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1042 hours. SHIELD Headquarters. Governors Island.
A forgettable little room trimmed mostly in concrete and one-way glass, invariably, provides an ugly reception area for any 'guest' of SHIELD. How many times has Peggy herself witnessed important visitors questioned so, usually with the aid of senior counsel and minimum two agents? Now it's her turn.
The room is cool but not cold. A cup of fresh coffee brought into the room by a female blonde agent she might not recognize is laid down on the speaker's side of the table. The speaker, brunette and slim and harsh, personifies capability in its raw form, refined to bureaucratic standards. "Hill" reads her badge, and that's the only name she gives to the guest.
Purse? Gone. Shoes, retained. Coat, taken, replaced by a SHIELD zipup that keeps things somewhat warm. Handcuffs have been transferred from front to back, a concession requested by Agent Hill.
Out goes the blonde, sniffing slightly as she goes. Could be cold season, this winter.
"So." Blunt, characteristically capable, Agent Hill delivers a pointed address. She settles in a chair, more of a flop than anything, but barely bothers to sit straight back, perched at the end. "What are you used to being called, miss…?"
Peggy's seen the place many times. Never from this side of the table. She looks over to Agent Hill, before taking a deep breath. "Carter. Peggy Carter." She looks over. "And something is very awry if you don't know that."
Agent Hill doesn't take notes. She presumably has a functionary for that. The microphones in the room will help capture every sound, but her interest is nuance, the physical reactions and expressive emoting that no spy can totally prevent. "Peggy." She rolls the name around in her mouth, purely American. "Do you mind if I call you Peggy, or would you prefer Miss Carter?" Establish rapport by creating the illusion of choice. Or in this case, very real choice. "I'd say you created quite the stir here. Coffee? This is black, none of that half-and-half business here. You can have a cup if you want. Though I warn you if you make me wear it, it's going to go worse for you."
"Peggy is just fine." Peggy's not trying to hide nuance. The truth works to her credit. "I'd sooner tea. But I'm fine. Thank you for the offer, however. You're going to try to establish details about my identity. Unfortunately, history appears to have gone somewhat topsy-turvy."
Sorry, they dumped tea in the harbour about two hundred years ago as an act of childish rebellion. Defiance has always worked so well. "Am I now?" Agent Hill's dark brow arches smoothly. "Actually, no, I was going to ask you how you found your walk." Irked? She doesn't really let that show. "Peggy then. Was it particularly brisk out there?"
"It's winter. Nothing too intolerable." She looks over to Agent Hill. "Really, the more time we waste on things, the less well it's going to go for both of us. Whatever's caused this needs to be addressed."
Those cool, appraising eyes hold no shine of humour, only a mellow intellect. Agent Hill folds her hands atop the table. "With all due respect, this will go better if you let me do my job instead of trying to tell me how to do it. I get it. You're anxious and feel a sense of urgency to have this all sorted out. The less well things will go if you are seen as uncooperative, really. My colleagues have plenty of questions to ask you and they will not be inclined to tolerate female bossiness." She gazes levelly over the table. "I may put up with a little more, but let me make clear the seriousness of your situation in terms an attorney would hate. You've broken a number of federal laws. We have nice legal teams willing to prosecute you and any of the half-dozen charges I can think of carries a long time in prison. Pity to spend the rest of your life stamping license plates, if you're allowed that much. So let's start again. Why were you in the archives? What were you looking for?"
Another deep breath. "I was in the archives, because before whoever-it-was time-traveled, or altered reality, or did whatever their machinations, I was accessing files because I am the Director of SHIELD." Peggy says, matter of factly.
"Time travel." The repeated word is a bit bland. Agent Hill puts her hands flat on the table, stacked over one another. "I'm sorry that you are not taking this seriously, Peggy. Time travel, altered reality? I see that the news hasn't been broken to you, but Ms. Carter is well and hale. You are not her. The New York Public Library assures us that your library card is valid, and the rest is still coming through. Now that you share a name gives you no right whatsoever to enter into a government facility." She gives a grim look, any edge of humour gone. "Ms. Carter no doubt will be very interested to learn about this, but your activities entail serious consequences. And 'time travel' isn't going to stand up in court or a hospital. You, miss, aren't the director of SHIELD. If you were, you wouldn't be sitting here. You would be recognized by your colleagues, which you aren't."