands doesn't know these people. She is here to solely to support her husband and make sure her daughter is in one piece.

Still, she turns to Daniel, accepting his hand graciously. "Mr..." She suddenly looks uncertain, glancing to her husband. "Carter?"

"Sousa," Michael corrects gently.

"Sousa," Amanda echoes. She gives Daniel a smile. "It's nice to meet you." Since they don't seem to need anything immediate to drink -- and she spies her daughter trying to escape -- she takes a step back. "Dinner's almost ready. Just a few more moments."

She smiles at the praise for Sharon, even if there's that tight worry in the corners of her eyes. Indeed, she slips from the room to join the young woman, catching her up in a clearly American hug and holding her close. Then, she's pulling back enough that she can cup her daughter's face, stroke a little hair out of her eyes, and make sure he really is okay. "Oh, honey. It's so good to see you. I'm so glad you're home." She hates the fact the young woman joined SHIELD. But she will defend her daughter as fiercely as her husband. On that, at least, everyone in the room will agree.

Lucky Sharon.

Amanda peers closely at her. "You're still hurt, aren't you?" Even superspies can't pull the wool over the eyes of their mothers.

However, out in the living room, Michael raises his chin a little when Peggy touches him. It's a faint stiffening, nothing very obvious, but he is suprised by her touch. And, perhaps, by the emotion in her eyes. He clears his throat again, lowering his chin as well. He doesn't make the retort that comes to his lips. For Sharon's sake. For now. Instead, he gives her another tight smile. "I'm sure you have." After all, she made that so clear to him over the last several months. Years.

But he, too, appreciates the praise of Sharon, even if he truly does despise her job. He deflects that thought by addressing his father. "I'm surprised it's happened at all," he says frankly. "Particularly given..." he eyes his mother disapprovingly, "world developments."

He watches Sharon slip away, and sees Amanda chase her. This leaves him alone with two people who should be as close to him as the rest of his little nuclear family... but aren't. So, business mode it is.

Peggy Carter has posed:
As Sharon slips away, Peggy's eyes follow her. It takes an act of will to swallow back any words asking the woman to stay, but she won't begrudge her grand daughter whatever comforts she needs in her own home. Peggy slips back to her husband's side, her hand almost mirroring that protective touch that Amanda gave Michael earlier. "We... we should all sit..." She doesn't say it just to get Daniel off his crutches, but that might be a part of it. She hasn't missed that momentary chill in her son's eyes. She's a spy and a profiler. She just doesn't know how to respond to it either.

So, she leads the way instead, moving to take a neat seat on the couch there before pausing, "You know, maybe I will have that drink... scotch. Daniel, do you want some scotch? I...I can get it. You both relax, really. Take..a... chance to... You know..." And then she's stepping off, away towards whatever might look like a wet bar or the kitchen if not. She's trying to give the men a moment. Even if she can't repair this, Daniel deserves time.

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Daniel doesn't fail to notice the connection between Michael and Amanda and his expression lightens just a touch to see it. When greeted by Amanda he smiles. "Daniel," he offers as to what to call her. "I'm very glad to meet you, you've got a lovely home," he says falling back on manners to carry him through the awkwardness of this encounter. Sharon's departure earns a frown but mostly because if he had his way he'd join her, but still he stays close to Peg, offering her a supportive smile, followed by one of gratitude when she suggests sitting happy to get off these damn crutches. "Scotch would be great, thanks, Peg." he says, before looking over to his son and daughter in law, struggling to find something to say.

Sharon Carter has posed:
In that solitude of where the kitchen was, Sharon was allowed to breath. Even if that breath was cut short by the invasion of her mother; it was a welcome sight. Her hands quickly shake off the excess water, which was soon wiped away on her jeans. Everyone was formal, except for Sharon.

As she was swept up in a hug, Sharon wraps her arms fully around her mother, even swaying a little as she buries her face into her shoulder. That was only held for so long, before Amanda examines her and reads her. Correctly.

"Yeah.." Sharon finally says, quietly. Her brows crinkling in such a way that her lips follow with a purse, her cheeks burning red enough to tell what was coming next. "I.." She pulls away from her mother, one hand pressed against her cheek. "I wish I could tell you everything, but.. I'm so disappointed in myself." She shakes her head, blinking back tears, taking in that little breath to huff it out so that they could go away. "I knew better. No, I know better. And.. and.. I'm just -so- angry!" A fists shakes near her hips, her little tantrum thrown, only to be seen by her mother. She sniffs quietly, her eyes looking upward as she carefully dabs away the tears with the pads of her fingers. She didn't want to ruin her eyeliner and foundation.

"Sorry.. I'll be alright. I just.. had to get that out." Sharon's gaze falls towards the main area of the house now, and then back to her mom. "I hope this works. I want them all to be happy, you know?"

Melinda May has posed:
Amanda's lips press together, her eyes filling with worry only a mother can have. "I know you can't tell me everything, baby," she says, pushing Sharon's hair back a little again. "I just wish... I just wish there was something I could do to really help." She hates the secrets. She hates the fact her daughter is put through the emotional wringer every time she leaves and comes home again. She doesn't understand SHIELD. She's tried, over the years. But, really? She doesn't.

And given everything on the news, she doubts she ever will.

"You don't have to keep working there. Any number of other agencies would be happy to have you. What about the FBI? Or the CIA?" It's probably the wrong time for this conversation. Amanda knows that.

And as Sharon draws her attention back to the awkward reunion in the living room, she lets out a small sigh. "I know, pumpkin," she says, giving her another small hug -- gentler and more mindful of her injuries and her dignity. She steps back. "I do, too. But there's a lot of water under that bridge. A lot of hurt. Try not to judge your father too harshly, okay?"

In the living room, Michael steps toward his mother, intercepting her. "No," he says firmly, as she moves to get the scotch. "You're guests in my home. I'll get it. You sit." Perhaps he does need time with his father. But, frankly, he doesn't want his mother wandering all over, potentially antagonizing his wife. The wetbar is in the rec room in the basement. The living room is a more formal space. So, the kitchen it is. And the kitchen is Amanda's territory.

He disappears through the doorway into the warm, bright culinary space, leaving his parents alone to stew. His steps are quick and firm, his movements confident and sure. He scoops a small tray out of a cupboard and snags a handful of tumblers. Then, he's taking a large cup to the fridge to drop ice into it and toss it into an ice bucket along with some small tongs. By the time he's set the finely crafted, black labelled scotch bottle on the tray, there's no doubt his Uncle Edwin would be well impressed with both his efficiency and his presentation.

Amanda glances over to her husband as he fetches the drinks. "Are you okay?" she asks him softly, not wanting her voice to carry.

Michael nods in response. He steps away from the tray long enough to pull both his girls into a quick embrace. "It's just going to be a bit of an awkward dinner." He glances to the counter where the food is laden. "Are we ready?"

Amanda gives a rueful chuckle. "Yes. Yes, we're ready." She smiles to Sharon. "Help me take all this to the table, Sharon, while your father plies your... grandparents with scotch." Grandparents. They look no older than Sharon herself.

Are they really sure this isn't some sort of cruel joke?

Michael gives a soft grunt and backs off to retrieve his tray and takes it out to parents. "Dinner will be on the table shortly," he tells them.

Peggy Carter has posed:
As Michael insists on getting the scotch for them, Peggy gives a momentary, awkward smile, hovering on edge for a few heartbeats before finally giving him a nod, "Of course, dear. Thank you." There is love there. She loves him so much it hurts. But it's behind so many layers of uncertainty and guilt. She steps back to Daniel and sinks down onto the couch next to him. For the few moments they are alone, her hand comes over to rest against his thigh, glassy eyes flickering up to his gaze. "I'm... so sorry. You should have come alone. You... you both deserve to have this time without me mucking it up. He's your *son*... He deserves a chance to *love you*." Peggy insists, again. It's a conversation they've been over, but she's feeling it so much more keenly now.

Then he's shown back up with the scotch and Peggy leans over, scooping up the glass. She really does look as fresh and young as her photos from the found of SHIELD, and the black and white wedding photos she and Daniel had in the house all growing up. Both of them look like that could have been six months ago. Her eyes weigh heavily on her son, "Michael... I... should have told you I was sick, and when they pulled me out, managed to... Fix things... God, I didn't even think you'd want to know. But however much you hate me, please, your father... all he's ever wanted is to know you. We... tried so... *So* hard to have you..."

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Daniel puts his hand on Peggy's. "We've been over this, I wasn't going to have him like me and hate you, we need to fix this as a family or not at all. I promised you wouldn't have to do this alone." He gives her hand a squeeze. "We can fix this," he promises her. Even if there's an unspoken 'eventually' in that statement.

When Michael returns Daniel takes the scotch with a raise of his glass. "Thanks," he says warmly even if there's still a touch of awkwardness in his voice and how he carries himself.

Peggy's words have him looking over, "Peg, no," he says. "Listen," he says to both of them, holding tight to his glass. "I promised Peggy she wouldn't have to do this alone, look after SHIELD and our family, but I let you both down by being careless, so if you want to be mad about how things turned out be mad at me. Though, for what it's worth your mother's not wrong, I want to get to know you Michael, we both wanted to have you so badly, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you both."

Sharon Carter has posed:
"I know Mom, I know.." She says. "The FBI.. ugh. Mom, they're like actual feet on the ground cops but better dressed and terrible pay. And don't get me started on the CIA. They -pretend- to be shadowy but they're a bunch of sanctioned terrorists." Huff. Sharon was done with that one, but she does give a hug to her Mother, clinging to her as they both keep their eyes upon the main room. "I can't judge him, Mom. He's Dad."

All infallable. And pretty damn awesome.

As he enters the kitchen, she watches him. Much like she's done all her life, the quick way at how he prepares the drink tray, smooth and fluid. And then? The hug. The hug as a family, one that has Sharon letting out a shuddered sigh, but remaining strong like her dad. He is the one she'd never let see her sweat.

"Alright. Here we go." Sharon was ready, picking up dish after dish, balancing carefully upon her forearm while keeping the other plates steady with but a hand. It was a practiced thing, one she learned how to do when she went undercover as a waittress for three weeks. It was hell. "Thank god I starved myself for three weeks. I am -hungry-."

And here, we.. go.

Melinda May has posed:
Michael stops at his mother's words. His lips press into a thin line. He'd really hoped they'd at least have gotten through the apetizers before this. But, then... his mother never did have time to spend. Always to the point, but always between one responsibility and another. Never any bloody time to just... enjoy dinner... as a family. An awkward, messy, dysfunctional family.

"I don't hate you, Mother," he says, straightening. His voice is flat, matter-of-fact and controlled. He learned it from her. "The fact is: I don't know you." He looks between his parents. "I don't *know* either of you."

His eyes settle on Daniel. "To hear her tell it," he says of Peggy, "you might as well be Superman." His eyes fall briefly on the missing leg. Clearly, Daniel is not Superman. There's no denigration in the gaze, mind. Only an acknowledgement of the irony of the statement. "You were a hero. Her hero." He shakes his head. "Please don't mistake me... Daniel." Not 'father', or 'dad'. "I don't mean any offense. I'm sure you're a good man. And it would be interesting to get to know you as a man. But, you should know: My father's name is Edwin Jarvis. Maybe not by blood, or the courts. But, in every way that mattered."

Then, he levels his gaze at his mother. "As for you... I mourned you 35 years ago. As far as I'm concerned, you *died* 35 years go. I thought I'd made my peace with that, but..."

He shakes his head, moving to pour himself a generous scotch without ice. "Here you are. Whether you're thawed out or a clone or a robot, I have no idea. I'm living in a world where aliens attack through rips in the sky. Where men with super powers or too much money blow up a city block just because they can." He looks at them directly. "I have no idea who you are. All I have is my daughter's word for it. And she's been taught to lie by your organization."

He looks toward the kitchen, as both Sharon and Amanda emerge, arms laden with food dishes. "In spite of that," he says to his parents, his words fully meant for all of them -- not just the two timelost throwbacks. "I trust my daughter. That's why you're permitted in my house right now. That..." He looks helplessly at Amanda for just a moment before he shrugs. "And I was just damned curious to find out if *anything* had changed."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The words that spill out of her son drive her to dead silence. Peggy's eyes go a little wide, her hand remaining on Daniel's leg, fingertips tightening as Michael says that Daniel's not his father. Her throat tightens, eyes pressing shut just a heartbeat or two against tears that she really doesn't want to cry. She's never cried in front of him before, she didn't plan to start now, but it's harder. She's softened in her old age. Somehow. She reaches her free hand out from Daniel's leg to his palm, giving him something to hold onto as she knocks back a good drink of her scotch, not even able to fully retort as the women come back into the room.

Finally, all she rasps out is..."You're right. I... do love you, and I would like to change that, do this... more. But you're... right. And I'm sorry. And we should...eat dinner." A bittersweet smile cuts across her red lips as she quietly stands, offering Daniel help up and to get his crutches. Her eyes turn back to Sharon, still rimmed with tears so clearly something happened. "For what it's worth, I'm not a.. clone or a robot. Genetic engineering has come a long way. They were able to... fix the degredation I was going through. It is... me. For what it's worth." But dinner. She heads to the table once Daniel is ready.

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Daniel's expression goes flat. A sure sign he's swallowing down his emotions. In this case chased with a large swallow of scotch. "I'm no hero, Michael, I just did what needed to be done, and I'm sorry that meant i couldn't come home to you and your mother. I wanted to."

The rest just has him retreat further inward, the scotch set aside. "Jarvis was a good man," he says. "You couldn't ask for someone better to be there for you," he says emotion heavy in his voice as he takes Peggy's offered hand. "And I would like to get to know you."

The arrival of Sharon and Amanda give him pause, he glance to them and then to the door before he sucks in a breath through his nose and lets it out through his mouth. That done he lets Peggy help him onto his crutches before following her to the dinner table.

Sharon Carter has posed:
"Dinner is served!" Sharon pipes out as she carefully places the plates upon the table. Most of what Sharon's learned about setting came from her mother and father, so it was not unlike her to fix the plates in proper order. As she does, her eyes go up towards her grandparents, a little smile curling her lips, which falters a little as she notices the look upon their faces.

The room is essentially read.

"Dad, can I sit by you?" Sharon asks, standing up straight to admire the food that has been prepared, making motion to the chair soon after next to where her father usually sits. Though, it has been three years since she's seen them. She almost wanted to be sandwiched in between them. She was a momma and a daddies girl wrapped into one.

Speaking of knowing.. "Dad is frighteningly good with numbers." There, conversation starter. Take it. Run with it. Stop being awkward.

Melinda May has posed:
Thus, Michael finds himself neatly abandoned in the living room, a generous glass of scotch in his hand. He closes his eyes for half a moment before knocking half the scotch back and setting the glass down on a side table.

Amanda watches her husband, a little uncertainly as she catches the tail end of his words and reads the awkwardness in the room. If she bristles a little, well... it's to be expected. Before she can intervene, however, Sharon is calling him to her side.

Taking a deep breath, the alcohol burning in his chest, he marches toward that dinner table to assume his seat. Though, yes, he's glad to have his daughter beside him. "Of course, you can, honey." He merely wishes his wife were closer, too. He's had days on the trading floor that were less stressful than this.

As it is, as everyone settles down, Amanda looks speculatively at the wine she put out on the table. She's not sure alcohol is actually a good idea. So, she leaves it where it is. "Please," she says to them all, again with that tight, hostess smile. "Help yourself. If there's something you need that isn't here, I'd be happy to get it."

There's the roast, and some pasta. A salad, some glazed vegetables. It's a lovely spread. No Portuguese in the menu, no. But Sharon wasn't far off about her guess of Italian and French.

Peggy Carter has posed:
A bit more scotch is drank, Peggy's glass almost empty, but she's trying to be polite in front of her son and daughter-in-law -- no matter how much she wants another few fingers of the stuff. She gives them all a glassy, quiet smile as she dives into helping dish out the food. Hungry or not, she was going to *eat*. It's only polite. She takes a good serving of everything, "This smells... Delicious. That's got to be the Daniel in you all, or Amanda. I'm still a... disaster in the kitchen." Peggy admits with a little laugh. "But Daniel cooks the best Portuguese food in the world. We... if you're all willing to come, we'll have to have you down to Long Island, soon. Our turn to cook." Peggy offers, a more subtle olive branch than the beginning, but a hopeful one. She also isn't lying about how good the food smells. The scent alone is helping to remind her to be hungry.

She settles next to Daniel, one hand resting against the side of his leg under the table. A quiet, stablizing presense, just as he's been for her all of these years. She has no clue how to make it better, but she's trying to be there. "And Michael, you're... right. You don't know us. But we do... we want to change that. If you have questions... *any* of you... ask. Please. Just... sitting here pretending this is a normal awkward game of bridge and a meal... it's not..." Peggy breathes out, lost for words, for once. She really doesn't know how to finish that. So, she settles with. "Honestly. Just ask. And I want to hear everything about Sharon growing up..."

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Daniel shakes his head, "I wouldn't want to claim the best, there'd be a whole army of Portugese mothers gunning for me if I did," he says with as much of a smile as he can manage. He lingers a moment in the touch of Peggy's hand letting it center him and keep him in his seat despite the awkwardness of it all. "The food looks great though," he says, taking his first bite when it's served making a pleased noise.

"Peggy's right, just sitting here all awkward isn't going to help any, so, ask us any questions, and if you've got stories to tell we definitely want to hear them."

Sharon Carter has posed:
Sharon pulls out her chair to sit, her eyes watching each and every one of them as they speak of the awkwardness, feeling a little bit of relief as she finally piles food upon the plate for herself. She doesn't bother to skimp. Not ashamed at the healthy helping she's putting on, for each inch of the porclean plate was covered with something or other. And if it wasn't? Add more.

"My life was pretty boring." It really wasn't, most would say that she lived a charmed life, which she thought as well. But hating talking about herself, that leads her to downplay things. "I'll take you guys to see my bedroom, though. Especially if you want the embarrasing bits."

Emo phase.

As she forks a bit of vegetables into her mouth, a slight buzzing is heard from her pocket. As she reaches into to grab her phone, she looks towards the contact screen, which reads UNKNOWN.

Sharon pushes her chair back without a word, answering the call yet presses the phone to her chest to muffle out noise. A hand is held up, which was the universal sign that she'd be a moment as she walks out of the room. And towards the stairs. That bedroom was calling.

"Privet.." She mutters, the last sound anyone would hear of Sharon was her footsteps ascending the stairs.

Melinda May has posed:
Stories about his daughter growing up. Somehow, that topic seems far too personal for Michael to care to share, right now. So, he reaches for the meat and spears a couple of decent sized pieces onto his plate, adding helpings of the rest as the bowls make their way around the table.

Amanda picks up the conversation, recognizing the struggle in her husband, even as her daughter excuses herself. For a moment, her blue eyes follow the young woman. Her concern is unmistakeable. But when she turns back to Peggy and Daniel, her smile is back in place once more. "Sharon was a precocious child," she admits. "Quite the athlete. And a bit of a history buff."

Still, they're inviting questions. She glances to Michael, uncertain whether she should ask or not. In the end, though, someone has to. She picks up her knife to cut a piece of meat. "How is it either of you are alive?" she asks quietly, watching them. "Neither of you look like you're more than a handful of years older than my daughter. How is this possible?"

Yes, they live in a world with aliens and magic and superscience. But these Carters, Michael and Amanda... they're not superspies. They don't run with the Avengers. He's a banker. She's... a regular woman who's worked hard to keep her family together through all the weirdness the past couple of decades have thrown at them.

And now this? They deserve some answers.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The comment about Sharon being an athlete and a history buff gets a wider smile from Peggy, a bit more pride in her eyes, even as Sharon disappears upstairs. Peggy frowns a moment, pulling out her own phone just to check, but there's no emergencies coming through to her desk. She frowns, putting it back away and smoothly returning to her meal. Life and dinners with super spies. Peggy doesn't complain about Sharon leaving, but gives her a bittersweet smile before looking back to the others.

The question weighs heavy. She politely takes another bite of her meat, swallowing entirely before she sets her utensils down and lets her eyes level on both her daughter in law and son. Her words are calm and measured. Utterly honest, if they are good at reading people at all. "I... You all know I was the Director of SHIELD for most of my life. I made a lot of enemies. In the 1970s, someone tried to kill me.. twice. The second time, they should have succeeded... But Michael had no other parents, SHIELD still needed her director, and the science team had been experimenting with a serum called the Infinity Formula. Something to promote cell regeneration and possible super healing. It... worked, in a way. I survived. And my cells, they kept... going. Regenerating. I suddenly looked much younger. Back to the prime of life, before less cells are made than die off... Everything seemed fine for about ten years, when genetic degredation started. It got bad enough... like radiation poisoning. They opted to cryogenically freeze me in hopes that someone would find a better genetic fix for it later. About a year ago now, I was unfrozen and they tried another ... experiment, using CRISPr technology. It worked, for now. We don't know how long it will last but..." She motions to herself quietly. "I'm here for now, and healthy enough." Her eyes then turn to Daniel. His tale is his own, not one she'll speak for him. But her hand reaches for his leg again, giving a supportive squeeze.

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Oddly Sharon being called away lends some familiarity to the meal. Some things never change. He gives her a nod as she goes and then smiles to Amanda about Sharon's past. "Impressive," he says. "What'd she do?" he asks of her athletic pursuits. After all in the time he had just left that was a very novel thing.

His hand returns to rest on Peggy's as she lends him her support, listening to the tale he hadn't heard fully himself, brow rising at whatever the hell CRISPr technology was. He'll likely have questions for later.

Then it's his turn, he hesitates trying to find a way to explain it all honestly and not give too much away or just sounding insane. Resignation in his voice, he decideds on the simple and unsatisfying answer of "It's classified." Better that than explaining magic mirrors and how he may yet have to die to his son and daughter in law.

Melinda May has posed:
Gymnastics. She was considered an Olympic hopeful, at one point," Amanda tells Daniel. "But she made the decision not to pursue it. I don't think she wanted the attention." Is it any wonder Sharon works behind the scenes, now?

"I'm surprised they haven't patented it as anti-aging technology," she observes to Peggy, nonetheless. "They could make a fortune." Of course, for all she knows, they already are. What does she really know about these big, shadowy organizations, after all?

"They never told me that," Michael tells his mother. "All I got was a letter from SHIELD, signed by some new acting director or another, telling me that my mother was involved in an 'accident' and, for *classifed* reasons --" he eyes his father darkly-- "wouldn't be coming home. And that they were sorry for my loss." He levels a dark gaze at her. "I never expected to see you again. But they wouldn't declare you dead. So..." His voice trails off, a conclusion in his tone nonetheless. He merely shrugs and pays closer attention to his meal.

Peggy Carter has posed:
As Daniel says it's classified, Peggy shoots him a bit of a look. It's not exactly angry, but they were trying to open up here. It might be bossy of her, maybe even a little rude, but she's used to making the executive decisions and this is one she's making again. She squeezes Daniel's leg before she explains gently, "It's complicated, and even most of this is classified, yes, but there was an incident... An anomaly in time, and your father was pulled... Through. We're still sorting things out and he's still adjusting to it not being 1956. As strange as that all sounds. It seems impossible but... so does an infinity serum. And aliens. And Captain America being alive again. But you asked, so..." Peggy dips her head to both of them. It might be a step in the right direction, opening up secrets she would never tell before.

And then she's back to munching at her dinner, as if the talk of time travel never occured. Her face closes off a bit more as she gets the news about how Michael was told, something breaking in her heart again. "God...Oh hell, I'm... sorry. I should have... left something more. I honestly didn't think you even... cared."

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Daniel gives Peggy a look of his own, annoyed, especially after he got that dark look from Michal over his answer. He reaches for his still empty wine glass and frowns. "I know it sounds weird, but that's what happened, sorry for not being forthcoming, but there's a lot of parts of that story we can't really share for obvious reasons."

Though he's glad to nod about Sharon's accomplishments, and change the subject. "The olympics? Really," he says quietly impressed. "She must have been really something."

Though as how Michael was told comes up he flinches, understanding why Michael had been less than happy with his answer about how he got to the 21st Century.

Melinda May has posed:
Amanda hides a wince. She's no superspy, but you don't run in the social circles she and Michael do without learning how to read people and how to conceal your own reactions to them. It's as much a survival skill in her world as it is theirs.

She recognizes, in the look Peggy gives Daniel and the way she opens up afterward, that the woman does seem to be making some effort. However, she also witnesses her close off at her son's words. That leaves the blonde feeling a bit nonplussed, despite Peggy's words in response.

Before she can say anything, however, Michael's utensils clatter against his plate. "Didn't think I cared? I was a kid." Twenty-something, maybe? "I was angry. And I was trying to prove myself. It's not like you were home much anyway, but... At least, I'd usually see you on my birthday. Or yours, if you actually were home long enough for me to stop in."

Truthfully? No. He didn't always make the effort. He resented it. But he expected her to still be there somewhere in the background. "You want to know what happened when you... disappeared? Because that's what it was. A disappearance."

He leans back in his chair, meal forgotten. "They wouldn't declare you dead. So, I was left with nothing. Nothing to remember you by except odds and ends you'd left with the Jarvises. Not the house in Long Island. Not even a teapot from your office. Nothing." From his demeanor, though, despite the nice house around them, it's not missing the things that bothers him. "So, I moved on."

At least, he thought he did.

"Then I'm sitting here one night, watching the news. Waiting to see my daughter's face picked up as part of a terrorist cell... Or killed in some fiasco overseas." Oh, yeah. He's angry about that. His volume doesn't change, but there's no doubt about it. "Instead, it's my mother's face staring back at me from the television screen. Not in a retrospective, not part of some commentary of the 100th birthday of the Founder of SHIELD. No. It's a wanted poster. A woman, with my mother's face, is wanted for kidnapping the CEO of a Fortune 100 company my company works with... in Denmark."

He pushes back from the table, rising, napkin off his lap and in his hand. "I'm sorry. What is it you want me to say to you, right now? That's it's okay? My daughter is a wanted criminal because of SHIELD. I'm sorry, Mother. It's not okay."

He throws the napkin down on his chair and stalks back towards the living room.

Sharon Carter has posed:
Upstairs, Sharon was dealing with her own mess. The conversation remained quiet and heated, fluidly mixing other languages into a lingo that could hardly be recognizable to her parents. But to her grandparents if they heard? A definite yes.

"Fine. If you want this, then you got it. We, me and you? We are going to -war-." The phone was snatched away from her ear, white knuckle gripped as lips purse angrily. Her other hand is brought up, curled into a fist, and shook at the air like a child throwing a tantrum. Thankfully no one can see this side of the calm, reserved spy. Well, her mother has, but no other.

Her head tilts hard to the right to pop her neck, phone now slipped into her back pocket, she rolls her shoulders and jumps a little to regain her composure. Fingers dig into her eyes to reset even if it hurt, and soon she put on a smile to draw out the light. And it was back towards the stairs she goes.

At the top, she could see her father pass, and soon that light-hearted look turns to concern. Bounding down and not skipping a step, she lands upon the ground as she usually would, missing the last step with a hand upon the railing to watch. "Dad?" She asks.

The approach was slow, she knows her father wouldn't lash out or prompt her to take that approach. But it's been years, so a careful stalk was needed. "What happened?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
Very few things leave Peggy Carter speechless, but this is one of those moments. She cracks out quietly, "...Michael..." But he's already stalking off to the living room. Her eyes press tightly shut for a moment against a sudden wave of glassiness she's trying not to let escape in front of her daughter-in-law and swallows back tightly. Finally, her gaze reopens and she whispers, "I... know I deserved that. I had no clue... they didn't tell him. Give him anything. No... clue. And I have no clue how even start fixing this. He didn't deserve...any of it." Peggy confesses, dark gaze flickering over to Daniel, her eyes practically begging him to give her better answers.

Then she hears Sharon's voice echoing from the other room and a bit of a relieved breath escapes her lips. She still looks half ready to get up from the table and run after them, but she controls herself with a slow breath. Maybe Sharon can smooth some of this over. "...Neither of them deserved this. I.... know that." She echoes her earlier words, softer than before.

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Daniel watches his son stalk off before his eyes go to Peggy and he reaches for her hand, trying to aid in the fight against those tears. "You had no way of knowing how they'd handle it. But god, you'd think they'd do something for him while you were down. "Who took over after you? If they're still alive I'm going to rip them a new one," he says, you know when the whole 'arrest on sight' thing is resolved. He takes a drink as much to give him a moment to cool off than out of thirst before he says, catching that look Peggy gives him, he takes a breath. "There's nothing that can undo the past, but we can be here now, to help however we can," he says looking where Michael went, "But I think we need to give him some space," he looks to Amanda for her read on things. "I don't think pushing a talk will help any right now."

Melinda May has posed:
Amanda now finds herself in that awkward position of having to continue to play hostess at an event that is quickly going off the rails. More than that, at a time when the man she loves more than life itself is hurting so badly she can practically see him bleeding... metaphorically, anyway. Her lips press together tightly as Peggy reacts to it all.

There's a part of her that feels some empathy for the woman -- simply because she believes those reactions to be too genuine to really be faked. Can a mother really fake that much pain about their child? Amanda doesn't think so.

Nevertheless, she can't help but be angry on Michael's behalf. Her eyes settle on Daniel, at the vehemence of his words. "I doubt it would do you any good," she says, deceptively mildly. "If they weren't willing to listen to Mr. Stark's lawyers over the matter, I doubt they'd listen to you." So, there's a clue: Edwin Jarvis went to bat for his friend's son, in his own way. Still, she lets a tight breath out of her nose and lays her fork down. "And... no. You're right." She hears Sharon's soft voice and gives her guests a wry, unhappy smile. "If anyone can reach Michael right now, it's Sharon. But you'd best stay here."

Meanwhile, in the livingroom, Michael has picked up and downed the half glass of scotch he left in there. He turns as Sharon comes up behind him. His eyes are dark and stormy. "I'm sorry, honey," he says, trying to bring his emotions under control. He has a lot of his mother in him, though he'd hate to admit it right now. "I don't..." His hands come up fists clenching as he turns away. Slowly, he lowers his fists to his side and forces his fingers to open... rather than choke the life out of something.

Finally, he lets out a heavy breath, jaw clenched and back stiff. "Who is she?" he asks his daughter, not really expecting an answer. "Who is she really? Do you know? I don't. This... this is impossible. And, I'm sorry, honey, I can do a lot of things. I always wanted to be the perfect father to you, because my own childhood was so screwed up, but... I can't do this. I can't look at this facsimile of maternal loss and see anything other than the face of the woman who chose the whole world over me. I can't do it."

Sharon Carter has posed:
Sharon didn't flinch when her father turned around. She never really had to. Most of her life growing up was filled with stern talks and finger wagging, punishments and disappointed looks. She never had to flinch away from her parents or run away in the middle of the night with a tiny suitcase and a baby blanket trailing behind her. Aside from teenaged norms of butting heads; her upbringing was relatively charmed. And somewhat normal.

She doesn't interrupt, she doesn't bother to console her father. She lets him have his words, forgetting that the others were in the dining room in front of their plates and drinks. Right now? Sharon could use one, but she settled on remaining thirsty in order to wait for the wine at the dinner table.

"Daddy.. liste.. listen." She finally says, taking a step forward. "You were absolutely the best father that anyone could have hoped for, and.. to be quite honest, it's not fair how good you were." She had to laugh a little, but the seriousness of the situation causes that smile to drop. If he lets her, she would take both of his hands so that she could pull him to a seat to settle. Pacing would do no good. Deep breathing would, but it would come without instruction.

She hoped.

"Right now, we don't know who she is. Who she really is. They. They only really came back to us not too long ago.." She thinks on this, now releasing her fathers hands if she had them. "But.. dad. Back then, I can see now that she was a woman who was hurt. Deeply. If you lost mom and had me to raise as a baby, I am -sure- you would have done different, but it still would have been the same. Grandma.. your mother, saved the world over and over so that we could live in it, maybe even to make Grand-dad proud as he looked down on us. I don't know." Leaning back upon the couch now, her hands rub a little at her thighs, then grips her knees as she sits forward. Now she was musing.

"If you can't look at her that way, look at her like this. A woman reborn attempting to reconnect with her family, laid bare on the cross. Taking daggers from us left and right. Your words and my avoidance because I fought so hard to be like her and wound up wrong." She purses her lips into a tight smile. "And grandpa, who we've never had a private word with because we do not know who he is. Probably taking a beating from the three of us because mom and me can see you both in him, and you not knowing him, and he himself regretting dying before he even knew." She finally shifts upon the couch now, to look at her father directly.

"Daddy, you've given me so many chances and sometimes I screwed it up but you've always loved me the same. Can you get to know her all over again? And learn about grandpa? And maybe love them like you love me and mom? Cause.. I know nothing lasts forever. And this is a second chance, and when you and Mom are gone, I'm going to wish like hell and high water I can bring you back younger. Full of life. Just so I can leave here knowing that my heart has been filled up until its bursting at the seams all over again. Just.. try. If not for me, but.. for you." She frowns.

"You wouldn't be as angry as you are right now if you didn't love them, or the idea of what they could have been as much."

Peggy Carter has posed:
As Amanda confirms that they had best not run after him, Peggy's eyes close once more. She doesn't argue, she simply gives a faint little nod as her hand leaves the table and stretches over to wrap fingertips against Daniel's leg. Needless to say, her appetite is entirely gone now. "...I love him, you know. More than life itself. I... never showed it well. I think I was *scared* to...love someone that much. Especially after losing Daniel. But," Peggy faintly shakes her head, "It's no matter now. I cannot change the past and I cannot force him to forgive me."

She then looks back to Daniel, grimacing a bit when he mentions who took over after her. "Fury, I believe, and...he's always had too many plans in the air. Especially when he knew I wasn't dead. But it wasn't right and... shit. I never even..." Peggy falls quiet again, unable to finish that statement. She failed to do so many things. In that silence, she hears scraps from the other room. A tear finally cuts down her face. "...maybe we should go." She whispers faintly. But the quiet scraps of Sharon's words that she can finally hear get a faint glimmer of a smile from her. "... She's a better person than she has any idea of..."

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Daniel rests his hand on Peggy's when she reaches for him, grimacing at the mention of his loss. His appetite flees as well. "I really messed things up big time when I got shot," he murmurs before taking another drink and setting down his glass. He nods about Fury, "Still, Michael should have gotten something," he says quietly, it was years in the past now and Amanda was right there's not much they can do about it.

He looks over when Peggy suggests they should go, and shakes his head, hearing those same snippets of conversation as Peggy did from the other room. "Not yet, let's wait until they come back," he says before he nods. "And you're not wrong," he says of Sharon, the pride in his voice evident.

Melinda May has posed:
Amanda regards the pair across the table from her her for a long moment as their grief and anger is put on quiet display. Finally, she inhales a deep breath and reaches for the bottle of wine, pouring it out into the cups at the table for them. They look like they need it after all. "You could go, yes," she says softly, mainly so that her words don't necessarily carry to the living room... not that she thinks Michael is listening. "But from one mother to another?" She sighs, studying the brunette's eyes and making a quiet decision. "If it were Sharon, instead of Michael, I'd be doing the same thing you are."

She leans back, reaching for her wine, "The story you've told us is... well, it's pretty damned crazy. But I know that crazier things happen on the news every day. I know that Sharon faces those same crazy things every day. And it drives me to distraction." She cants her head as she looks between them. "It's easy to fake a lot things, but I don't think even the vaunted Peggy Carter can fake all this." Her smile is wry as she says, dry, but her tone holds a hint of sympathy. "But I remember when you 'disappeared'. I remember the frustration and the grief Michael went through. He thought it was his fault. For years. He thought you stopped caring because you thought he had. He was so angry, for so long. At you. But mostly at himself. Edwin and Ana were beside themselves trying to keep him from going off the rails at the time. He threw himself into building his career because he wanted to be the next Howard Stark."

She lets out a small breath and swallows down more wine. "It wasn't until Sharon was born that he truly settled down. Focussed. And, those first few years... he was still at work more than he was home. It wasn't until Edwin passed away that everything changed... He said he didn't want to be like you, always at work. Sharon was only five or six at the time. I doubt she even remembers." She glances through the archway to the livingroom, watching her daughter draw Michael to the couch...

For his part, Michael allows Sharon to 'mother' him in that moment. He may feel guilty about it later, but he doesn't have the wherewithall to resist, right now. His lips continue to press together in that thin, tight line as she speaks, his jaw working, chewing on her words. His knuckles are white on his knees as he folds them against his trousers.

There's truth in what she says. He knows that. But... this is all so unlikely. So confusing. Everything he thought he'd put to rest years ago. "She's no Christ, Sharon," he says finally. "I know you always idolized her. But she's not a martyr or a saint. And maybe, in her position, I'd have done the same thing. I don't know. But I do know you'd feel much as I do if I had."

He looks at her for a long moment. "You've got so much of her, in you... I love you, babygirl. I always will. I don't know how to deal with her, though. I just don't."

Sharon Carter has posed:
"Oh I know that Dad." Sharon says, it wasn't snappish, it was acknowledging her own fault in this. She doesn't say anything; not even returning the 'I love you', mostly because she was lost in thought. What -would- she do if her Dad had done the same thing? Would she be angry at him if he poured himself into his work?

She definitely wouldn't have turned out like she is now.

"Dad. What Mom always told me when she helped me with my Math homework. 'You do it in steps.'" Sharon nods at this. "I'm not saying to forgive her right away, or forgive her at all. Ever. Heck, you already did step one. You expressed emotion. Step two? I suppose it's just watch and listen. Then maybe understand."

Now she was forgetting all of her niceties for when she came home after missions; she slides forward upon the couch to reach over to take the empty cup that he put down, standing to move towards the bottle of scotch that was left open to pour herself a drink. It was more than a few fingers. It was practically the entire glass.

"If you think about it.." Sharon says now, gesturing towards him with the heavy, filled glass. "..they could be your friend instead of your mom and dad, eventually." She takes a drink, a healthy swallow, and continues with the list of possibility. "You could give them stock tips. Though I do imagine now they've amassed a fortune.." Thoughts..

"But Dad. One day at a time, yeah?" She moves back to the couch to sit with her drink, this time leaning forward with both elbows upon her knees. "You.. truthfully. How do you feel about your dad being here? All your emotion is directed at Grandma but you barely even mention Grandpa.."

Peggy Carter has posed:
Immediately, Peggy shakes her head when Daniel mentions messing things up when being shot. Her glassy eyes go a bit wider and she stares at him, "God, no, Daniel. I mean... There was clearly no part of that which was YOUR choice. You cannot blame yourself for the realities of our jobs that we both accepted every day and night. And still accept. We know every mission could be the last and it's a miracle we have you back now. We... we have a second chance. Whether he'll give it to us or not is another matter. But this is in no way your fault." She tightens her hand around his, her voice quite insistent and the look in her eyes says she will not take argument about this.

Then she's looking back to Amanda, shaking her head slower this time. "It wasn't Michael's fault either. Not in...any way. I have never dealt well with weakness and I did not wish him to see me like that. It was... bad... Before they put me in cryofreeze. I was falling apart, almost literally. Think near unto radiation sickness. I... I wasn't thinking straight, and this is my fault. But you're right. I...I'm also not going to run from it. I'll fight for any chance I might get with our son. I still love him. I never, ever stopped loving him. I never will."

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Daniel knows that look well and so let's things go with a nod, they may discuss it later but right now he'll take what Peggy said as the final word.

His eyes cut to her when she describes what she was going through in more detail than he's heard so far. His hand tightens on hers in quiet support while he tries not to imagine what it must have been like.

He nods in support of Peggy's words, "I love Michael too, and since I have this second chance at life, I'd like to get to know him and try to make things right with whatever time we get."

Melinda May has posed:
Amanda gives Peggy a wry smile. "I know it's not Michael's fault." She sets her wine glass down. "You and Sharon are so similar... You and Michael." She glances to Daniel and nods. "I've learned, after nearly forty years with Michael, that I can't control what he thinks and how much he internalizes, so I'll tell you the same thing I suspect my daughter is tell him: None of you can force this. I don't know if you'll ever heal this the way you want to. But..."

She leans forward some. "This is going to take time. Michael's going to rail. He's going to be prickly and he's going to balk. He may say things you don't want to hear. He may say things he doesn't mean." She looks between them. "I don't know you, obviously. And I doubt my husband will appreciate me saying all this. But... this is clearly important to my daughter. And, mother to mother, I will do anything I can to support my daughter."

She meets Peggy's eyes again. "I *believe* that's where you're coming from. Ultimately. But this whole situation is crazier than anything I've ever seen... ever even heard of. Given how well I know Michael, I can guess the sorts of conversations you two are going to have later. Just... trust me when I tell you that as long as he's not throwing you out on your ass, there's still hope."

"He's not my father," Michael tells Sharon with a mild shrug. His tone is less blunt than the words themselves. "He might be the man who sired me, but he's not my dad." He rises off the couch, noting that his daughter has stolen both his cup and his liquor. A brow arches faintly, in askance. On the whole, though, he doesn't really mind -- other than the fact he'd like to indulge a considerable bit more, himself.

He picks up one of those extra tumblers and takes the bottle from Sharon and then splashes a couple of fingers worth into the glass. He points to Edwin Jarvis' image on the mantle. "I don't know how well you remember Uncle Edwin, but he and Aunt Ana were more my parents than those two people sitting at the table."

He looks back into that room. The conversation they're having in there, he can't hear. But he can see how they're interacting. "I'll... try, Sharon. I don't think I will ever see them as my parents. Not really. But... for you... maybe. For me... I don't think it really matters, any more."

Sharon Carter has posed:
Sharon makes a face, one that looked pained. "Oh come on Dad.." She places the glass to her chest, her head shaking. "I am almost forty years old, well closer to it, and I still do not want to hear my father say 'sired'. Bleech." She laughs a little, allowing the bottle to be taken away as she focuses on her own drink. "You say Uncle, I say Grandpa." That's how well she remembers Edwin, and she was sticking to it. They did mean a lot to her, as much as she could remember.

Now it was like they were one in the same; Sharon took on his matter of seating when he was thinking, a lean back and a crossed leg with a wince as she taps her fingers against the glass. The conversation in the other room.. she could only hear the tones and murmurs of words that she herself couldn't decipher.

"Just let it happen, Dad. If it works, it works. If it doesn't, it doesn't. But.. just keep in mind. Friends. Not parents." She glances back to the room, and then to her father. "Though, this is pretty.. pretty weird, right?" As much as she wanted to swear, she couldn't.

"Like, who the heck has a grandma that's -her- age?" Sharon shakes her head at the absurdity of it all, and soon she breaks out into a laugh, once that has her stopping to clutch her side with a beet red face.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Seeing that slightly askance look from Daniel as she describes how close she was to the end, she brushed the pad of her thumb up and down the side of his hand, trying to wordlessly reassure him. Now, she's strong and healthy as she's ever been. It's hard to imagine she ever deteriorated so badly. It's all well in the past. "I'm...fine now. Lucky. We are both so god damned lucky and I'll fight every inch of the way for us to have the chance to get to know him down. I just hope he... He'll fight a little bit too. If not for us, for Sharon." She gives a bittersweet smile, thought it warms just a bit more as Amanda says their is hope.

"Hope. I'll take hope. And yes, I suppose that we were invited for dinner at all is a bit of a miracle. We just need a few more miracles before all of this is over." She weakly jests, the crack of tears still behind her voice though she's trying not to cry any more.

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Concern remains in Daniel's eyes but the reassurance seems to lift the furrow of worry from his brow. "We've been very lucky," he agrees, before turning to Amanda. "And hope is good, it's somewhere to start," he says though by the way he looks he shares that desire to see Michael fight a little for all of this too. Maybe in time.

That little crack of Peggy's voice isn't missed and Daniel's thumb takes it's turn running down the side of Peggy's hand trying to shore up her resolve in this fraught moment. "If a miracle is what it takes we'll find a way to make it happen," he says quietly.

Melinda May has posed:
Sharon begins to laugh and Michael blinks at her. The harder she laughs, however, the more contagious it is. As a result, he begins to laugh, too. Before long, the laughter carries into the dining room. And just a little, Michael's shoulders relax. "There is not enough alcohol in the world for this," he tells his daughter dryly. "I suppose we should try to finish dinner." A beat. He gives her a halfsmile. "Thank god your mother didn't make souffle."

Amanda watches the pair before her respond to her words. If she's honest with herself, she really doesn't understand why she's giving these people a chance like this. But Michael really wouldn't be nearly this upset, she knows, if he didn't care. No matter what he says.

Then, the laughter begins in the other room. She turns and looks, seeing her daughter in a real belly laugh and watching it catch on with her husband. A gentle smile touches her lips. She glances at the two people across the table. "Congratulations," she say softly. "You'll get to stay through dessert. I hope you like coconut cream pie."

Sharon Carter has posed:
Sharon could -barely- breathe after it all, possibly the first time she's had a good damn laugh in a very long time, and thankful that she could share it with family. She tries to bite away the tears that come with laughing so hard, so much so that she had to put down her glass to bury her heels into her eyes. Taking in that little whoop of a laugh, she throws her head back to take a deep inhale. "Oh.. lord.. was that Grammies recipe or hers?" The shudder that Sharon took on was magnificent.

Clapping her hands against her thighs, she rises from the couch, leaving her scotch upon the table. She'll come back for that later. "Maybe we should just skip to dessert, I'm pretty sure the foods cold by now." With those words, she returns to the dining room, a huge smile upon her face as she takes her seat in between her mother and father. "Sorry about that." She announces, then looks down at her food. "Maybe.. here, I'll go get dessert."

Sharon, always leaving.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The laughter gets a very confused look from Peggy, double taking to the others in the room before looking back towards the living room. A weak smile flutters across her red lips, but it is actually a smile. "Well...that's encouraging, at least. Better than screaming." She squeezes Daniel's hand and, a moment before the others enter the room, gently lifts his palm to her lips to give his knuckles a gentle kiss. She's clearly still madly in love with the man. Then she lets his palm go and sits up a bit straigher as they are rejoined by the others.

"Dessert...sounds lovely. Coconut cream pie is my favourite, in truth. Get it every year for my birthday..." Well, other than this year when they nearly blew it up off her front steps because of a certain proto-Black Widow. She watches Michael as he comes in, then smirks to Sharon, "Goodness, Sharon, can you just sit and relax? Let your mum get desert, she is the hostess..."

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Peggy's not the only one confused by the laughter, looking to Amanda to see if she has any insight there, though the kiss to his hand has him distracted before long, his own look at Peggy, just as besotted as hers is at him.

"Dessert would be great, thanks," Daniel says smiling when he hears what it is. "It's true, she absolutely loves it," he fills in, as did he by this point. "Let her get it if she wants," he says to Peggy. "If she's got your taste in pie, she'll at least stay seated through dessert," he says lightly.

Melinda May has posed:
Amanda waits until Michael returns before she rises. She gives him a concerned look. But he waves it away with a small shake of his head. Amanda smiles and reaches out to squeeze his hand before she gathers up some of the dishes to clear them to the kitchen. She's fine if Sharon wants to help, but she also can't help but think that maybe having one of them in the room with the trio is probably a good idea. "Sit," she tells her daughter. "It's pie. I got it." A few more moments of clearing the table and she brings the pie to the table along with the plates and pie lifter.

Michael resumes his seat, glancing to his mother. "That's right," he says, as if remembering something from long ago. "Aunt Ana used to make you pies, didn't she?" He slides back into his seat and looks at his half full plate. It's a shame to waste the food but he's really not interested in it.

Sharon Carter has posed:
Right when Sharon was about to rise, at least two of them ask her to sit. She settles back down again, doing that same head-tilt when there was tension within her neck, hoping to ease it just by that action alone. As her Dad asks Grandma a question, Sharon says nothing. But she does pour herself a glass of wine to mix the scotch that was already in her belly to drunkenness.

And that was for her own sanity.

"I'm going to pass on the pie." Sharon offers up. With her mom in the kitchen, she finally tells the age old secret that her parents probably knew. "I'm going to get mom to make my own by pretending I'm too full to even -bother- right now." When she did that, mom would make it fresh the next day and it would be all -hers-!

Sharon lifts a finger to her lips, then shakes her head. Don't tell. This is serious, and rather childish on her part!

Peggy Carter has posed:
The question of Aunt Ana's pies make Peggy smile a bit more. There's clearly a moment of whistfulness in her face, missing the woman so fiercely for so many reasons. "Oh, goodness, yes. She made the best pies... but coconut cream at least once a month. Especially when I came back from long missions. I suspect that's how it got passed down to you, and now Sharon, it seems." Peggy's smile widens at Sharon's little plot, giving the young woman a small wink and a finger to her lips. She'll keep silent.

"So... what did we miss, joke wise? I thought you two were going to pass out in there, and here I had been bracing to be kicked out the front door in a few minutes."

Daniel Sousa has posed:
Smiling Daniel says, "I've got her recipe for them back at the Long Island house but I think she left some steps out, mine were nowhere near as good," he says with a fond smile at the memory "She was an amazing cook."

Daniel notes Sharon's scheme as well, and smiles briefly in her direction before it's hidden in a sip of wine.

Melinda May has posed:
Oh, Amanda fully knows that trick. But, she's always indulged it. There are worse things than baking an extra pie. Half the time, it's sat prepped in the pantry and only needs to be inserted into the oven. And if it means her daughter stays for another night, well... perhaps that's a mother's trick, too. It's certainly more ethical than plying her with more alcohol -- which seems to be her father's trick.

"Aunt Ana had the best recipes for a lot of thing," Michael says. He's decided, if they're going to make this work, they need to avoid the loaded topics. He's happy to do that. He gathers a few more of the dishes and leaves them at the end of the table for Amanda. But once they're cleared, he helps her serve the pie to his... parents. Or, anyway, the people who look like them.

Amanda settles down in her spot, placing the last piece of pie in front her her. She glances to her daughter. "So, you're staying the night, I assume?" A beat. "If you expect that pie."

Sharon Carter has posed:
"Joke wise? Nothing, really. I did my Stark as a reporter impression that I used to do as a kid." Sharon lied. Completely lied. But in the moment, it was okay.

Things seemed relatively calm which allowed Sharon to settle into relaxation. There was no damage control, no unruly phone calls that needed her attention. She was there in the moment as she watches the three of them, and marveled at the mix of them with her eyes darting back and forth.

Her mom though? Sly devil! Sharon grows beet in the face, her head soon bobbing with a quick nod. "Yes, Mom. At least for a week, like old times." It has been three years, and it was good to be home.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The rest of the evening is spent in lighter, more gentle conversation. Nothing big is tackled, things are still a little awkward, but the worst seems to have passed. At the end of dinner and after one more round of drinks, Peggy nd Daniel take their goodbyes. As long as Michael permits, Peggy gives him one of the longest, tightest hugs of their lives. "I love you, Michael. I always will." She whispers against his hair before letting him go. Another few quiet goodbyes and they disappear out into the evening to drive back into the city. Peggy will let Daniel drive, just like their old nights going home late after work.