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"Have you ordered yet?" Peggy inquired, her eyes not leaving the menu, browsing it as if it were the most natural thing in the world to join strangers for breakfast, uninvited.
Peter eyed the elderly woman with both curiosity and recognition. Despite her benign, grandmotherly demeanor, she was far from ordinary. After all, she was no ordinary senior citizen; she was a master spy, a World War 2 veteran, a founder of Shield, and its very first director.
'Wait, is she still the director of Shield?' As Peter mused on Peggy Carter's current role, a sudden, chilling sensation pricked at his senses—a feeling of impending danger that seemed to whisper across his skin.
Glancing instinctively towards the restaurant's large floor-to-ceiling front windows, he caught sight of two black SUVs pulling up to the curb.
And a closer look revealed even more alarming details: hidden figures on nearby rooftops, unmistakably snipers, their positions strategically chosen to cover the area, no doubt aiming his way.
This unsettling discovery cemented his suspicions. 'Yup, she's definitely the Director…' he thought.
Peggy had to be more than just a former director; her presence, underscored by such heavy security, suggested she still wielded significant authority within Shield.
But what could have drawn the director herself to Los Angeles? Was it actually for him, or perhaps something even more significant?
Across from Peter, Natasha's posture was stiff, her instincts as a highly trained Black Widow telling her that the woman before them was not to be underestimated.
Peter, maintaining a casual front, responded lightheartedly, "We were just about to call the waiter and order actually. But then this senile old woman interrupted us…" His tone was joking, but his words were sharp.
Raising a brow, Peggy was about to reply but before she could, the waiter arrived, greeting them, poised to take their order. "Good morning! How is everyone today?"
Ignoring Peter's snide comment, Peggy took the lead, leaning in towards the waiter with a conspiratorial smile. "Oh, I'm just splendid. After all, today, my grandson," she gestured to Peter, "and his lovely girlfriend here," nodding towards Natasha, "decided to treat me to breakfast."
'Girlfriend…' Natasha repeated in her head, dazed.
The waiter, taken in by her performance, smiled warmly at the trio. "What a lovely family outing. What can I get for you this morning?"
"Eggs Benedict with a side of bacon and a piping hot coffee, please," Peggy ordered, then turned to Peter with a grandmotherly affection that didn't quite reach her keen eyes. "And what will you have, sweetheart?"
Peter played along, albeit with a heavy sigh, as if resigning himself to a long morning. "I'll have the omelet with bacon and cheese, thanks."
Natasha, trained for situations like this, broke from her daze and added, "And I'll take the banana's foster Belgian waffles."
As the waiter made to leave, Peter called after him, adding a last-minute request. "Oh, and please make sure there's no dairy in my grandmother's meal. Her stomach isn't what it used to be."
Peggy's smile faltered slightly at this, her gaze sharpening on Peter, who was barely suppressing a smirk.
"Just between us," Peter whispered to the waiter loudly, pretending to be considerate of his precious grandmother, "we forgot her adult diapers at the nursing home, so no dairy, please." He said, undeterred by the glare he was receiving.
The waiter nodded seriously, jotting down the notes with a hint of awkwardness before pacing back to the kitchen.
As he left, Natasha couldn't help but burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation, her earlier tension momentarily forgotten.
Peggy's expression shifted between embarrassed and annoyed. "For the record, I am not lactose intolerant, nor do I wear diapers," she stated firmly, though the corner of her mouth twitched in a reluctant smile.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Grandma," Peter said, his tone dripping with feigned remorse. "I'll make it up to you later with some ice cream before we drop you back off at the nursing home, okay?"
Realizing that she had underestimated Peter's capacity for mischief, Peggy exhaled a heavy sigh, abandoning her kindly old woman facade. "Very funny, but I think we can speak normally now," she conceded, her voice dropping to a more serious tone.
Peter leaned back, sipping his iced water, a smirk playing on his lips. "Alright then. What brings you to our table this morning?"
Natasha's gaze remained fixed on Peggy, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp, ready to dissect whatever the older woman was about to disclose.
Peggy paused, considering her words carefully. "There's much to discuss. But to start, where's your dog? I believe her name was Cosmo?"
Peter's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise when Peggy casually dropped Cosmo's name into the conversation. However, after a brief pause, realization dawned on him. "Let me guess, the agents who followed us yesterday found some of Cosmo's hair and got a hit off an old Russian database?"
Peggy looked impressed with his quick deduction. "Yes," she nodded.
"I see," he said, nodding his head as well. "Makes sense. As for Cosmo though. She didn't come with me today. She slept in late, so I left her behind."
Peggy raised a brow, "You speak as if she's a human…"
"Well, Cosmo can be quite human-like. You'll understand if and when you ever meet her." Peter explained cryptically.
"I'd love to," Peggy smiled welcomingly, "Where does she live?" She asked, obviously fishing for information.
Peter simply smiled, "I guess you could say we're nomads, so we don't exactly have a set home, at least not around these parts…"
"Is that why there's absolutely no information available about you?" Peggy asks, finally getting to what she wants to know.
"Sort of…" Peter smiled wryly, "I've been away for a while." His gaze then drifted towards the front windows, eyeing the snipers across the street. "So, you must be the big boss of whatever organization those agents were from? But why the snipers? It's not like I'm a murderer or something."
Her expression briefly flickered with surprise—she hadn't expected him to spot her kill team so easily. After all, they were expertly hidden and almost completely out of sight. Even she couldn't spot the snipers from here, and she was an expert…
This confirmed her suspicions—Peter was gifted. He had to possess some form of enhancement.
"It's just a precaution, for my safety and the safety of others," Peggy explained. "After all, we know nothing about you."
Natasha chimed in, her tone a mix of frustration and challenge. "And yet, we haven't drawn our guns just because we don't know you."
Peggy considered this for a moment, then sighed, offering a conciliatory nod. "Fair point. I'll be willing to call off the snipers if you'd agree to answer a few questions for me."
Peter smirked, sensing an opportunity. "How about a game? Eight questions. You ask four, I ask four, and we both have to answer honestly. And, each of us gets to skip one question of our choosing, but only one. The rest must be answered no matter what."
Intrigued by the proposal, Peggy agreed. "Sure, sounds interesting enough." She then turned to Natasha, "Will you be joining us?"
Natasha glanced between Peter and Peggy, a wary look in her eyes. "I'll pass for now," she said, "but Peter and I might need to have our own game later." Peter nodded in agreement, understanding her caution. After all, she didn't know Peggy at all.
As they were setting the rules of their game, Peggy casually nodded towards the bar. "Should we invite our other guest over before we start?"
Peter followed her gaze, a smirk playing across his lips. "So you noticed her too?"
It was only then that Natasha turned to look. Her eyes widened slightly as she spotted Melina Vostokoff, the closest person she had to a mother, sitting at the bar, a Vodka martini in hand.
Despite the shock of being spotted by her target, Melina quickly masked her reaction with a small smile and waved towards her daughter, beckoning her over.
As Natasha stared at her mother, frozen in shock, the tension between them palpable even from a distance, Peggy leaned in slightly, curiosity lighting up her features. "Do you know her?" she asked, her eyes flicking between Natasha and Melina.
"Yes," Natasha replied, her voice carrying a hint of dread, "but I wish I didn't."
Hearing this, and catching the unmistakable undertone of strained history in Natasha's voice, Peter instantly understood who the woman was. This wasn't just any acquaintance; it was Natasha's mother figure. He hadn't recognized Melina initially because she wasn't as prominently known in Marvel as other characters.
Turning to Peter, Natasha's expression was resolute. "I'll handle our other guest while you two play your little game," she told him firmly, making it clear that she needed to deal with Melina personally.
Peter nodded, though his concern was evident. "Okay, just stay where I can see you, alright? Just to make sure you're okay," he said, his voice laced with protective earnestness.
Natasha rolled her eyes and scoffed at his overprotective behavior. "I can handle myself," she retorted, but her tone was softened by a faint smile. She then stood up and started walking towards the bar.
Watching her go, Peggy chuckled softly, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "It's been a while since I've met such an interesting Black Widow, let alone two in one place," she commented, her gaze following Natasha.
Peter, still watching Natasha approach Melina, turned back to Peggy with a raised eyebrow. "You knew she's a Black Widow? How?"
Peggy smiled, a hint of mischief in her tone. "Is that your first question?" she teased.
Peter frowned slightly but then shook his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "No, I won't waste our questions on that."
"I'm just kidding." Laughing softly, Peggy conceded, "It's just a feeling—they have a certain presence, you know? I've met, and unfortunately fought, quite a few over the years. You learn to spot them, especially when the consequences of not recognizing them could be very deadly."
Peter nodded, his attention briefly flitting back to Natasha, who had now taken a seat beside Melina, engaging in a quiet, intense conversation…
After a moment, he turned his attention back to Peggy, ready to begin their game. "Alright, ladies first. Go ahead. Ask anything."
Peggy paused for a moment, considering her options carefully. She only had a limited number of questions, and each one needed to count, especially with the mysterious figure sitting across from her.
Finally, she leaned forward slightly, her expression serious. "What is your complete identification? I mean, full name, birth date, place of birth—any official identifiers."
Peter didn't hesitate, seeing no harm in sharing his basic details. "Peter Jason Quill," he began, his voice even. "No fixed place of residence. Born in St. Charles, Missouri, on February 4th, 1980. My mother, Meredith Quill, raised me alone. She was incredible."
As Peter mentioned his mother, his eyes briefly clouded with a mix of love and pain, suggesting her memory was a tender one. Peggy noticed this shift, realizing that Meredith must have passed away.
"And your father?" she asked, hoping to delve deeper into his background.
Peter's demeanor shifted slightly, a guarded look passing over his face. "Is that your second question?" he countered, not quite ready to discuss his celestial heritage.
Peggy pressed her lips together, pondering for a moment. "Doesn't that fall under my first question about your identity?"
Peter shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Kind of, but your first was already a bundle of questions in one. I can't keep giving away details for free."
Reluctantly, Peggy nodded, realizing she would have to be more strategic. "So, do you go next, or shall I go again?"
"I'll go," Peter turned silent for a moment, considering his options before posing his question. "Who are the current heads of your organization?"
Peggy was taken aback by the directness and level of his question. After a moment's hesitation, she shook her head. "I can't answer that."
Peter smirked, as he knew she would say that. He just wanted to get rid of her only out. "Remember, you'll have to answer the rest of my questions without skipping now," he reminded her.
Peggy clicked her tongue, realizing the corner she had been backed into. "Understood..."
"Is it my turn again?" she asked, eager to regain some control over the conversation.
Peter nodded, signaling for her to proceed.
Without needing much time to think, Peggy fired off her next question. "Who do you work for?"
"Technically, I'm not currently working for anyone since I'm on leave," Peter replied, his answer straightforward yet revealing little.
"And if you weren't on leave?" Peggy pressed.
"The Jedi, and technically the Republic since the Jedi fall under their jurisdiction," Peter answered honestly.
Peggy furrowed her brow, unfamiliar with the terms. "Is the Republic a country? Like the Republic of Fiji or the Republic of Libya?"
Peter smirked slightly. "Is that your next question? Because I can't give out too much without it counting."
Frustrated but recognizing the rules of their game, Peggy hesitated. She knew she had to use her remaining questions wisely. "No, let's hold on that."
"Sure, but I believe it's my turn now…" Peter leaned forward, his expression curious yet cautious. "Have you heard of an object known as the Tesseract?" he asked, watching Peggy closely for her reaction.
Peggy paused, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "The Tesseract?" she echoed, her tone indicating genuine unfamiliarity. "No, that doesn't ring any bells. What is it?"
Peter studied her response, probing gently with the force, and felt the sincerity in her ignorance. There was no hint of deception, just straightforward confusion.
This aligned with his suspicions that in this universe, the Tesseract—or the Space Stone—was still shrouded in mystery, and possibly nonexistent.
"It's nothing to worry about," Peter reassured her with a dismissive wave, deciding not to delve deeper into explanations that would only lead to more questions. "Just something I came across in my travels."
Peggy nodded, accepting his explanation, though her curiosity was piqued.
"Your turn," Peter prompted, shifting the focus back to their game.
Peggy leaned forward as she formulated her next question. "When we were looking into you, we found something curious about your dog, Cosmo. Records show she's a 30-year-old Russian dog, launched into space decades ago. How did you come into possession of her?"
Peter recalled the memory of their first meeting. "I found her locked in a glass cell in a place called Knowhere. I saved her from an evil man named the Collector, and released her from captivity," he explained with a hint of pride.
"Knowhere…" Peggy repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion. She had never heard of such a place. Her tone shifted slightly as she tried to piece together the story, "So the Russians lied about the launch?"
Peter shrugged nonchalantly, redirecting the conversation to the specifics of her original question. "You asked how I came into possession of Cosmo, not about the Russian space program's public statements. If you want to know more, you'll have to waste a question on it."
"Fine…" Peggy grumbled. "It's your turn again."
Peter thought for a moment, deciding to pursue a line of inquiry that might clarify some of his suspicions about what was going on in the Kree Empire. "Have you heard of something called Project Pegasus?"
Peggy's expression showed a flicker of recognition, and she nodded her head, begrudgingly telling the truth. "Yes, I've heard of it... but I won't say any more on the matter."
Peter's mind raced, as he didn't expect the project to actually exist. After all, without the Tesseract to power it, how could the project still have happened? He leaned back, considering the implications. 'Perhaps they used a different artifact to power it?' He wondered.
Breaking from his thoughts, Peter nodded, shocked and impressed that she actually told the truth. Truthfully, he expected her to lie, but she didn't, which was quite commendable.
Thinking for a moment, he gave her an offer. "I'll owe you a small favor if you can get me the files for the project."
Peggy's eyes narrowed slightly, aware of the sensitivity of the information he sought. "That's not a small ask, Peter. That information is highly classified."
Peter saw her hesitation and added, "I only need what relates to a woman named Carol Danvers."
Raising an eyebrow, Peggy considered his request. "And what's your connection to her?"
Peter grinned. "Is that your next question?"
Peggy sighed and shook her head, conceding. "No, I suppose not."
After a brief pause, Peggy relented. "Fine, I'll get you the information, but you owe me one."
Peter nodded in agreement. "It's a small favor, Peggy. After all, you're just getting me some information on a pilot. Don't expect anything too big in return."
Rolling her eyes, Peggy shot back, "What are you so worried about? Don't you have superpowers?"
Peter raised an eyebrow, amused by her sudden and direct question. "Is that your next question?" He repeated again.
"Yes, it—Wait!" Realizing her slip, Peggy quickly rephrased. "Wait, I mean, what abilities do you have?"
Peter couldn't help but smile, appreciating her savvy adjustment. "I can use the force," he answered succinctly, giving nothing more away.
Leaning forward, her curiosity piqued, Peggy pressed, "And what exactly is the force?"
Peter's smile widened. "I'm afraid that you're out of questions…" he revealed, as smug as could be. "That was your last one. But I still have one more, don't I?"
Peggy groaned and rubbed her temples, a headache beginning to form as Peter's laughter filled the air, only making it worse.
Peter chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement as he prepared to pose his final question in their game.
However, Peggy, somewhat frustrated by his playful demeanor and aware she had exhausted her own questions, urged him impatiently, "Just ask it already..."
But before he could speak, Peter's expression abruptly shifted from amusement to concern. His head snapped toward the bar, his gaze searching.
The seats where Natasha and her mother had been just moments ago were now conspicuously empty.
Standing abruptly, a wave of alarm washed over him as he called out, "Natasha!"
When there was no response, Peter's senses stretched out, tapping into the force to sweep the entire restaurant. The clarity it brought only deepened his concern—Natasha was nowhere within the building…
A/N: 3113 words :) God Chapter!
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