1point5kidsandaruger | I seem to be what I'm not, you see. I'm wearing my heart like a crown.

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I seem to be what I'm not, you see. I'm wearing my heart like a crown.

[The lab at the NTS gives Steve the crawls, no matter how many times he ends up there. Maybe it's the wasteland backing the place, the radiation warning signs or the huge pits where gamma-based explosive have ripped chunks out of the earth. Maybe it's the way the self-contained facility circulates purified air until the entire place tastes stale. Regardless, when Howard says there's 'something interesting' there and that General Phillips has requested Captain America's presence at the base ASAP, Steve doesn't exactly have a choice but to go.

The surroundings are still unsettling. The air still tastes stale. But there's a wildness to the place that Steve's never seen before. Scientists rushing back and forth, holding conversations that are at once hushed and excited. He almost has to pry one away from her clipboard in order to find out where Phillips and Stark are waiting. "Requested SSR personnel are supposed to go to observation room three," she says, and by the time he manages to get directions there he's already looking forward to stepping back out into the Nevada heat.

What he doesn't expect when he gets to Observation Room Three is to see Peggy and a half-dozen higher ups whose names and faces he knows but whom he's never personally met. What he doesn't expect is to see a man restrained in the otherwise empty cleanroom on the other side of the glass. Steve's escort stays on the other side of the door when it gets shut. He drifts to Peggy's side, saluting the Phillips at the same time.]

General. Is... What is this?

[Phillips raises his eyebrows at Steve in a look the Captain knows too well by now.]

Funny.[Phillips gestures at the glass.]I was hoping you could tell me. Stark got Skull's toy box open - ripped a nice shiny hole in the wall of his lab and spiked radiation levels in the entire facility. And also gave us him.

[Steve moves to the glass, resisting the urge to press a hand against it and peer closer, like the prisoner is a new exhibit at the zoo.] I'm not sure I follow, sir.

Came through the hole, took out two scientists and five guards - and then things got interesting.

[Steve frowns, still watching the prisoner.] ...Sir?

He took one look at the uniforms and started demanding to see you.

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[Peggy takes a step closer to the glass herself, narrows her eyes at the man in observation.]

He won't say much of anything else otherwise. I think he's rather used to the set up. There's a level of familiarity and understanding in how he's demanding, prior experience with government agencies perhaps, despite all abrasiveness.

We'd like to send you in, though not alone, of course. [ie: Peggy is going, along with one or two other agents. But Steve is stronger than most, and perhaps his presence will lead to some sort of answer]

_{( He was supposed to be good enough to get around situations like this. He’d been in enemy territory before, fought his way through it and gotten out. But was this even enemy territory? These men were American soldiers, weren’t they? And that usually meant they were on the same side. But now his arms were tied and he was sitting in a white room, eyes narrowed dangerously. He had to think of it as enemy territory.

It was a room for questioning. As if he knew what the fuck was going on. One minute he was in the tower, minding his own business—or everyone else’s, he was good at that—and the next he was here, and a dozen soldiers were running at him, and he managed to knock out half of them before they got him restrained. They deserved it, as far as he was concerned.

But then he saw Rogers, and for a split second he had the thought—my team’s come to get me. It was strange, that he’d feel so relieved. That he’d trust them so much. But it only took another half second to realize that this captain wasn’t looking at him with any sort of familiarity.

But that didn’t stop him from straining against the restraints, from trying to break free and get over to the glass. )}

Cap—tell them to get me the hell out of here!

[Steve stops himself from stepping backwards, barely. There's faith in the way the prisoner addresses him. To hear a call like that, so familiar and so sure that help is coming -- his immediate thought is to force his way into the room and snap the restraints, but he stamps down that particular urge and clears his throat.]

I'm going in.

[It's not a request for permission. Phillips doesn't stop him, at least, though one of the others moves to do it. The look Steve gives him makes the man back off, and Steve knows he'll be hearing about that later, possibly while sitting in front of a code of conduct committee.

He hesitates before going into the room proper. Gives Peggy a brief look, both a silent request for her backup and to reassure himself.

For a second he's not sure what to say once he's inside.]

I. Trust they made sure you didn't need medical attention.

[Peggy shares a brief look with Phillips -- they both knew this would happen, even partially planned for it. With a nod at the General, she follows after Steve, one hand at her back, where a gun is tucked in the waistband. She has trust in Steve; not so much the stranger.]

[Regardless, and though there as backup, she comes to stand directly beside Steve, firm, face impassive, and ever the soldier. Two others file in behind her, but they keep their distance and stand as silent support]

One of the guards he took out has a broken arm. [It's somehow simultaneously complimentary and suspicious. But it's her own affirmation that the man didn't require any urgent medical attention, as best they could tell.]

_{( It's jarring, seeing Steve and Peggy enter the room. Because now it is abundantly clear than Steve doesn't know him. He's seen photographs, and knows by reputation, the woman who must be Agent Carter. It hasn't quite clicked in his head, yet--where he is or what's happened.

Yes, he broke a man's arm. It was the quickest way to get him out of the way at the time. His fellows might have done the same to Clint, had he not been as well trained as he is. But they'd still managed to grab his bow, and get him into this state.

But now that he knows his relief was unwarranted, it turns to a biting anger. )}

Did I ask for a doctor? No. I said get me the hell out of here, and I meant it. I'm not a prisoner.

_{( He spits the last word. )}

Who are you, then? [It's patient, not demanding. Steve fists his hands behind his back, glad for Peggy's presence, close enough that their uniforms brush. There have been plenty of occasions where people acted like they knew him - state dinners, veteran's reunions. But it was always the hearty enthusiasm of people putting on a show. It wasn't desperate, it wasn't angry. It wasn't real.] I want to help you.

[He pauses, because it's true, as formal as he tries to keep the words.] But I can't do that until I know why you attacked our people.

Your appearance, quite obviously, has caught us all off guard.

[She doesn't offer much else -- it's Steve who's going to get the answers here, if possible, not her. She'd convinced Phillips to bring her husband in in the first place. The man's actions and words make it clear that he's familiar with Steve, or at least believes himself to be. No one speaks like that to a stranger.]

_{( He didn't mean to end up here--who would have?--so being interrogated does nothing. He eyes them both carefully, and the two other men besides, trying to figure out their angle. Good cop, bad cop? No, because both Rogers and Carter were acting level, rational.

At Agent Carter's statement, he chokes down a laugh. He's in his typical SHIELD gear, all black with his typical asymmetrical gloves. )}

I don't see anyone asking why they attacked me. You guys ever hear of self defense?

And I'd be more worried about yourselves, if I were you. This place is like the Stepford Wives: Military Edition.

I'm familiar with the concept. [If this guy wants to play humorously sarcastic, Steve feels all right applying a little himself. He crouches, carefully balanced to attack should the need arise. Like this, Steve's at least closer to eye-level, giving up that little slice of psychological power that comes from standing over someone else.]

They attacked you because you're in a secure research facility run by the United States government, and to our knowledge you have no reason to be here. You appeared in the laboratory of one of our people while he was working with extremely sensitive and dangerous material. They attacked you because it's in their job description to neutralize intruders. They acted, for all intents and purposes, in self-defense. [He pauses again. That's as much as he'll give without express permission. Hopefully it's enough.]

Who are you? [Eyebrow. He doubts it’s a code word, but still:] And what's a Stepford Wife?

[Peggy frowns, slightly, at Steve's maneuver and finds herself edging closer. But her eyes train on the other man, watching and ready should he try anything, though she suspects he won't. She can feel Phillips's eyes glaring into her back, warning her to get him back up and standing, but she ignores it.]

[She trusts in Steve. And she trusts in her gun. So she's willing to see what comes out of this exchange, and she doesn't add anything else to what information he offers. It's nothing worrying.]

_{( He's keenly aware of how vulnerable he is, in a position like this: they'd taken his weapons, even the knife he usually kept tucked away, and without use of his arms he was entirely helpless. He hated that, and it put an edge on his temper. In response to Steve's question, he let out a short, barking laugh. He answers, then, his eyes still roving from one of them to the other.

After all, what harm was there in telling the man something he should already know? )}

Clint Barton. Codename Hawkeye. Special Agent for the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. Member of the Avengers.

Not a prisoner for some defunct branch of the military from World War II.

[Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. SHIELD.

The named Howard proposed as a joke at Steve's... 'welcome back' party, for lack of a better word. "We'd have to come up with something for the letters to stand for," he'd said. The Commandos had been all for it. With so many organizations being turned over to R&D with the tesseract or intel and response against the Russians and their satellites, the joke had become a serious consideration - and Steve had been working with Peggy and Phillips for the past six months on organizing an offshoot of the SSR under the title.

Steve stands, his fingertips brushing against Peggy's. It's the only sign that he's unsettled.

Quietly:] Agent Barton. [He doesn't avoid the title and isn't sarcastic about using it - but he falters, very slightly.]

[Parade rest again. There are several questions he could ask. That he will. But he's less and less certain about wanting to ask them here.] What is the Avengers?

[He glances back at the two extra men in the room, giving Clint a signal to wait, taking for granted that the man will listen and not even noticing the assumption. He opens the door to the observation area and points.] Gentlemen.

[Hesitation. Steve waits. They leave, and he shuts and locks the door behind them.]

[Phillips' voice blares over the intercom instantly.]

Rogers, what the hell are you doing?

[Deep breath.] Finding out what we need to know, sir.

[Steve presses the button by the door to mute the intercom and keeps pressing until the casing folds and the button jams in the 'off' position.]

We'll have about a minute before they start getting antsy. [Steve puts his back firmly to their audience, letting his uncertainty show at last.] Agent, what year do you think it is?

Edited 2012-06-24 03:24 (UTC)

[Peggy picks up on Steve's plan the moment he initiates it and does nothing to hinder it. She picks up on how unsettled he is, the smallest of touches always communicating wordlessly, and if she's honest, she's feeling a bit unsettled herself. Her eyes narrow, and her fingers itch to be holding her gun, but it's not necessary]

[Already beginning her defense for the lecture Phillips will give her later, she doesn't leave with the other guards. Unlike Steve, however, she continues to keep her uncertainty unknown, keeps her face neutral as she looks back over at the newly named Agent Barton.]

[She wants to know how the man knows about the potential for SHIELD, why he considers himself an agent of it, but Steve's question jars her out of it, and for a moment, she scolds herself for not thinking to ask it first. She glances at her husband for a moment, then looks back at Barton, steadily]

_{( He's sharp enough to pick up on what Steve's doing, but he still doesn't quite know why he's doing it. Part of him had hoped this was all some elaborate ruse, some psychotic training exercise set up by Fury to test if he was still loyal, still useful. He didn't think Rogers would go along with a plan like that, but maybe... SHIELD was the organization that had tried to trick Captain America into believing he was still in the forties. There was a lot they were capable of.

But there's one person who couldn't be in on a plan like that, and Clint's looking straight at her. He's heard the stories, read the files, seen the pictures the captain had painted of her. That's Peggy Carter, beautiful and in her prime. That can't be faked.

So when he does respond, even though he's trying to bark out the answer defiantly, he deflates a bit. )}

20... 12.

[Steve exhales quietly. 2012. Fifty-six years in the future. As improbable as it is, they still don't know how the Tesseract functions - and Steve saw for himself the way the universe seemed to open up inside the Valkyrie when Skull touched the Tesseract itself. He's beyond predicting what that thing can do.]

[He presses two fingers against his lips, trying to think.] I'm afraid it's 1956.

[There's no gentle way to deliver that kind of news.] Agent Carter... How strongly would you object to moving Agent Barton to a secure location? [He glances at Peggy, not realizing there's a plea on his face. With subtle emphasis on the article:] The safehouse.

Edited 2012-06-24 18:52 (UTC)

[2012. Outside, she's still, but her mind is running in a thousand different directions. Possibilities? Reasons? She's not sure, but suddenly she's a little glad the intercom isn't on. She only hopes Phillips and the others on the outside don't notice anything.]

[When Steve asks, she frowns for a moment, gives him a look. Then she steals a glance at Barton, restrained and clearly knowing Steve, and she thinks that maybe she doesn't want him stuck here in labs and secret headquarters.]

[A sigh.] It seems the best course of action at the moment.

_{( 1956. It feels like someone just pushed him off a building--it's a not a fun sensation. He wasn't even born in 1956. Hell, if he walks out of here and looks them up, will he find his parents alive, not yet married, happy?

He tosses those thoughts away and glances at Steve. Not quite the man he knows, and that means he doesn't get what the other Steve has--trust, respect. Not yet, at least.

Peggy's way of keeping calm, the way she sighs at that moment, almost makes Clint smile. He likes her, he decides. )}

You know that would require actually letting me move, right?

Get ready to move, then, Agents. [Steve shoots Peggy a tiny smile, trying not to look too pleased with either her agreement or the challenge of getting Clint out of here with half an army standing between them and open air.

He steps behind Clint's chair, takes the restraints in both hands, and nods once.] Peggy, if you can get the doors.

[And then he snaps the restraints and the men on the other side of the glass are all on their feet at once - except Phillips, who looks like he wants to put his head through a wall.]

Edited 2012-06-24 19:36 (UTC)

[She shares a quick glance with Phillips as she makes for the door, opening it quickly and standing forcefully enough in the threshold that no agent dares try to pass her.]

Captain Rogers and I will be taking charge of the man for now. He'll be in our custody. I suggest allowing us to leave without issue.

[When she comes back to work, she's bound to get a million questions thrown her way. But she'll work on the answers once she gets more of her own.]

Edited 2012-06-24 19:42 (UTC)

_{( Clint rubs his wrists as he follows the two of them, taking in the facility with a critical eye. For 1956, it's pretty well-equipped. As they brush past Phillips, Clint grabs his bow and quiver from where they'd been placed against a wall--it's a moment when he steps away from his two protectors, and he glowers at the rest of the men in the room. It's one final "screw you all" gesture.

He pulls the strap of the quiver over his chest and breathes a bit easier, rejoining Carter and Rogers. Now that he's armed, slightly more in control, he's content to simply follow them. )}

Steve holds a brief, quiet conversation with Phillips, says something about 'matters of national security' to the rest in an authoritarian tone, and exits before anyone has wits enough to stop them.

In the hall, between checkpoints, he mutters, "I'd prefer we keep conversation to a minimum until we're out of the car and at the safehouse. It's the only place I'm one-hundred-percent sure we won't be listened to."

Their retreat from the lab goes smoothly - people who might try and stop or question Captain America press themselves out of the way of Agent Thirteen.

The drive to the little puddlejumper that got Steve to Nevada, and then the trip from the air force base where it lands and back to the actual safehouse, Steve says almost nothing. He's tense, going over and over in his mind what he and Peggy are risking right now beyond their reputations and careers.

He can only pray that Agent Barton isn't a very good actor.

After a few detours to check for tails, they pull in to a tidy cookie-cutter neighborhood, and finally up to a blue house with three white girls in the yard (two with blue eyes and brown hair, the youngest a hazel-eyed blonde) playing with a young German Shepherd. A handsome black man in his mid-thirties watches from the front steps.

Peggy circles the block once before pulling into the drive, and Steve swings out of the passenger side to preempt the stampede.

There's a mixed bag of cries from the yard - "Ba!" "Daddy!" and "Papa!" respectively - before the girls, between the ages of two and six, come charging into the driveway. Gabriel Jones follows at a slight distance, his eyes on the street instead of the reunion.

Steve sweeps the children all up at once, planting kisses until they're all pushing him away and squeaking.

The eldest, Sarah, is the first to notice Peggy and their guest. She sobers at once.

"Mama," she says, to Steve's still-open door, a greeting and a question. The other two squirm out of Steve's arms and race to the other side of the car, both trying to get Peggy's door open before the agent can do it herself.

Peggy puts her hand on the door handle, keeping it shut tight as the girls come around, and she turns, eyes narrowing in directly at Barton's. It's not that she thinks him particularly villainous, but she doesn't know or trust him. So the warning comes out, her voice low. "If you give any sign of harming any of them, you will find yourself with a bullet in your skull."

Then she lets the girls open the door, sliding out, and Rosalie, the middle child, throws her arms around Peggy's legs while the youngest, Josephine, grabs at her skirt and tries to crawl up. Peggy laughs, gently nudging them away from the car and into the yard. Sarah finally starts towards them and follows suit of her sisters, wrapping her arms around Peggy's legs and hiding her face against her mother.

Before she directly addresses any of the girls, Peggy shares a brief look with Gabe, giving him a fraction of a nod and conveying to continue keeping close watch, on everything, just in case.

"You're home early!" Rosalie giggles happily, as Peggy squats down eye level, pulling all three of them close and kissing each on the forehead.

"I am, aren't I? Surprise, my loves," she says gently, smiling fondly as she hugs them.

"Papa said you wouldn't be home until tomorrow," Sarah adds, stealing a glance at the mystery man and then another at her father. Excited as she might be, the eldest is never deterred.

He's used to long and awkward car rides, plane trips. He keeps his lips pursed and his jaw clenched the entire time, taking in the world around him. It only serves to hammer home the point: Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore. But for him Kansas is the twenty-first century, and Glinda the Good Witch is Captain-freaking-America.

It's only when he spots the house that he genuinely begins to panic. He doesn't know what he was expecting, really. A government issues, entirely sanitized set of quarters? A large and comfortable apartment in Brooklyn that was big enough for two but still obviously a bachelor's pad? These make up Clint's frame of reference, when he thinks of Steve and himself. But Peggy is the variable here.

He spots the children--of course he spots them, who couldn't spot them and know exactly who they were--and his blood goes cold. When Peggy turns to deliver her threat, he meets her gaze with as frank and honest a stare as he can muster.

Hawk's eyes. They see better from a distance. When Peggy and Steve step out of the car to greet their daughters, Clint realizes he is getting far too close.

He steps out of the car all the same, quiver still on his back and the bow, collapsed down to its smallest form, tucked under his arm. He doesn't say anything, just swallows noisily.

When Clint emerges, all three girls fix on him with the fascination of children who don't see many people outside of their family members and neighborhood friends. Steve rests a hand on Sarah head, giving her hair the tiniest ruffle.

"Things changed a little. We'll talk about it inside."

It's a family code, and the reaction from the two older girls is instant. Their focus on Clint redoubles, two pairs of Steve-blue eyes eying the man with all of Peggy's cold calculation.

Josephine has more important things on her mind than who the stranger could be or why he's at her house. She wobbles in his direction with singular focus, pointing at Clint's shoulder. "Feddur," she declares, and spouts a stream of nonsense syllables, ending with a firm, "Mine."

"No, little miss, they are not yours." Steve scoops her up and dangles her upside-down until she shrieks in amusement, before righting the tiny girl to drape her over his shoulder.

Steve clasps Gabriel's hand briefly. "Who's spotting?"

"Falsworth. Dugan and Morita have the night shift."

"Any news from Dernier?" Josephine nearly capsizes over the back of Steve's shoulder, but he draws her into his hands and gives her a little toss into the air. She screams again. Rosalie comes to wrap one arm around Steve's leg, still watching Clint.

"Not since he got to Algiers." Gabriel raises one eyebrow, but Steve just shakes his head.

The German Shepherd trots over to sit next to Gabriel's leg, glaring at Clint.

"Come on, girls." Steve takes Rosalie's hand while Josephine hangs from his other arm. "Agent Barton."

Steve gives him a look that's almost reluctant. Do you understand what we've put on the line for you? "If you wouldn't mind going first."

Sarah slides her hand into Peggy's, standing at proper attention and still watching Clint carefully. Peggy herself follows the exchange between Steve and Gabe quietly, doesn't look to where she knows Falsworth is to avoiding revealing it. It's a quick enough sitrep; she'll ask more later. She's anxious to get inside, for a multitude of reasons.

At Josephine's actions, she almost laughs, and she watches Steve pick her up and flail her around with the tiniest of smiles.

After it's all over, her grip tightens on Sarah's hand, nodding in agreement for Clint to go first. She shares another look with Gabe, communicating wordlessly -- she's good at doing so with most people, really, even if it works best with Steve. She's on guard, and Gabe's on guard, and she's confident nothing will happen by letting Agent Barton into her house.

But she's still mentally prepared for the worst anyway.

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switching to prose because dialogue :|

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