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breakinglight11Forever Captain:
“Boulder in the Stream”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: “It’s been seven years since Steve Rogers retired to the midcentury after returning the Infinity Stones. By 1954, he’s built a contented new life as Grant Carter, Peggy’s husband and stay-at-home dad to two great kids. But he’s never been able to shake his fears of what his presence here will do to change the progress of the timeline. Or— perhaps worse —that he has no power to affect the course of events at all.
A direct continuation of “His Part to Play.” A more plot-focused adventure story.”
Previous chapters:
1. Glimmer
2. Siege
3. Backup
4. Onslaught
Chapter summary: Steve remembers how the last time he’d been in action ended, and investigates the suspicious activity on the skyscraper.
“Boulder in the Stream”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: “It’s been seven years since Steve Rogers retired to the midcentury after returning the Infinity Stones. By 1954, he’s built a contented new life as Grant Carter, Peggy’s husband and stay-at-home dad to two great kids. But he’s never been able to shake his fears of what his presence here will do to change the progress of the timeline. Or— perhaps worse —that he has no power to affect the course of events at all.
A direct continuation of “His Part to Play.” A more plot-focused adventure story.”
Previous chapters:
1. Glimmer
2. Siege
3. Backup
4. Onslaught
Chapter summary: Steve remembers how the last time he’d been in action ended, and investigates the suspicious activity on the skyscraper.
~~~
5. Operatives
After helping him make certain all six of the intruders were restrained, Rishun went back to her house at the end of the block to call the police. Then she waited in the yard with him for the officers to show up, standing over the hogtied crew to prevent any attempts at escape.
By the time the police arrived, Steve had put his wireframes back on, and a cardigan that, had Natasha or Tony seen it, would have made them call him Grandpa. Rishun had changed out of her jumpsuit and into a housecoat, with her hair wrapped up in scarf. They were interviewed by a young uniformed policeman with a name tag that read Moran, who looked between the two of them and the subdued operatives with poorly concealed confusion.
"So… let me get this straight, Mr…"
"Carter. Grant Carter. This is my neighbor, Mrs. Rebecca Hayward."
"Right. Mr. Carter…" They'd given him, if not the whole truth, at least a technically true version of the events, and it was clear he was struggling a little. He adjusted his cap by the brim and regarded Steve. "Do you mean to say you single-handedly fought off six armed assailants in the middle of the night?"
"Well… not totally single-handedly."
Rishun coughed reprovingly and Steve hastened to amend. "I mean. I was very lucky. I… had the home field advantage."
Officer Moran turned to Rishun then. "And how did you come to be involved, ma'am?"
"Oh, I was already on my way, as it happened. Grant had found our lost cat, you see. He called to let me know— before the phone line was cut."
"In the middle of the night?"
Rishun didn't miss a beat. "Well. The kids just missed him so."
"Huh." Moran looked around. "It seems you were very lucky. Nobody got hurt?"
"Oh, no," Steve assured him. "Thank God." He glanced down at the men in a heap. "Well. None of us, anyway."
"So… this is all your handiwork, Mr. Carter?"
Steve shrugged, smiling helplessly. "Mostly, yes. I suppose."
"I see." The young policeman nodded, staring down at his notes. At last, he looked up at Steve awkwardly. "Mr. Carter… don't mind my asking— but how in the world did you—?"
"Well," he said, endeavoring to keep his tone innocent. "I was a soldier once myself. Guess I'm not as rusty as I thought?"
"Like riding a bicycle," Rishun added. "Or, so I would assume."
They smiled bashfully at him, the picture of suburban mundanity. At last he shook his head and flipped his notebook closed. "Well. That's all, then. Very glad you and your family are all right."
"Thank you, officer."
He turned to go, then paused and looked over his shoulder at Rishun. "Oh. What became of your cat, Mrs. Hayward?"
She looked back at him with big, innocent eyes. "Oh, he's home with the children. As I said— they just missed him so."
When at last they took the men away, it was just a little before sunrise. Rishun had put Jamie and Elizabeth to bed in her spare room, and suggested they just let them stay there until morning. Still, Steve had to look in on them just the same. They lingered a long moment, watching the kids as they slept peacefully, Steve running gentle hands through their hair.
"That was pretty incredible," Rishun murmured to him. "No wonder Officer Moran couldn't quite believe it."
Steve chuckled. "It's been a while since I saw action like that. Glad I've still got it in me when it counts."
"Hm. Something always told me you weren't an ordinary serviceman. Still… to handle them like that all on your own…"
"It wasn't all on my own— you were there too." He reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. "I don't know how to thank you, Rishun. You saved their lives. And mine, too."
"I'm just happy I could help." She glanced down, as if considering something. "How did you know, Grant? That… you could call me in a situation like this one?"
"Something you said a few years back, when we first moved into the neighborhood. That you'd done some special service during the war. I suspected it might be something like this."
She regarded him. "You cold tell from just that?"
He shifted, unsure of how to explain without giving himself away. "Well. You didn't seem to want to say much else about it. I thought it might be the sort of thing. And… then there's the jumpsuit you gave Peggy. Like the one you're wearing now."
She chuckled. "Ah, yes. Of course. I take it… you come from something similar."
"Something like that. But I'd rather not talk about it either."
She nodded. "I can understand. Was it bad?"
"Sometimes. But it's more… I want to put it behind me. How about yours?"
She turned back over the kids. "My team did some important work. I'm proud of what we accomplished, and… it kept my family out of the camps."
Steve's eyes went wide. He knew she was Nisei, a first-generation American of immigrant Japanese parents like Jim Morita was, but he'd never made that connection. He felt suddenly ashamed that it had not occurred to him. "Oh. Rishun…"
"I don't regret it. It was the right thing to do… some of the best things I've ever done. But there shouldn't have been camps at all. Not with what we were supposed to be standing against."
"I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say.
She glanced back at him. "Do you ever miss it?"
He shook his head. "No. I don't regret it either, but… it burned me out. Do you?"
She sat on the edge of the bed and adjusted the blanket around Elizabeth, who had turned over in her sleep. "There's a season to everything. I'm glad I had my time in action. But now it's time for my family, my children." She smiled. "Maybe someday it'll be time for something else."
Steve took her hand and squeezed it. "Well. Thank you for coming out of retirement just this once."
"We have to stick together. If we can't protect our families… then what's the point?"
When Peggy returned home a few days later, Steve got more of the story. Her missing operative had been taken by means of an intercepted communication, allowing her quarry to discover her identity as his handler. And when he lay in wait for Peggy to stage a rescue, he'd managed to use his knowledge of her name to look into the life of the formidable Director Carter. As she had taken him into custody, the man informed her that she may have caught him, but she was the one who was in trouble. They had found out where she lived… and they were sending a strike team to her home, after her husband and children.
Steve's lip twitched as Peggy told him this part of the story. "God forgive me," she chuckled. "But when he told me, I burst out laughing."
"Peggy, it's really not funny," he protested. "The kids were in the line of fire. We were lucky nothing happened to them."
"Of course. I don't mean to be cavalier." She shook her head. "It's only… they were expecting some mild-mannered house husband. They had no idea who they were up against."
She pulled him in close, taking him into her arms. "The kids were under the protection of Captain America… there's nowhere safer in the world."
"I'm glad I was up to it," he said. "But all things being equal, I'd rather stay in retirement."
They could joke about it in the glow of relief, but Steve meant it. This kind of work was Peggy's calling, since the early days of the war. The compulsion for her was so strong it had pulled her from an entirely different career, and she'd kept up her service because it was the place she was happiest in the world. But for Steve it had only ever been a matter of duty. He had given gladly, but no part of him loved it. His place was at home, with his wife and children, and in a perfect world, he'd never be called upon to be anywhere else.
Steve was turning the incident over in his mind as he approached the building for investigating. What he'd seen had been on a high floor, a flash of light from a figure on the outside ledge who left it through the window. Unconventional enough to rouse his suspicions, but not so out of the ordinary there was no chance he'd misread.
Upon reaching the street out front, he counted his way up from the ground level to determine he was looking for the thirty-fourth floor. It was a professional building of some sort, with a lobby sign full of businesses that held space in it. There was a name on thirty-four indicating at one point an optician, but the mostly-scraped-away letters suggested to Steve they'd long since left the building. More than likely, it was an empty floor.
He thought for a minute, then glanced through the front doors into the entryway where a doorman was stationed, reading a library book behind a desk. Steve decided to take a shot. He pulled off the tie he was wearing, buttoned up his jacket, and popped on his Dodgers cap, which he kept on him at most times these days. Then he pushed through the doors to approach the desk.
He greeted the doorman casually, attempting to play up a bit of a coarse Queens accent. "Hey, pal. A buddy of mine came up to the thirty-fourth a little while ago— looking about doing a reno?"
"Yeah, he just left. What about him?"
"I lent him a tape measure and the bum left it upstairs. Mind if I go up and grab it? It'll only take a minute."
"No problem. The operator's at lunch, but I'll send you up."
"Nah, don't get up, I can throw the switch myself. Thanks, pal."
Steve knew that such an excuse wouldn't give him much time, so he moved sharpish once the elevator doors opened. The door to the former optician's office was still open a crack, and Steve pushed it in to reveal the dusty, unoccupied rooms of the empty unit. He gave the whole of the floor plan a cursory look through, but he was most interested in the windows facing the east. There were three individual offices that had them, and Steve checked each one in turn. They were mostly unremarkable, scuffed and dingy and in need of a new coat of paint. Unlike all the other windows, however, there was one notably absent the heavy coat of dust.
Steve settled in to examine more closely. There was nothing else obvious, which in and of itself gave him concern— a concealment that thorough spoke of a professional, who knew how to cover their tracks. He sighed, realizing there was nothing for it. With the tip of his pocket knife, he flipped open the lock on the window, shoved it open with his elbow, and stepped out onto the ledge outside.
It was cold out there at thirty-four stories up, and though he was no stranger to scaling buildings when needed, he'd never been this high before without gear. He gazed out over the city for Peggy's office, and sure enough, his worst fears were confirmed— he had a perfect unobstructed view of the front door. Steve set his teeth grimly. It was exactly the sort of perch a sniper with a long gun would have looked for.
A sudden gust of wind made him wobble, and he quickly dropped to a knee on the ledge. His left hand groped for purchase against the wall, first against the brick and mortar, then lower to the seam of granite running horizontally just above the ledge. His fingers brushed against depressions, surprisingly wide, in the stone; two of them caught and he gripped them hard to steady himself.
Once he was secure again, Steve turned his head to examine the gouges. There were five clean punches into the stone, several inches deep. He spread his hand to touch each one with his fingertips. His fingers slid into them perfectly.
Steve's guts went cold. He only knew one assassin with fingers who could crush through solid stone.
~~~
Next chapter: 6. Mission
5. Operatives
After helping him make certain all six of the intruders were restrained, Rishun went back to her house at the end of the block to call the police. Then she waited in the yard with him for the officers to show up, standing over the hogtied crew to prevent any attempts at escape.
By the time the police arrived, Steve had put his wireframes back on, and a cardigan that, had Natasha or Tony seen it, would have made them call him Grandpa. Rishun had changed out of her jumpsuit and into a housecoat, with her hair wrapped up in scarf. They were interviewed by a young uniformed policeman with a name tag that read Moran, who looked between the two of them and the subdued operatives with poorly concealed confusion.
"So… let me get this straight, Mr…"
"Carter. Grant Carter. This is my neighbor, Mrs. Rebecca Hayward."
"Right. Mr. Carter…" They'd given him, if not the whole truth, at least a technically true version of the events, and it was clear he was struggling a little. He adjusted his cap by the brim and regarded Steve. "Do you mean to say you single-handedly fought off six armed assailants in the middle of the night?"
"Well… not totally single-handedly."
Rishun coughed reprovingly and Steve hastened to amend. "I mean. I was very lucky. I… had the home field advantage."
Officer Moran turned to Rishun then. "And how did you come to be involved, ma'am?"
"Oh, I was already on my way, as it happened. Grant had found our lost cat, you see. He called to let me know— before the phone line was cut."
"In the middle of the night?"
Rishun didn't miss a beat. "Well. The kids just missed him so."
"Huh." Moran looked around. "It seems you were very lucky. Nobody got hurt?"
"Oh, no," Steve assured him. "Thank God." He glanced down at the men in a heap. "Well. None of us, anyway."
"So… this is all your handiwork, Mr. Carter?"
Steve shrugged, smiling helplessly. "Mostly, yes. I suppose."
"I see." The young policeman nodded, staring down at his notes. At last, he looked up at Steve awkwardly. "Mr. Carter… don't mind my asking— but how in the world did you—?"
"Well," he said, endeavoring to keep his tone innocent. "I was a soldier once myself. Guess I'm not as rusty as I thought?"
"Like riding a bicycle," Rishun added. "Or, so I would assume."
They smiled bashfully at him, the picture of suburban mundanity. At last he shook his head and flipped his notebook closed. "Well. That's all, then. Very glad you and your family are all right."
"Thank you, officer."
He turned to go, then paused and looked over his shoulder at Rishun. "Oh. What became of your cat, Mrs. Hayward?"
She looked back at him with big, innocent eyes. "Oh, he's home with the children. As I said— they just missed him so."
When at last they took the men away, it was just a little before sunrise. Rishun had put Jamie and Elizabeth to bed in her spare room, and suggested they just let them stay there until morning. Still, Steve had to look in on them just the same. They lingered a long moment, watching the kids as they slept peacefully, Steve running gentle hands through their hair.
"That was pretty incredible," Rishun murmured to him. "No wonder Officer Moran couldn't quite believe it."
Steve chuckled. "It's been a while since I saw action like that. Glad I've still got it in me when it counts."
"Hm. Something always told me you weren't an ordinary serviceman. Still… to handle them like that all on your own…"
"It wasn't all on my own— you were there too." He reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. "I don't know how to thank you, Rishun. You saved their lives. And mine, too."
"I'm just happy I could help." She glanced down, as if considering something. "How did you know, Grant? That… you could call me in a situation like this one?"
"Something you said a few years back, when we first moved into the neighborhood. That you'd done some special service during the war. I suspected it might be something like this."
She regarded him. "You cold tell from just that?"
He shifted, unsure of how to explain without giving himself away. "Well. You didn't seem to want to say much else about it. I thought it might be the sort of thing. And… then there's the jumpsuit you gave Peggy. Like the one you're wearing now."
She chuckled. "Ah, yes. Of course. I take it… you come from something similar."
"Something like that. But I'd rather not talk about it either."
She nodded. "I can understand. Was it bad?"
"Sometimes. But it's more… I want to put it behind me. How about yours?"
She turned back over the kids. "My team did some important work. I'm proud of what we accomplished, and… it kept my family out of the camps."
Steve's eyes went wide. He knew she was Nisei, a first-generation American of immigrant Japanese parents like Jim Morita was, but he'd never made that connection. He felt suddenly ashamed that it had not occurred to him. "Oh. Rishun…"
"I don't regret it. It was the right thing to do… some of the best things I've ever done. But there shouldn't have been camps at all. Not with what we were supposed to be standing against."
"I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say.
She glanced back at him. "Do you ever miss it?"
He shook his head. "No. I don't regret it either, but… it burned me out. Do you?"
She sat on the edge of the bed and adjusted the blanket around Elizabeth, who had turned over in her sleep. "There's a season to everything. I'm glad I had my time in action. But now it's time for my family, my children." She smiled. "Maybe someday it'll be time for something else."
Steve took her hand and squeezed it. "Well. Thank you for coming out of retirement just this once."
"We have to stick together. If we can't protect our families… then what's the point?"
When Peggy returned home a few days later, Steve got more of the story. Her missing operative had been taken by means of an intercepted communication, allowing her quarry to discover her identity as his handler. And when he lay in wait for Peggy to stage a rescue, he'd managed to use his knowledge of her name to look into the life of the formidable Director Carter. As she had taken him into custody, the man informed her that she may have caught him, but she was the one who was in trouble. They had found out where she lived… and they were sending a strike team to her home, after her husband and children.
Steve's lip twitched as Peggy told him this part of the story. "God forgive me," she chuckled. "But when he told me, I burst out laughing."
"Peggy, it's really not funny," he protested. "The kids were in the line of fire. We were lucky nothing happened to them."
"Of course. I don't mean to be cavalier." She shook her head. "It's only… they were expecting some mild-mannered house husband. They had no idea who they were up against."
She pulled him in close, taking him into her arms. "The kids were under the protection of Captain America… there's nowhere safer in the world."
"I'm glad I was up to it," he said. "But all things being equal, I'd rather stay in retirement."
They could joke about it in the glow of relief, but Steve meant it. This kind of work was Peggy's calling, since the early days of the war. The compulsion for her was so strong it had pulled her from an entirely different career, and she'd kept up her service because it was the place she was happiest in the world. But for Steve it had only ever been a matter of duty. He had given gladly, but no part of him loved it. His place was at home, with his wife and children, and in a perfect world, he'd never be called upon to be anywhere else.
Steve was turning the incident over in his mind as he approached the building for investigating. What he'd seen had been on a high floor, a flash of light from a figure on the outside ledge who left it through the window. Unconventional enough to rouse his suspicions, but not so out of the ordinary there was no chance he'd misread.
Upon reaching the street out front, he counted his way up from the ground level to determine he was looking for the thirty-fourth floor. It was a professional building of some sort, with a lobby sign full of businesses that held space in it. There was a name on thirty-four indicating at one point an optician, but the mostly-scraped-away letters suggested to Steve they'd long since left the building. More than likely, it was an empty floor.
He thought for a minute, then glanced through the front doors into the entryway where a doorman was stationed, reading a library book behind a desk. Steve decided to take a shot. He pulled off the tie he was wearing, buttoned up his jacket, and popped on his Dodgers cap, which he kept on him at most times these days. Then he pushed through the doors to approach the desk.
He greeted the doorman casually, attempting to play up a bit of a coarse Queens accent. "Hey, pal. A buddy of mine came up to the thirty-fourth a little while ago— looking about doing a reno?"
"Yeah, he just left. What about him?"
"I lent him a tape measure and the bum left it upstairs. Mind if I go up and grab it? It'll only take a minute."
"No problem. The operator's at lunch, but I'll send you up."
"Nah, don't get up, I can throw the switch myself. Thanks, pal."
Steve knew that such an excuse wouldn't give him much time, so he moved sharpish once the elevator doors opened. The door to the former optician's office was still open a crack, and Steve pushed it in to reveal the dusty, unoccupied rooms of the empty unit. He gave the whole of the floor plan a cursory look through, but he was most interested in the windows facing the east. There were three individual offices that had them, and Steve checked each one in turn. They were mostly unremarkable, scuffed and dingy and in need of a new coat of paint. Unlike all the other windows, however, there was one notably absent the heavy coat of dust.
Steve settled in to examine more closely. There was nothing else obvious, which in and of itself gave him concern— a concealment that thorough spoke of a professional, who knew how to cover their tracks. He sighed, realizing there was nothing for it. With the tip of his pocket knife, he flipped open the lock on the window, shoved it open with his elbow, and stepped out onto the ledge outside.
It was cold out there at thirty-four stories up, and though he was no stranger to scaling buildings when needed, he'd never been this high before without gear. He gazed out over the city for Peggy's office, and sure enough, his worst fears were confirmed— he had a perfect unobstructed view of the front door. Steve set his teeth grimly. It was exactly the sort of perch a sniper with a long gun would have looked for.
A sudden gust of wind made him wobble, and he quickly dropped to a knee on the ledge. His left hand groped for purchase against the wall, first against the brick and mortar, then lower to the seam of granite running horizontally just above the ledge. His fingers brushed against depressions, surprisingly wide, in the stone; two of them caught and he gripped them hard to steady himself.
Once he was secure again, Steve turned his head to examine the gouges. There were five clean punches into the stone, several inches deep. He spread his hand to touch each one with his fingertips. His fingers slid into them perfectly.
Steve's guts went cold. He only knew one assassin with fingers who could crush through solid stone.
~~~
Next chapter: 6. Mission
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