Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Visitor for you, Cora," Mutchins said. "You lot, clear out." Half in costume, Polly yanked at her shoe. She wondered where, exactly, Mutchins expected them to go, and how she was supposed to get there while hopping on one foot.

"That's all right," a man said from right behind Mutchins. "I don't want to inconvenience any of these lovely young ladies. And I only need to talk to Cora for a moment."

"About tomorrow night?" Cora asked.

"Yes...well, about how I need it to be tonight instead. I've been unexpectedly called away, to—well, I can't say where, but it's much closer to the front than we are here. Are you free tonight?"

Cora pulled a watch from the pocket of her dressing gown, and examined it with a giggle. "As soon as the show's over," she said, "my evening is yours."

"I'll be waiting with eagerness," he said. "Ladies." He waved to the room at large, and flung himself back out the door.

Polly resumed her attempts to buckle her shoe. She should have insisted on less unwieldy shoes, since they'd had to be replaced anyway after she'd lost one at the Phoenix. "Hot date?" she asked dryly.

"Yes." Cora sighed dreamily. "Mr. Stark is such a gentleman. And he's so brave, inventing things to help the troops. And you heard him, he's going to the front lines! He's practically a war hero."

"Either that or a Class A braggart," Polly muttered.

"Your driver is waiting outside," the concierge reported. Steve thanked him and hurried down the steps of the hotel.

"Hello, er, Lance-Corporal..."

"Eileen O'Reilly, sir," the driver replied.

"Lance-Corporal O'Reilly. Could you please take me to SSR headquarters?"

"Right away, sir." She pulled the car smartly away from the curb and plunged into traffic.

Steve lost himself in his thoughts. Their upcoming offensive on Schmidt's headquarters...what they knew about his base...what they didn't know but needed to...how easily they could lose the entire assault force if something went wrong... With a start, he pushed those pictures from his head. "Have you lived in London long?" he asked the driver.

She shook her head. "I was a maid out in Backbury, until after the war started."

"What brought you here?"

"The Army requisitioned the manor, so I was simultaneously out of a job and needed to escort the last few evacuee children who hadn't been retrieved by their parents. They were from London, so I brought them back here, and worked in a shop for a bit before joining the ATS. What about you? You don't sound like you've lived in London long at all."

Steve laughed. She was easy to talk to. "No, I've only scarcely been in London a few days in my entire life. I just flew in from Europe. It's a quick trip to get the latest intel and then go straight back to work. I'm sorry I can't tell you any more about it."

"That's all right," she said. "Tell me about yourself, instead—if you can. Where did you grow up? I can tell you're from America, of course, but where exactly in America?"

"Lady Bracknell's brought the SSR in on this one," Cess reported.

Ernest—he didn't think of himself as Mike more than necessary nowadays, for fear he'd slip up—leaned across the desk and looked at the paper Cess was brandishing. "What's the SSR?"

"The Strategic Scientific Reserve," explained a woman standing in the corner, where Ernest hadn't noticed her. "I'm Agent Peggy Carter," she said, extending a hand. "I'm just here as a courier, since I was in London anyway, reporting to headquarters. The SSR works in special weapons, and in this case that includes special fake weapons. You've heard of Howard Stark?"

"The American playboy?"

"He's also an inventor. And he has a few inventions you might find useful." She picked up a pasteboard box from the chair next to Cess, and set it on the table. "These are tank projectors. They won't work as close up as the inflatable tanks, but they should be indistinguishable on film. And as you can see, they're much lighter and more maneuverable than the balloons."

"Less likely to get gored by a bull, either," Cess said, with a sidelong glance at Ernest.

Ernest rolled his eyes at him. "Glad to have your help, Agent Carter," he said.

"The Howling Commandos are on Mike's list of heroes," Colin mused.

"Yes, but he planned to study them on a separate drop," Ned Henry said.

"I know, but he wouldn't have to. Perhaps, if he realized his drop wasn't opening but he hadn't quite given up hope yet on completing his project—"

"—He would do a bit of rearranging. It's possible. So what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to find the Howling Commandos, and ask if they've seen him."

"You're going to—Colin, you can't just interact with major historical figures like that."

"If I can't, then the net won't open, and we'll be no worse off than we are now. And if I can—don't worry, I'm not going to tell them that Michael's a time traveler. I'm just going to say he's my friend, and he's missing."

"An American you just happen to be friends with, despite being British," Ned said sarcastically. "Do you have a cover story about how you met?"

"If I need one. But remember, one of the Howling Commandos was British, and most of them were American. They won't think it's odd."

"If you say so," Ned said. "I'll believe it when I see the net open for you."

The net did open, and Colin walked through into London, in October 1955. His drop placed him by the back steps of a boarding house; jogging up the steps, he hoped it was the right one. Second floor, third door... He knocked hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"I'm looking for Brigadier Falsworth?"

"You've found him. What do you want?"

"I'm trying to find out what happened to a friend of mine. I was told you might have run into him during the war. His name—" Would he even have used the same name? If he hadn't, what hope was there of finding him?— "was Mike Davis. An American. He worked as a reporter for a while, but I don't know if he would have kept that job throughout the war. I know he was present at the evacuation of Dunkirk, but we haven't been able to trace his movements since."

Falsworth shook his head. "I wish I could help you, but I don't recall anyone named Mike Davis."

I wish I could help you, too. I could tell you that two people you cared about and served with aren't dead, but I mustn't. "Oh well, thanks anyway," Colin said. Another dead end, but then he'd known it was a slim chance. He headed back to Oxford to try again.