C85 Breakfast Interrupted

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The crisp morning air at the Los Angeles Shield helipad was charged with a sense of urgency as agents stood around, preparing for the arrival of reinforcements. Fury and Coulson stood side by side, waiting patiently for their backup to arrive.

As the helicopter touched down, the powerful gusts from the spinning blades scattered dust and whipped the agents' coats. Immediately, the side door opened, revealing Director Peggy Carter.

Though the years had etched lines of wisdom and experience into her face, her posture remained unbowed, exuding an undiminished authority. Silver streaks adorned her neatly styled hair, complementing the sharpness of her keen blue eyes.

[Insert picture of Old Peggy Carter here]

She stepped out, a sleek black cane in hand, her tailored pants-suit impeccable despite the journey, flanked by multiple guards carrying assault rifles, their eyes scanning the area with professional vigilance.

Fury and Coulson exchanged surprised glances, both stepping forward as the Director approached, her cane clicking steadily against the concrete.

The fact that Shield Director Peggy Carter was here in person had thrown them off balance. Cases like Agent Marco's death were important, sure, and the search for the mysterious man and his dog, Cosmo, was peculiar, yes, but for the Director herself to fly in. It suggested depths to the situation they hadn't realized.

"Director Carter, why are you here, if you don't mind me asking?" Fury asked straightforwardly, his voice betraying a hint of his bewilderment.

Peggy's sharp gaze swept over them, offering a small, knowing smile. "Nick, Phil, I understand your surprise, but after reading your report, I just couldn't sit still," she replied, her tone carrying the weight of expectation. "A mysterious man, a 30-year-old space dog, and both of them managed to vanish into thin air. This is not a normal situation, I can tell you that for sure…"

The two agents nodded, leading her and her guards into the building. "Yes, it is…unusual, isn't it?" Coulson spoke as they walked.

Peggy looked thoughtful, her brow furrowing slightly. "And this man, do either of you think he may be gifted?" she prodded, leaning on her cane a bit more as they entered an elevator.

"Possibly," Fury confirmed. "The ATM incident and the way they vanished into thin air when we pursued them suggests some sort of ability or enhancement."

The elevator dinged softly, and they stepped into a secure briefing room. Maps and screens lined the walls, and a central table was littered with files and digital displays.

"Have you seen any signs pointing to any foreign powers that they could belong to?" Peggy asked, her eyes scanning the information displayed. "I know the dog is technically Russian, but it's just a dog… The young man is the one I'm most curious about."

"It crossed our minds," Coulson admitted. "But outside of the dog's origin, we haven't had much luck." He says, tapping a few keys on a nearby keyboard, bringing up a surveillance photo of Peter.

"He's a complete ghost…" Fury explained, his gaze turning to Peggy, who was studying the screen, an interested look on her face. "So, what brings you here Madam Director? We were particularly surprised to see you..."

Peggy placed her cane against the table and sighed. "When anomalies of this magnitude emerge, they often signal deeper currents in the water. This young man and his dog—they could be much more dangerous than we imagine." She says, before adding. "Or, they could make good allies. It all depends on how things play out…"

Fury and Coulson absorbed her words, the gravity settling between them. "So you believe there's more going on here than just a bizarre case of identity concealment, a Cold War relic, and an Agent's death?" Coulson asked, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Indeed, I do," Peggy affirmed. "And that's why I'm here. We need to ascertain their origins and their purpose. Moreover, we need to understand their capabilities and if they're a threat."

She turned to face the large screen displaying satellite images and data logs. "Nick, you're in command here. I want a full operational command setup. Surveillance, field agents, analysis—this is top priority. I've already pulled in resources from everywhere I can to assist us..."

Fury nodded, his demeanor resolute. "We'll begin immediately. If this man and his dog are as significant as you believe, we'll find them."

"Good," Peggy nodded, her insights directing their next moves, her expertise invaluable in navigating the murky waters of this strange case. "I'm going to get some breakfast. Call me if anything comes up…" she said, walking off, a group of guards following after her.

As the meeting adjourned, Coulson lingered by the door, watching the Director's back as she left, her cane clinking against the floor with every step. Her arrival had been surprising, to say the least, but she also provided a sharp, necessary direction. Whatever this case brought next, they were better equipped to face it with Peggy Carter at the helm.

————

Meanwhile, a few minutes after the director of Shield arrived, Melina Vostokoff navigated the congested streets of Los Angeles. Her eyes, normally sharp and calculating, today reflected chaotic emotions she hadn't felt in years.

As the cityscape whizzed by, her mind was a whirlwind of duty, fear, and maternal affection, battling each other in a silent war.

Melina had arrived at LAX early that morning, blending seamlessly into the crowd of weary travelers. Her papers, expertly forged, passed all airport scrutiny without a hitch, allowing her to step onto American soil as a shadow among the crowd.

The brisk walk to the parking lot was mechanically executed, a well-practiced routine of evasion and quick thinking. Spotting a nondescript sedan, she had hot-wired it within seconds—a skill honed and perfected in her earlier years at the Red Room.

As she drove, the mission replayed over and over in her mind. "Find Natasha. Determine her loyalty. If necessary, terminate."

The orders from General Dreykov were clear, etched into her consciousness like a commandment. But as the miles rolled away under the tires, a small voice whispered, growing louder with each passing moment. Could she really do it? Could she pull the trigger on Natasha, the closest thing she had to a daughter?

Her training dictated one path, clear and devoid of emotion. Yet, as she considered the full weight of her task, her vision clouded—not just with doubt, but with anxiety.

After a few moments of turmoil, her eyes hardened, her grip on the steering wheel tightening until her knuckles turned white. She forced the rising emotions back down, locking them away behind a facade of cold determination.

"I must," she whispered to herself, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. "If she is a traitor, it is my duty."

Driving through the city, Melina's thoughts shifted to strategy. She knew Natasha's skills and instincts; finding her would be no simple task…

"?!" Suddenly, Melina's eyes widened in disbelief and her heart skipped a beat as the familiar silhouette of Natasha caught her eye. The sight was so unexpected that for a moment, she doubted her own perception. The woman she had been tasked to find, possibly to kill, was there, just a few feet away on the sidewalk.

And beside her daughter walked a man unknown to Melina, his presence stirring a torrent of questions in her already troubled mind. Who was he? Could he be one of Natasha's targets, or perhaps a new ally?

As Natasha and the unknown man turned into a small, high-end restaurant, Melina's instincts screamed for her to hit the breaks and follow immediately, to confront and resolve the mission as quickly as possible.

But her training held her back. Rushing in could jeopardize everything, especially if Natasha was under surveillance or in company that could compromise their interaction.

Instead, Melina drove past, her eyes lingering on the restaurant's front as she searched for a spot to park. Her mind raced with scenarios and strategies.

Finding a parking spot a short distance away, Melina killed the engine and sat for a moment, her breathing steady as she tried to calm the storm within her. The simplicity of the encounter had thrown her; she had anticipated surveillance, tracking, perhaps even a long-winded investigation. Not this—seeing Natasha casually on the street as if she were just another ordinary American citizen.

Gathering her resolve, Melina reached for her weapon, which she smuggled past airport security, cocking it back to make sure the chamber was loaded properly. She then secured the gun in its holster, concealed beneath her clothing, and stepped out of the car. Her steps were measured and purposeful as she made her way toward the restaurant, each movement refined by years of training to blend seamlessly into any environment.

Upon entering, Melina scanned the room with a practiced eye, her presence unassuming as she moved toward the bar. She chose a seat that offered an unobtrusive view of Natasha and the mysterious man, who were now seated at a table, apparently engaged in a casual conversation as they looked over the menu.

Melina settled at the bar, maintaining a relaxed posture but with her senses sharply alert. Her eyes occasionally flitted over to Natasha, the casual flicker of her gaze concealing the intense scrutiny she applied to every interaction between her daughter and the mysterious man.

She noted how Natasha's laughter echoed softly across the room, her demeanor light and carefree, almost like a girl in love. This unexpected display of happiness and ease caught Melina off guard, deepening the conflict within her as she observed her daughter appearing so unguarded and content.

'What's going on here…?'

————

Peter's morning had started with a simple plan: venture back into the city and refresh his music collection. Yet, as he prepared to leave, Natasha emerged, her presence a welcome but unexpected addition. Despite her recent injuries, the advanced medical technology aboard their ship had her nearly back to full health, needing only another day or two before she was back to peak physical condition.

Together, they wandered the city streets in search of a shop that sold cassette tapes, but as their stomachs began to grumble, they decided to pause their search for a quick bite. They chose the first appealing restaurant they stumbled upon, a quaint little place with a high-end atmosphere.

Settled at their table with menus in hand, Peter's attention drifted away from the list of dishes. "?"

An unshakeable feeling crept over him, the force nudging his awareness to a peculiar presence. His gaze flicked to the bar for just a moment, catching sight of a mature, elegant woman who seemed oddly familiar. She sat there, ordering a drink while her eyes occasionally swept their way under the guise of boredom.

Though she appeared to be just another patron, Peter's instincts suggested otherwise. The woman's poised demeanor and discreet glances hinted at a possibility he couldn't ignore—she might be connected to the Red Room. It was a bit of a stretch, but at the very least, he was certain that she was spying on them.

But before Peter could share his suspicions with Natasha, the restaurant's atmosphere shifted subtly. The front doors swung open, admitting an elderly woman who moved with the aid of a cane. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on Peter, they widened for a brief second before narrowing.

'She looks familiar too…' Peter thought, his mind coming up blank as he tried to recall where he's seen her before.

Natasha, noticing the new arrival, followed Peter's gaze, initially dismissing her as just another elderly patron, perhaps looking to enjoy a senior's discount for breakfast. Yet, to their surprise, she approached their table directly and seated herself without invitation.

Peter's eyebrow arched in bemusement. "I think you've got the wrong table, Granny," he joked lightly. "We're not your grandkids. There are plenty of open tables over there…"

The old woman's response came with a gentle yet knowing smile. "Oh, I think I'll sit here, thank you," she said, introducing herself. "Peggy Carter," she said, extending a hand, which Peter instinctively shook, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he realized why she looked so familiar.

"Peter..." he responded, swiftly recovering from his surprise. "And this is my friend, Natasha."

She smiled in greeting before reaching out, taking Natasha's menu with a polite "May I?" flipping it open as if nothing were amiss. "Have you both ordered already?" Peggy inquired, her tone casual as she perused the menu.

A/N: 2129 words :)

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