[ Save him, when he doesn't deserve it? After everything he's done — what they did? Local insecurities and foreign cries intermingle, driving a mind to its undoing. Only Peggy's words are clearer the rest, drawing Fitz out with every promise and plea, balancing his compass. She cuts off an unspoken thought, rising in his throat, Leave him. Take the others. No, that's not right. Have to save him, first, 'cause he has to save them in turn, just like Robin foresaw in the other timeline, her visions as sure as all the history that came before them.
Time is fixed. That's basic (quantum) physics. Fourth dimensional spacetime. ]
Yeah, okay. Okay. [ Partners. SHIELD. Morningstar. The strike team. ] Wait for me, I'm just, I'm — [ Recalibrating. Still as though he's only half-listening, talking to himself and struggling to hear her over the static. He tips his head into her palm, features still pained. It's only when Agent Peggy Carter says "can't," as she never does, that every nerve alights with urgency. Takes all his strength to crack his eyes open, taking in yet another collapsing reality (one that pushes the facility into the past tense) and two blurry figures before his focus narrows to her, single-minded as he is in all things (working a theory, fixing a toy). She looks sad but not hurt. Thank god.
Agony spikes, seeking to pull him down, down, down, but he only flinches, holding fast to her and hooking shaky fingers around her arm. ]
Sorry. [ Mumbled. Another wince. ] It's in my head, but.
[ If it feels real, it's real, as he's told every one of his friends. ]
Peggy, when — where are we? [ An audible crack, somewhere in the distance, as the ground splits. Quickly — ] Now. [ That's the when. ] Need to find them now.
[ Jolting upward, standing too quickly, definitely about to tumble over on the uneven terrain. Now's the only time that matters. ]
no subject
Time is fixed. That's basic (quantum) physics. Fourth dimensional spacetime. ]
Yeah, okay. Okay. [ Partners. SHIELD. Morningstar. The strike team. ] Wait for me, I'm just, I'm — [ Recalibrating. Still as though he's only half-listening, talking to himself and struggling to hear her over the static. He tips his head into her palm, features still pained. It's only when Agent Peggy Carter says "can't," as she never does, that every nerve alights with urgency. Takes all his strength to crack his eyes open, taking in yet another collapsing reality (one that pushes the facility into the past tense) and two blurry figures before his focus narrows to her, single-minded as he is in all things (working a theory, fixing a toy). She looks sad but not hurt. Thank god.
Agony spikes, seeking to pull him down, down, down, but he only flinches, holding fast to her and hooking shaky fingers around her arm. ]
Sorry. [ Mumbled. Another wince. ] It's in my head, but.
[ If it feels real, it's real, as he's told every one of his friends. ]
Peggy, when — where are we? [ An audible crack, somewhere in the distance, as the ground splits. Quickly — ] Now. [ That's the when. ] Need to find them now.
[ Jolting upward, standing too quickly, definitely about to tumble over on the uneven terrain. Now's the only time that matters. ]