1963-07-08 - Mountain comes to Mohammed
Summary: Peggy Carter visits Nick Fury at his place of residence to have a chat about life, work, and the future.
Related: All Avengers creation logs
Theme Song: None
peggy fury 

Tenement New York City
Fri Jul 08, 1963 — Fri Jul 08 16:46:16 2016

Fury - Black man with an eyepatch. And an attitude.
Peggy - A stern looking brunette woman of around 40 in a business suit.


Pretty much the second day that Peggy got back from Geneva, she put a message out to Nicholas Fury that they needed to speak. She'd enjoy having him in her office, but he's one of the few people that can grumble at her enough that she doesn't HAVE to play ball in her own territory. Besides, the less said about this in the office the better, sometimes. So, she's drug her still-slightly-jetlagged behind out and north, to Hell's Kitchen, and the random address he's given her. It's hard not to look out of place here — one, she's far too white for the area and two, she's far too professionally dressed. She's taken off her suit jacket, leaving her in just a silk camisole and dark green suit skirt. It helps a bit. Not much. More so, the fact that Peggy walks so stiff and no-nonsense it's quite clear it's NOT worth messing with her is probably the one thing keeping her safe.

Up the stairs of the tenement, up, and up. Her high heels probably announce her before her knock, in truth. But then there are three stiff knocks upon the door and a curiously arched brow as she waits to see her old colleague, sometimes friend, and highly dangerous agent.


Children play in the streets around this time of year. School is out, and the streets are alive with t-ball, jumprope and jacks. Mothers are inside cooking dinner, and so the smells of 'traditional soul food' wafts in the air. Chicken. Collard greens. Black eyed peas. Nothing wrong with that food. It's comfort food; does a body good.

Nick has eyes in the streets; the little urchins keep a look out, and when Peggy (the pretty white lady) comes to pay a call, the whispers begin. Why's she visitin' Sergeant Nick? Little eyes, little ears. Jump rope becomes a little less important, and a hit is missed by the t-ball batter.

The knock on the door brings Nick forward out of the kitchen. He's got some of that good old home cooking, courtesy of one of the ladies a few doors down that has decided that his is a charity case, what with that blue, demon… thing he's got living with him now. He's been expecting Peggy, actually. Mountain. Mohammed. That whole thing.

The door is answered, and Nick is in a black t-shirt, jeans, the now everpresent eyepatch sitting upon his face. He takes a step back, opening the door a little wider, "Those little creatures out there didn't hit you up for ice cream money, did they?" Nick cants his voice just so it carries to the pink-pigtailed little girl who then turns around and runs away. "C'mon in."


The comment about ice cream makes her arch a brow and, of course, the director was full well aware she was being followed, but pig tails never bothered her. She hears the sound of running feet behind and she turns to look, a smirk of amusement dancing across her ever-red lips. "No, but now you know I'm bloody well going to buy the whole block a round when I get out of here." She gives him a half wink and steps inside, taking a deep breath of the scents of cooking around. It actually audibly makes her stomach growl, which probably speaks to what kind of week it's been.

She doesn't bother with formalities, simply hangs her jacket on the nearest usable surface and then turns back to him. Dark eyes take a moment to study him head to toe and back, picking apart anything new from the last they met, not generally surprised by what she's found. "I'd say thank you for having me, but if it was anyone else, you'd be sitting across my desk right now instead of my dragging myself all the way up here. You're lucky you're pretty." She teases him lightly as she moves through to the sitting area. His apartment is picked apart by her eyes as much as his body was. Peggy Carter never misses a damn thing.


"If you think for a second that'll buy them off?" Nick chuffs a laugh and shakes his head, "Yeah. It would." Kids, right?

The door closes behind her before he just stands there for a moment. Again, his head shakes and a soft chuckle comes from the man, "You talk a good game. But all you English do."

His home is done up in late 50s style. Doilies here and there, like it had all been inherited. Pictures hang on the wall from the 20s, 30s, of a black couple, a family of 4.. and Nick's picture in his uniform when he first had officially joined up.

While Peggy makes herself comfortable, he's got the kettle on in anticipation. The hot water is poured, the milk poured out and set on a tray before it's brought out. "How was Geneva?"


The doilies make her smile and, oddly, a bit more comfortable. "You forget, I've got one of the little terrors myself. I've gotten quite good at bribery of the little things." Peggy teases gently, the sort of casual, light hearted conversation that says everything else behind this discussion is going to be miserable and they've got to have a bit of light or why the hell are they alive.

She does then smoothly fold herself down onto one of the comfortable chairs, stockinged legs crossing right over left, all of her neat as a pin despite the summer heat. Somehow, she manages. The tea gets a small nod of appreciation and she leans forward to make it light and a little sweet as she begins speaking.

"…Awful. They already had their minds made up for them. We're getting two Nazis next week, and then another two the week after. It's a *start*…We've managed to rearrange schedules so they will always have… bodyguards." Watchers. "But it's going to stretch all of us thin. And then there is Steve Rogers back and restless… AND all the *other* jobs we're supposed to be doing."


See? Life. The pair actually have an idea of how to conduct such a thing outside the confines of work, but for the most part? Work is life. It drives them; duty. Responsibility. It's the little things that helps, though. The quiet jokes, the fact that yes, he remembers how the entire freaking country takes their tea.

"When you work with a pack, it's a whole different game. You thought wrangling agents was tough?" Nick likes the neighborhood kids; gives him that sense of continuity that he wouldn't have had otherwise. A reason for everything he does right in front of his face. And with the addition of Kurt into the mix?

It's the answer, though. Nick honestly didn't think there'd be any other response. Everyone wanted that information, rocket science, literally. "Four, as a start." It's said blankly, though they've known each other long enough to know that he's singularly unhappy with it. "Then there's Steve." A statement that covers pretty much everything on that matter. "And me."

Nick takes a seat, though he more perches on the end. He pulls a cigarette, Lucky Strike, from the box before he offers Peggy one as well. Match is struck, and he lights his before waving the match out. "Yeah, about those other jobs. I've got some KH-4 satellite pictures coming. Looking for this research facility, or what Kurt calls a 'school' for these gifted individuals. So, if you're asked about 'em, that's what they are." That'd be one of the 'other' jobs. "Stark came to me with an offer, and Sousa doubled down on it. A pretty big project if you ask me."


The offer of the cigarette gets an almost immediate shake from her head. She's been known to smoke on occasion, especially when things are particularly stressful, but the scent of it alone seems to turn her away right now. Peggy clears her throat, just a moment, and keeps the clean, vaguely sweet scent of the tea in her hands and near her nose, nursing it. There was something intimately reassuring about a cup of tea anyway. She lets him lay out the situation, not disagreeing in the least. She is no more thrilled than he.

"I've…had another friend bring up thoughts about these gifted individuals. I'd, frankly, like to recruit a few, if they can be trusted. But, if you are actually going to take Sousa's offer… well, that will be your job, in truth." Peggy takes another sip of her tea and a deep breath of it, almost cleansing her pallette before actually diving into the depths of work, the whole reason she sent that note.

"We want — no, need — a team of specialists. You probably have heard this lecture already from both Stark and Sousa. But, here's the final lay of it. I'm back and I'm tired of these courtship rituals. This team will contain only people specifically able to deal with super-human threats. I trust YOUR judgment in who those people are. I want Steve to be the mission commander because it's what he knows, what he's good at. But you've got all the strings in the field. You choose your agents. You make certain they all work together. You pick the missions, and take field command when necessary. Back in the office, Sousa is your contact. If I ever have to come into things, well… Shit has got quite, quite sideways. This team will still nominally be run by SHIELD but…" A small crack of a smile crosses her red lips as she raises her hand, "I couldn't help the demands you all made to have operational authority. And we couldn't risk losing you OR Captain America. I had to negotiate, you know. And this is what you demanded."


"Trusted, Peggy? I trust them be be who and what they are. Like a mad dog. You can trust 'em to bite you first chance they get. You can trust 'em to work for their own benefit." Nick pulls the pack of cigarettes back and takes another pull on his own, the burning end lighting in that red hue. "I'd just as soon put a bullet in their heads for what they did during the war. I'm not a very forgiving person, so I am thinkin' that I'm probably not the right person to babysit their asses because the suits want 'em."

Nick rests the cigarette on the edge of a green glass ashtray, and exhales as he leans a little. "I've heard it. Once from Stark and once from Sousa, as I said. I did ask specifically for some autonomy. I can't have people second guessing all the time, rubber stamping everything. Particularly if some of it isn't gonna be… well, operational necessities sometimes require deniability. We both know that. In that, with Steve mission commander and if I'm heading it, there's gotta be some hands off so the job can get done to the best of our abilities." He chuckles and he nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Run nominally. Figure, give you the quiet courtesy of when to look the other way in an op?" He can get the job done. And with Steve? Hell, the world must have gone sideways.

"Kurt tells me there's an organized group of super-powereds. He called it a 'school', and was invited by two different people. Then, Sousa tells me about this Alex Summers who has a bodyguard. Then, Pinkterton and her story of a guy with spikes coming out of his hands. I'm thinkin' they have to be found." The satellite film. "Something tells me they might not stay still for the police to hit 'em with firehoses."


"I'm not talking about the god-damned Nazis, Nick, I sure as hell know they can't be trusted. I'm talking about the powered folks. These mutants. The ones that Pinkerton did the write up on. I'd like to recruit some of *them*, and that's going to be a might harder than us baby sitting some rocket scientists. Leave the baby sitting to me. You get a team together and be ready to *run* that team for when other shit hits the fan. Let Steve take mission command because he's good at it and he knows how to inspire people, but you keep the leash on him. He's… he's still not himself. Twenty years is a lot to lose. I don't want this whole project to be his baby because he's not ready for it and you are. So… you get to be… Me, with the Howling Commandos, twenty years ago. Just with slightly less attractive hips." Peggy flashes him a smile again before taking another sip of her tea. Tea is a life line against the exhaustion and strong scents right now.

"Operational authority. It's yours. I trust you… Just let me know when I really need to look the other way, alright?" Her smile turns bittersweet at tht thought. She used to be the one breaking the rules in the field. No longer.


Nick shakes his head and chuckles, "Sorry 'bout that." What? Apologizing? "And yeah. You can't be more right. We've got an 'in' on that end. Kurt's back. You remember Kurt Wagner? Blue kid? Tail? Looks like a goddamned blue demon from Hell, but he's the closest thing I've got to a son. He can get in there, get names, get contacts." No harm in telling Peggy one path of potentially many.

"It'll be good to work with Steve again. I can guarantee that once he's in the harness again, he'll be good for it. Man like that needs a cause, and needs to know it's the right thing. I can respect that."

Now, it's Nick's turn to sit back and take a long look at Peggy; what she's become from the who she is. "Yeah, but I've got the pretty face, remember?" He's got a glint of humor in that dark eye before he rises to get himself a cup of coffee for the 'after a cigarette'.

"If I think you'll get a whiff of whatever is coming up the pike, you'll hear about it from me first. That way you can give operation assistance or distance yourself. I won't be upset if you have to throw me under the bus. But failure, to me, isn't an option, so I'll survive it. The team will."


As he settles back, Peggy stares at him quietly over her tea mug. They've both been a long way, a very long way. It shows in the subtle lines on her face, the starting of gray in her hair. In truth, Nick's probably never actually seen her look this tired. She hides it with artful touches of make up and that large than life personality, but in the quiet moments with someone you've known practically a lifetime, it's easy to see between the cracks. Maybe it's Operation Paperclip. Maybe it's something else. But she tries to shake it off a heartbeat later and sits up just a bit straighter than she had been.

"I know the team will. I was worried you'd say no… just like you said no to coming down town." Peggy states with a slight smirk. She's never going to let him live down dragging her all the way up here. Even if she's enjoyed it. "But you know damn well what you are doing and are just bull headed enough to pull something crazy like this off. So… consider it yours. Project active. I'll send Steve to talk to you if you don't get to him first. I suppose you two should discuss a recruitment strategy that doesn't only involve 'Who kills'em real good.'" Which was, to be fair, a lot of the Commandos recruitment.


She's getting older, but it's a graceful aging. Nick? Well.. he's not changed much since the late 40s. In France. No grey on his head, and while some may not notice, it's times like these that maybe it is apparant. He pours his coffee, black, and pauses at his table. "Want some chicken and greens? Missus Johnson makes a mean chicken." Though he does wander back into the sitting area and exhales in a sigh as he leans against the back of the chair.

"What are you not telling me, Peggy? Right here, this is two old friends who can't keep a damned secret between 'em unless they were a couple thousand miles apart. How can I help?" Nick chuckles as he references her comment, "Who do I have to kill?"

Nick does care, and he knows it'll get off the ground and be a successful endeavor. And with Steve as a driving force? "You gotta admit, though. It worked for a time. Hell, we even counted in that one battle." Okay, it was more than one. Five. Ten. "Target rich environment, though. Was like shooting fish in a barrel."


Of course, she's not missed the lack of gray. Lack of lines. Maybe it's just damn good genetics, but one of these days she was going to call him on it. Especially as even her husband gets gray and everyone but Steve looks like they've seen another war. The offer of chicken and greens makes her chuckle a bit, "I might steal a touch. Drag me all the way up here, you better feed me." Peggy teases lightly, back to the old banter. The things that makes it all easier. And it did smell good.

Then he's asking *that* question and her eyes widen, just a touch, before she looks slightly away. Oh, he's caught her. There is something and she had been good at hiding it but now he's called her on the carpet and, for just a moment, she looks distinctly uncomfortable. Finally, all she does is shake her head quietly, "You don't want to know. And… no one needs to be killed. Well, not because of this."

She then clears her throat and forces back another smile, head up, back to business. Maybe he'll drop it. Hopefully. She chuckles at the thoughts of the old days. "Yes… it was. And now we get to be their friends. Strange the way the world works. Just… go put together the best damn team you can. Remind us why we're doing this job, alright? I know you can."


Nick nods and heads back around with coffee in hand to tend to setting out a plate at the table. Glass of water. Another tea cup for the table. Milk. Sugar. "You look like you could use a breath to just sit down and relax." As much as they can relax, anyway. Peggy is safe in his home, and if the kids outside have anything to say in the matter, probably safe in the neighborhood.

When he's setting the table, Nick stops half-way as he's putting the silverware out. "Since when have I ever resorted to small talk and pretended I was interested in something that I wasn't. C'mon, give me a little more credit than that. If I ask you, I obviously wanna know." Now, he's getting a little concerned. Evasive isn't the word for it. "And if there's anything I can do, including taking them out, I'm your man." Drop it? Aw, hell no.

"Friends? I won't go that far. Maybe for the civilian that was too scared to do jack shit about 'em. But the ones that were card-carrying Nazis that'd 'sieg heil' any chance they got?" Nick shakes his head. "Peggy, if there was the most remote chance you wouldn't get caught in the fallout, they'd be gone the moment they landed. We got other brains." He chuffs a laugh and his head bounces a little, "Best damned team no one'll see. Now c'mon over and have a bite."


Safe. Safe somewhere she *doesn't* need to listen for her own daughter, or prepare schedules for when the enemy suddenly gets in bed with them. Just an afternoon to sit, talk, eat, catch up with one of the men she trusts like few others in the world. Probably the man who knows her best next to her husband. Peggy sighs quietly, watching him with slightly skeptical eyes, "You never did know when to let things drop, did you? Damned troublemaker." Peggy mutters as she stands up to go to the table.

At least she would get a good meal. Who knew when the last time that happened before 8 o'clock at night happened.

Peg moves across the comfortable living area to the table and settles back in, crossing her legs once again, but out of sheer comfort and habit than some need to show off. It wasn't really business any more, it was two friends eating a meal. She lets her shoulderblades sink down into the cradle of the wooden chair behind her. "…I'm pretty sure I'm either expecting again… or maybe dying, according to that crazy new doctor, and I'm not certain which would be worse, timing wise, right now. Especially at my age. So… I'm pretending that's not happening and we're going to make damn nice with some nazis next week. Because we must."


There are few opportunities for actual friendship in their line of work, so when someone he considers to be a god's honest truth friend, well.. there's very little if anything Nick wouldn't do to be sure that his friend is safe while in his company, regardless of where they might be. In this case, it's his own home. His grandmother's home. "Never. It's what makes me good at my job." He's being a smartass; the single eye gleams with amusement.

She can at least have a good meal.

Nick watches as Peggy gets up and comes to the table, nodding his approval before he sets out the chicken, the collard greens, and the black-eyed peas. "I don't know if you've ever had the peas, but they're pretty good." Once it's all at the table, Nick takes a seat, his forearms resting on the table. The news brings him aback a little, and he actually sits back. "Oh, you're wrong. Someone definitely needs killing." It's deadpanned humor. He shakes his head and considers, a quiet chuffed breath of, is that sympathy?, escaping. "I think if you leave for two weeks again, all hell is gonna break loose." Though, he does lift his cup of coffee, "But, good for you, Peggy. Give the world the finger. Smart, more than capable woman running an organization that can run rings around the CIA, and still have a family." He knows it's not easy, though, and his voice lowers. "You know you can call on me, right? Tell me if you need anything, and if I have to move heaven and hell for it, it'll show up on your doorstep wearing fucking bells." Beat. "Including the goddamned Nazis."


The food really did smell good, chicken and home cooked vegetables, things neither Daniel nor her have time to handle. Her stomach does audibly rumble again, bringing just a hint of color to her cheeks, but she doesn't remark on it. She simply digs in. Peggy's never been a delicate woman and her eating is no different. She spent most of her early adult life eating around mess halls with military boys and her manners are just about there. Food is for energy and enjoying, so that is what she does. She watches his face, though, when she gives that flat news. The fact that it does seem to take him back for a moment doesn't surprise her. She's feeling the same. She exhales slowly and just takes another bite of food.

When that is swallowed, she murmurs quietly, "I'll…keep that in mind. Though it sure as hell isn't just Daniel's fault. Had the damn rubber upstairs… One bloody time…" Peggy half growls those words, more angry at herself than anything for having the control of a hormonal teenager. She shakes it off with another bite of food. His last offer makes her smile, genuinely this time, brightening up some of the exhaustion on her face. It's one of those smiles that's reserved for him. "…I know, Nick. That's why I need you with this team. Need you on call. Because we've got our hands full up in the offices and I need people to send out there when… when things get messy. Just keep being you and we'll all get through this fine."


Nick gets down to eating as well, making sure there's a little left over for the blue bamfer when he gets in. Greens mixed with seasoning, boiled and fried properly are coupled with the black eyed peas. He's been a rote eater, but since coming stateside again, it's one of the few things he takes with a little more pleasure. Particularly when he can easily recall moments when goat eyes and sheep bladders with oats were the only things on the menu.

"Holy shit. You mean you really are a person, huh." Nick is teasing her, making a joke in what could be a moment in a woman's life where she simply breaks down. But there, there is the smile. That moment when everything is briefly lifted and the shine that is Peggy Carter shows through. That expression that sends her back ten, twenty years. He's not stupid though; children after a certain age makes it harder on the mother. This time, he'll have to keep a closer eye. If anything happened to her?

"Then I'll keep being the best damned me I can be. Just for you. And when I stop being me, you can kick my ass and get me back to being me, so you can keep being you." Uh huh. "We got this."


Peggy knows. Not much frightens her, almost nothing really, but this frightens her. Unwise choices, a single mistake, and now a precarious position at the worst timing. But she watches his eyes, and that reassurance, and it does keep her smile there. Even if there is weight behind it, her smile is honest. "I am occasionally a person. Don't you *dare* tell anyone. I'll have your job if you do and since you promised you'd be here, well… You're stuck now." She gives him a little wink, and then settles back into eating. "…We got this, indeed." Her eyes lift to his one last time. "…Nick… Thank you." It's a bit softer, completely heartfelt. But it needed said. Then she lets a more relaxed atmosphere come across the meal. Just friends relaxing and dining. They both needed it.

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