6939/Life's Work

Life's Work
Date of Scene:	15 July 2021
Location:	The Lab - Playground
Synopsis:	HYDRA has done a terrible thing to Peggy Carter, and Jane is set on a path to reintegrate with SHIELD.
Cast of Characters:	Peggy Carter, Jane Foster

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Peggy Carter has posed:
The Lab -- The Playground

Accessed through glass doors the lab keeps the retro look of the rest of the base but is mixed liberally with the cutting edge gear that escaped the fall of the Triskelion. There are multiple well lit work stations fit for both bio and engineering work as well as computers linked to the base's mainframe capable of running complex experimental models and projecting potential outcomes of bio or mechanical work. Still though despite all the toys the lab in the Playground pales in comparison to the R&D labs in the Triskelion, what's more it also doubles as an infirmary, with a trio of hospital beds set up in the back, as well as two quarantine areas with secure shatterproof glass doors that can be locked from the outside, with the necessary medical equipment inside to offer assistance to those within.

Image: https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/marvelcinematicuniverse/images/0/05/Labplayground.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20150609195837

Peggy Carter has posed:
There's a short list of people Peggy wishes to talk to before things possibly get worse. She would hesitate to call it a bucket list, as that would be morbid, but it's an insuance policy never the less. Jane Foster has been on that list. So, notice has been sent to several agents throughout the Playground that should Jane show her face, she is to report to the medical corner of the lab immediately. Peggy knows how hard it is to catch the woman.

The Chief is set up in a fairly heavily monitored bed in the far corner. Whatever is wrong with her, it's severe. She's got an oxygen line across her nose, an IV in the back of her hand, a series of monitors all across her chest and one finger, as well as a strange series of faint red circuitry lines beneath her skin all around her temples, hairline, and wrists. Her skin has the gray-blue pallor of a patient in heart failure, but she's sitting up and functional. For the moment, at least. She's convinced someone to let her wear a proper night robe -- this one black satin with pink flamingos on it -- instead of a hospital gown. She's reading over a tablet quietly in her medical work bed, two others on the tray next to her.

Jane Foster has posed:
Anyone waiting on Jane Foster may be waiting a very, very long time. For months, the highly active social media presence operated on a shoestring. Someone practically engaged every other night of the week with an appearance on podcasts, streaming services, and science lectures going quiet is noticeable. Presumably something related to heavy scientific investigation swallowed up the Director of the Hayden Planetarium. Or she took a sabbatical when SHIELD crashed into self-imposed obscurity, free for the first time in several years from the suffocating authority?

Jane's files, such as they exist in the database, are full of holes: an active agent falling out of communication except for one disturbing matter under heavy classification. Mostly because it involved a goddess stalking through the Triskelion around Christmas time, dropping off the woman and her effects, and then radio silence.

Imagine the reception of 'Carter wants to see you' or something to that effect the moment she sets foot in a... it's best to not ask //why// she was in a server room, but seeing that her tablet is apparently acting up, she comes escorted by another lower-ranked agent and dropped off in the Laboratory where the brunette may belong. And the poor guy who got a shock, literally, of his life ends up off to be patched up and checked over.

The door slides shut. No way her badge would open it; it's keyed for the Triskelion unless security protocol turned over for her. "Well."

Peggy Carter has posed:
Fortunately, considering her credentials, Jane's badge *has* been transferred over to the Playground. At least, to the lab and the lounge area. Peggy's done a few things to set up SHIELD and their experts to keep going even if she does not. Her tablet and monitoring system have informed her the elusive woman is on the way, so when she hears footsteps coming towards her corner of the lab, a pale smile crosses her features.

"Dr. Foster, as I live and breathe." Almost, "I was starting to wonder if we lost you entirely." The director's voice has the edge of a rasp to it. She isn't a well woman, but she's also not letting that subdue her personality or command.

Jane Foster has posed:
Then one troubled adventure comes to a happy end, among many gone awry. The beep at the door sufficiently bemuses and amuses the brunette astrophysicist to slow her for a moment, perhaps to a dead standstill. Tucked at her side, the tablet is an inert block absent of charging, its battery probably closer to -30% than a sliver worthy for their proprietary tech to bleat about.

Alas, for the nonce, wearing a sweater tending to slide off her shoulder and a pair of jeans make a nice four-seasons outfit and nothing 'official.' Her boots have a slight chestnut sheen, as though desperately awaiting autumn's arrival any day now. Those crisp English tones beg for afternoons in the cooling air, a crisp cider at hand. Maybe a good IPA. Of the many answers that spring to the woman's lips facing Peggy, the appropriate answer is a wry one, her head tilted and dipped in kind. "So you do. The better for us all." A hand gesture waves to the variety of tubing, all of it keenly informing her exactly how close a shadow of danger lies. "Is it about time I brew up another concoction like last time? We put some refinements into the process, after all, after the first donation," she says of the infusion fashioned from her and Jemma, Dane and Daisy.

Peggy Carter has posed:
A small chuff of air escapes Peggy's throat as the woman echoes 'so you do.' Peggy smirks pale lips, carefully shutting the tablet she's been working on and settling it aside with her good hand. The other is mostly immobile from the IV and annoying pulse ox monitor they've kept on her far too long now. "Well, for the moment, at least. I suppose that is what matters. Still, clock is ticking and work to be done." Peggy shrugs, tiredly, but trying to keep some good attitude up about this entire mess. She can't give in. Then HYDRA wins.

The question about the concoction gets a slight look then a faint shake of her head, "Simmons is on it, or trying... whatever HYDRA did has highly destablized the serum. They've got some plans, but are still walking on eggshells around actually telling me anything. But, I didn't bring you here to bother you about ME. I am more concerned about YOU. It's...Been some time, hasn't it? Are you well? How do you feel about SHIELD, now that we're all criminals?"

Jane Foster has posed:
Never quite lacking for that slightly wry humour, Jane does not broach beyond the bounds of good taste without a drink in hand, preferably a strong one. Laughing in the face of the Norns' unkind weavings is one thing, meant to alleviate the stress Peggy might feel in her current predicament. She'd never consider tearing down the subject of their machinations.

Familiar as the glow of the little finger monitor and the tubing wound everywhere may be, compassion blooms behind the observant, open expression turned by the brunette to Peggy. The storied counterpart of countless adventures wears that weight of trouble heavily, but still blossoms radiant all the same. "They will be gravely disappointed to see their efforts fail, but they should be used to it by now. Despite the setbacks, they haven't brought down what you worked so hard to establish." Her hooded gaze shifts to the agents outside, going about whatever monitoring they might be, to say nothing of the battery of devices embedded everywhere in the lab for various different purposes. "You might find me a good listener, if you have need. Doctor's daughters often have good bedside manners." She breaks into a wry smile briefly at that, then gives her head a shake, those loose chestnut strands escaping their bondage and framing her face. "More than ever, the agency shows its sterling qualities by failing to fall into the darkness spun from lies around it. Funny how criminal status often gets painted over people working in the best interests of the people or a nation when someone corrupt ends up in charge. Mass accusations and incarcerations tend to be a sign you're headed in the wrong direction as a leader, and the right direction in times of civil strife. Though I doubt that's the sort of philosophical debate you asked about."

An even look returns; the girl who ran /for/ the Bifrost isn't flinching in front of Peggy Carter, she of the wise eyes and killer red lippy. "I've not abandoned ship."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The waxing philosophy that Jane offers gets a quiet tilt of Peggy's head. She is deeply listening, but also studying the woman. Jane has changed, that much is clear. Stronger, wiser in some ways, Peggy's carefully rebuilding the profile on the woman in her head from this conversation alone. She gives no reaction at first, but once she's done speaking, a smile tugs at her pale lips. It reaches all the way to her eyes. She is pleased with whatever she's heard.

"The philosophical debate isn't *wrong*, however... and tells me more about you than I knew five minutes ago. It's part of why I asked you here. Personally. Whether you've abandoned ship or not, I needed to be certain *I* still wanted you on this ship as well. Your presence has been missed. Even in our time of need." It's not accusatory, but simply stating a fact. Peggy needed to believe Jane should be here as much as she *wanted* to be here. "However... I have a proposition for you. A position that might be more ... Fitting to your current lifestyle. What do you know of WAND?"

Jane Foster has posed:
She is not the harassed, angry scientist yanked away from her life-changing research by the long arm of Nick Fury vis-a-vis the discovery of another realm, another race, widely deemed gods. Phil Coulson didn't have to drag in a bruised-eyed wildcat and read her the riot act before explaining what choices remained; legitimate choices, as opposed to losing a life's work and pining for lost lives. Jane Foster has grown up a fair bit. Then again, she also had Genosha dropped on her, and that has a way of changing perspectives.

"I assumed it went both ways." Never separate the spymaster from the friendly face, even when she reclines in a cot. Peggy's answer brings a warm hint of a smile out of the brunette again, though Jane draws a few steps closer and does not seem to need a chair immediately. "A continued interview drawing out an assessment to address fitness and performance, among other matters." Which probably makes her the worst spook in existence, laying down her cards gracefully enough, but forthright isn't blunt or stupid either. Misdirections have been woven from half-truths and apparent clarity for centuries, and stretching her wings to the aforementioned conversation is a pleasure on levels that Peggy may not even know. A one-eyed bastard content to hang from the same damn branch she did does, but he doesn't get the pleasure of knowing that right now.

"Would you like me to bring you some tea? I suspect there ought to be some in the drawer worth making." A gentle offer, honest, comes easily. "I know WAND's mandate includes investigation into preternatural matters, usually with a terrestrial focus. The obvious -- strange artifacts, dangerous locations, organizations or individuals with an occult focus. I accompanied Agent Whitman and Agent Croft on enough missions to gain a solid understanding for their work, and the remit from Director Palamas to engage, identify, and contain those kinds of troubles. Is that a fairly accurate assessment?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
A quiet sigh escapes her lips as she is offered the tea, but Peggy gives a faint shake to her head, "No, sadly, they have me on quite a... limited diet. I argued. I either got my robe, or my tea, and my dignity was more important." As well as comfort. And the robe wasn't doing anything caffiene wise to bother her heart, the tea might. But she's still smiling, watching the woman and all those changes with faintly proud, curious eyes. In all her years, Peggy will never grow tired of seeing them grow up. Jane most certainly has.

"Accurate about WAND. Though, I do believe it will spill into extra terrestrial as well. We do not have enough SWORD agents and there is much cross over between the departments. Perhaps you would prefer SWORD. But... I do believe you would do better in a specialized division of SHIELD. Somewhere you can have the permission and freedom to stretch your limbs, as you have been, but still be an official agent. Well, as official as we get. I want you *happy* with your work here. I want you to have the freedom to pursue YOUR expertise as well. WAND or SWORD... would do that for you, I believe."

Jane Foster has posed:
"Is there reason not to brew a pot?" Learning where the box around Peggy's health lies gives Jane some idea what loopholes may be exploited and those inalienable laws that no wise woman crosses. "I expect a black, given the preferences about here. It may lack for a proper sweetener unless cream or sugar ended up stowed away." Departing for any length of time beyond putting an electric kettle on may be undesirable. How often are these fleeting discussions even possible?

"SWORD and WAND would seem to have overlap. Understanding when a phenomenon originates from an eldritch or an alien source aside, the little matter of sufficiently advanced technology indistinguishable from magic crops up, doesn't it?" Semantics are put aside. "I haven't ever been entirely clear on the division of responsibilities between SHIELD and the divisions. Does belonging to WAND preclude direct engagement in SHIELD matters, or is there a precedence in that? My closest working partnerships have been concentrated obviously with other agents with a scientific backing -- Agent Simmons, Agent Johnson, obviously. Naturally I'll go where I can best serve in any capacity and you are not wrong on those fronts. But what is the tradeoff?"

Peggy Carter has posed:
"No, of course not. There is no hard wall where suddenly you may not work with Simmons or Johnson. You are still a SHIELD agent. But giving yourself to that Division says those are your primary responsibilities. You lead teams as level 5 Senior Agent when your area of expertise is the issue in the field. It also gives a little more... Excuse, for your hopping about reality or mysteriously not showing your face here for weeks -- if not longer. This is my hope that we might give you the freedom to pursue your own interests while keeping you on as a respected, in the know Agent. But, if you are content as you are, I understand. I simply might like a few reports a little more often." Peggy asks with a bittersweet smile.

She's given a silent nod of agreement at the thought of black tea, but hasn't vocalized a wish for it. If she had, the nurses might come swooping in and lecture her. But if a mug ends up next to her, it looks like she likely won't complain. But her dark eyed focus, while she has energy and consciousness, is all for Jane and the woman's decision in front of her.

Jane Foster has posed:
Weeks? Six and a half months, all in all, with a terminal question mark plunged into the complete lack of communications except sporadic work. That which would be handled by her team, even Darcy Lewis until recently, might still be managed the same. On that, the records are frustratingly sparse. Jane listens intently until Peggy is quite done, though.

The matter of tea only comes second, turning to identifying likely sources for kettle, tea, the rest. Jemma is methodical, Fitz likewise, and their usual haunts would imply what most likely holds the beverages and what doesn't. No need to pull a drawer on a box of sharps. "Give me a jot, and I'll be right back. Naturally parched, a lady must have her cup." The excuse may be a great deal harder to pull off when those nurses face down the smiling-eyed astrophysicist honed hard as a vibranium shield against well-meaning interests, deflecting suspicion. Preparing a mug or two appropriately involves purloining said electric kettle, her tablet put down -- inert and useless, but never out of arm's reach.

It takes four minutes, no more, for her to run that marathon and return to the room with said mug. It's placed down inside Peggy's reach, and if placement should block conveniently noticing from the nurse's station? Accidental, utterly. Totally. Haven't pulled this for Daisy or Jemma ever, nope. She pleads the fifth on that.

"Given the state of change, I am still contemplating my best fit within SHIELD. Certainly I am not saying no to WAND," she says conversationally, cheerful even. "Would an assignment temporarily lending me in that direction prove sufficient? Most of all, I prize engagement and involvement. Without knowing the scope of resources available, you have a better view where you need personnel. My expertise isn't exactly the equivalent of a standard field agent. Support and digging out evidence of spatial fluctuations doesn't do much for most spooks, and I've always been conscious of that."

Then again, not many people inside the organization can pinpoint what agent is about to keel over right now, either.

Peggy Carter has posed:
A quiet smile comes as Peggy dips her head in response to the tea, indicating she will be patient and trusts the woman to return. Maybe foolish, but she does. She lets her eyes close then, for a few moments, giving into the pure exhaustion that floods her body for the few minutes she's not being given attention. She can't let anyone else see her flagging, the team needs to think she's only momentarily down. But then, maybe it is useless to lie to a woman like Jane. Valkyrie senses would well know Peggy is dying. She is very likely to meet her end within a week, if something drastic is not done. But there are still chances. Twists of fate that might save her after all.

When she hears Jane's footsteps starting to return, she immediately reopens her eyes and straightens her body just a bit, looking back up to the woman. Her smile of gratiude is clear as the tea is set down next to her and, when she is certain nurses aren't looking, she does steal a deep, much needed sip of the stuff before setting it back down. "Tea. Always a wise idea." She murmurs in achingly British fashion.

"We could... make this temporary. Two months, perhaps? You get access to WAND records, see if there are other things to look into, and then we will touch base then. If it is not myself, I am certain Commander Morse or even Fury will be able to get you settled into whichever division you prefer. I will leave notes in your file."

Jane Foster has posed:
The goddess within the mortal stands by the wayside, dormant in her way, with the simple golden bangle on her wrist a seal waiting to break. It doesn't even wobble when she extends the mug to Peggy, another contribution to match those given. A few packets of sugar hide under her sleeve, turned out when she straightens the cuff at the expense of baring a pale shoulder. Jane sighs in brief repose, satisfied not a little by the scent in the air. "Say what you will about coffee, nothing ever quite matches the comforts of two cups of tea. Good memories follow that."

Their respective scars may be well-hidden, though the bleeding wound on the brunette astrophysicist presently evades standard means of observation. Stricken by encroaching death, she resonates with a ferocity of life outside the norm.

"Your impressions and feedback are invaluable. I owe you reports either way, though I haven't a great deal operationally to lay out unless it happens to be the questionable sanatorium being used as a holding cell for one of your agents," she murmurs, a touch wry. "Put me where you need me. Somewhere to be /useful/, at least. I am wretchedly tired of running about with nothing to show for it, nothing meaningfully contributed. It's been a while."

Peggy Carter has posed:
A deeper sigh escapes her lips as she takes a long sip of the tea, daring to let her eyes shut. It was a comfort, Jane was correct in that. She lets silence and savoring linger between them for a few strained heartbeats before she murmurs softly, "If you have the focus to stay about here, I suspect Simmons could use assistance with... Whatever HYDRA did to me. But there is a matter of time as well. My husband... is still stranded here from 1956. I would like him to be able to remain, but also ensure that his presence here is not hurting the time stream. If you are willing to research either of those matters, I would consider it a great favor. Otherwise... I am still getting caught up myself, after that imprisonment in the Frame work. It has been a difficult few weeks." Peggy frowns.

Then her head tilts to the side, worry deepening on her eyes as she catches up to what Jane has said. "What is this about one of our agents being in a sanatorium?"

Jane Foster has posed:
The time stream.

Jane has a little ability to bite her tongue, although crushed forks on that frayed temporal flow might wither without tending, several spurs still keep growing. Snarling. "I can measure small fluctuations on a large scale, though developing a personal, transportable way to monitor for them would be easier. I built a field for it, a few years ago, and fine-tuned the process when working at detecting incorporeal creatures manifesting from another dimension in Metropolis. Calibrated properly, your husband might be able to keep it on hand and have at least some forewarning. A continuous monitor might work like a Geiger counter, if you like to think of it that way. With a few stationary monitors where he remains more often, you could have a rather satisfactory advance warning system." What Peggy chooses to do with that is another matter.

"The Framework?" That has passed her by, suggesting any leaks inside SHIELD are limited indeed. At least in that direction, though a mild look of consternation recedes. A thousand lifetimes, one or two her own, do not make an easy sport of following everything. "Agent Simmons might singlehandedly develop restorative gene therapies in an idle weekend. I'll contribute what I can if she can bear to have me lying about while she works."

The mordant humour in that is a few floors down from their current conversation.

"An agent was being held against her will in a sanatorium several kilometers from the property. My geospatial awareness of the state is a bit hazy. I'm not convinced it exists," she quips. "But one of yours was shot and left for dead. You might ask Simmons about it, though please don't mention my name? I don't want to get her in trouble if she has not submitted an operational report."

But ah, the turn of the cards. "You should know all the same. I'm not sure whether the building was used in that capacity earlier, but it made a good hiding spot all the same."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The frown on Peggy's lips about the agent who was shot and the strangeness about the property, it's clear. She's displeased to not know more about this and, more so, to not entirely understand what Jane is discussing. "Well, I shall ask Simmons, but I would like to read your report as well. On my text by tomorrow evening, yes?" Peggy's energy reserves are running out, and quickly.

"Biolding a continuous monitor would be... Helpful. To protect all of us, not just him. Consider that your first WAND assignment, after finishing up that report. Then we can dig deeper into files. For now... consider yourself temporarily transferred. I look forward to hearing more about how you feel with the freedom to pursue... Stranger inquiries." With that, Peggy takes one last sip of her snuck tea and passes it back in Jane's direction, sinking about deeper into the bed. Even tea can't buy her time awake when her body has decided she has pushed too hard for the moment.

Jane Foster has posed:
"I can put together something of an operational report. It's been a bit, so it may require a few passes before reaching your standards." Those dark eyes glimmer, as though focused on the question of betraying a friend's privacy against the necessity of that danger dealt with. Jane unconsciously runs her fingers through her hair. "Tomorrow evening, it will be ready for your red pen." Stirrings call her, too. Peggy dips into slumber and that inexorable pull sings out across the distance, a clarion of rich clarity, but fundamentally awry. For someone who knows the sounds of the symphony, the melodies of life and death are cracked, jarred, full of misplaced notes on a slightly off-key.

She reaches out, palm resting on the bedside where no nurse is going to panic. A hand that knows the shape and weight of Peggy's, from a time not that long ago. The tea will be taken, hers wholly -- and the marks of lipstick and other variables on it, something to be tested. "Rest well. There will be more time for this tomorrow."

Because with a shiver of copper wings, she's going to buy it back, every second and iota, from Hel's own teeth.

That smile is reassuring. But the look is thousands of light years away.