2014-02-20 - Cutscene: The Death of a Dream - Agent 13

Sharon Carter, Agent of SHIELD, stood in the crowd not far from the podium. She wore a black dress, it was modest and modern, specifically made to not draw the eye. Her eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses. It had took some connections to make sure she was in the front row. She could have been with the heroes but there would have been questions. Like any other super spy, she didn’t like answering questions. An elderly woman’s frail voice asks, “Sharon, why are we here? What’s going on?” Sharon looks down to the Elderly woman in the wheelchair in front of her. It takes all of her strength and courage to muster up a response. She hated this. This wasn’t her, she was fearless. She puts a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “We’re here to see Steve,” Sharon replies, the elderly woman looks up at her confused, “We’re here to see Steve?” Sharon slips on a ghost of a smile “Yes, Aunt Peggy.” She’d been raised by her great aunt. She’d grown up hearing stories of Captain America and Bucky. The real stories, not the fictionalized crap that's been put out for years by writers and whoever else that never met the man that carried the shield. The stories she heard were tales of espionage and romance from her Aunt Peggy, Agent 13. She’d grown up to follow in her aunt’s footsteps; even used her old agent designation.

Then Captain America, no Steve Rogers, had been found in the ice. Revived and very much the same man her aunt had spoken of often and fondly. He even come to visit her aunt a few times over the years. It was awkward for both her aunt and Steve. Too much time had passed for Peggy and Steve was frozen in time. Later it had been awkward for her too but they never spoke of it.

See, Sharon had been called in from the field and tapped as Steve’s handler for SHIELD. They had cited her expertise on the subject of Captain America as the reason. Sharon knew that Fury did it because she looked like her aunt and she’d had a bit of a schoolgirl crush on the man in the costume. He’d played them both and that was Fury. They had fallen for each other. Then Fury had a new assignment. She’d seem to betray Steve and infiltrate the Red Skull as a double agent. She’d do it to protect Steve. That was Fury playing them both again. Things went south and it seemed she died in front of Steve but she’d been officially burnt and blacklisted for her betrayal. That too had been Fury. In reality, Fury had sent her deeper in cover. She’d heard reports that Steve hadn’t took any of it well. It had come to blows. That was Steve. She’d only broken her cover once. That was at Fury’s request. It had been at a café in Paris and it had been for only a few fleeting moments. Steve had been tearing his way through terrorist cells looking for a girl and messing up delicate operations in the process. That was Steve. She should have been mad at him. But she’d been dead to him and been with other men since him.

Now Steve was dead.

She’d been there on site, she was wearing a Bee keeper suit, and like many of the others moments she was too late to help him. Since that time, she’d been recalled to the States. Her records purged and reinstated as a SHIELD operative in good standing once more. She was to take a few days to herself and he had and a new assignment. That was Fury. Maybe it was a bone thrown her way for all the hard thankless work, personal sacrifices, and manipulation she has endured along the way. She doubted it. That wasn’t Fury. In the years since she’d left her aunt’s mind had slowed and retreated into itself. Aunt Peggy hadn’t even questioned her niece where she’d been or why she was suddenly back alive. Sharon wasn’t sure if that was the dementia or if that was a bit of the woman her aunt had been. Neither liked answering questions.

Lost in her own thoughts, Sharon nearly missed Aunt Peggy’s soft, sincere words. “Good, I miss Steve. I haven’t seen him since that café in Paris,” she says, bygone days glittering in her eyes. Sharon squeezes her aunts shoulder sharing the same expression, albeit a bit more somber. “Neither have I, Aunt Peggy. Neither have I.” Neither woman questions the other about the café in Paris, neither liked to answer questions.

That was Agent 13.