┌────── ✪✪✪✪✪ ──────┐

CHAPTER ONE
BRAVE NEW WORLD

└────── ✪✪✪✪✪ ──────┘

THE SMELL OF FRESHLY MADE COFFEE wafted through her nose as she entered the tiny cafe, relishing in the warmth she was provided from the blistering March air. It was only a few blocks away from her apartment building, and even better, it was close to the metro. Practical and serving good tasting food all at once.

The transitional weather was finally starting to dissipate into beautiful spring air, but today was a day where the winter chill lingered. She didn't mind the cold, but she definitely preferred the warmth.

Margot let out a sigh of annoyance as she double-checked her watch. She was already running late and the MTA was not in the habit of arriving on time. She loved New York, but she wished they invested in a better traffic system. Although It seemed like the gods themselves were conspiring against her this morning. It was already bad enough Fury had demanded her come in on her week off, but the barista had messed up her drink. She wasn't quite sure how you messed up an americano, but she supposed the barista must be new.

She waited with the group of other customers and glanced at her watch again.

She was supposed to go to DC and check in on Sharon.

She was supposed to be surrounded by living monuments of history and commiserating with her grandfather's old war and government buddies in the hopes of getting a new job.

Instead she'd been called in because Fury claimed she had valuable knowledge on their newest asset. Not that he'd tell her what it was.

The man was the most paranoid person Margot had ever met, and considering she was a public defender for a few years, that was saying a lot.

The teenage barista nodded at her as she picked up her paper cup, sighing in contentment as the bitter taste slid down her throat.

It was one of the few joys she had left in her life, and as her Aunt always said, "It's the little things that matter."

Her heart whined as she realized it'd probably be another six months before she was able to see her Aunt again and her lips dipped into a frown. Her phone rang and when she saw who it was, she picked it up with a smile.

"Hey Shar," Margot spoke through gritted teeth.

Her old roommate hissed at the tone, "What's Fury done this time?"

Margot continued her walk toward the metro station, black heeled boots clicking against the pavement, "You're not gonna like it."

"I don't know, I tend to be a little bit more open minded when it comes to his decisions." Sharon chuckled and Margot shook her head.

"That's because you don't have him breathing down your neck the whole time."

"Hey, you made the decision to give out your last name."

Margot bit the inside of her cheek, smiling at her words, "A decision I regret every day," She paused, throat closing up, "I won't be able to get out there this week."

Sharon went silent for a moment and the knot in her stomach tightened. Margot pressed her lips together and waited for her friend to respond.

"That's what Fury did huh?"

Margot sighed, "Said something about a new asset but he won't tell me a damn thing or why I'm even needed in the first place. Just that it requires my skill set."

Sharon chuckled mirthlessly, "Yep, that sounds like Fury."

Margot paused, phone quivering in her hand and grip tightening on her coffee. The two women knew better than most the consequences of going against their bosses. Margot wasn't sure she would have preferred Pierce over Fury, but in this instance she did. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Sharon choked through the phone, "You and I both know the demands of this job." Margot could hear the disappointment in her voice and her stomach curled in guilt. God, she was gonna kill Fury the next time she saw him–which would hopefully be within the next hour– "We knew what we were signing up for."

Margot sighed, "I'll be on the first flight out for Thanksgiving, I promise."

The two women exchanged goodbyes and Margot stepped into the crowded subway, trying not to let her thoughts stray too far so she didn't miss her stop. The warble of the subway operator was a familiar white noise in her ears and she shuffled her position away from the middle aged man breathing down her neck. Not that he was any concern. She'd dealt with much worse.

The muffled voice announced her stop and she quickly rescued herself by hiding amongst the crowds of people. She was always good at hiding. Blending in where no one would see her.

The walk to SHIELD headquarters was a long one, but Margot would rather brave the cement sidewalks and streets instead of the horrible Manhattan traffic.

God, she hated the city. Foghorns and heavy traffic made it impossible to fall asleep and traveling anywhere was near impossible.

Although, she could never quite shake the New Yorker from her veins.

If she'd had any choice in her appointment she'd be with Sharon in DC. But Fury had demanded she stay here, blackmailed her into it.

Finishing off her coffee, she tossed it in the bin just outside the entrance.

"ID please," The female bodyguard asked as she stepped into the foyer. Margot flashed the card bearing her full name and picture from when she was first recruited, her roots now grown out to the point where the once blonde locks were highlights rather than her actual hair color.

Sharon had always been complimentary of the look, claiming that many of the women were sporting hairstyles like hers intentionally, calling it an ombre.

Margot called it too lazy to make an appointment with her hairdresser.

Maybe when she finally had a day off she'd go back to the blonde. She was stopped once again by the full-body sensors, the agents searching her bag as she stepped through the detector, her scan coming out clean.

"There you are," a familiar voice caught her attention as she began to walk toward the wing where her office resided. Maria Hill was one of the best agents SHIELD had ever produced, which made her perfect as Fury's right hand woman and deputy director.

"Fury wants to see you in his office, now."

"Can I just set my stuff down first?" Margot pleaded, her feet aching from the walk over, "I have this huge case I'm working on and--"

"Now, Thompson." Maria's stern tone matched her expression and Margot sighed, following the dark-haired woman through an unfamiliar part of the building. Agents dressed in black tactical suits passed by them. Maria stopped at the beginning of a staircase, pulling a file folder from her hand. "Your new assignment. Read it quickly and remember it. Fury wants to go over the finer details with you."

Margot creased her brows as she took the manila folder from the woman, "What happened to the Stark case?"

Maria shrugged, "Romanoff submitted the final paperwork last night. Another success, thanks to you."

"Yeah that's one name for it," She mumbled as she scanned through the papers and photographs, trying to figure out what exactly Fury wanted her to do.

The Stark case had been a headache. Not only was the man impossible to work with, but having to cover up Natasha's involvement while convincing the government he wasn't a flight risk was almost insurmountable. But, like everything, she handled it.

When she finally reached the last page of her new assignment, anger burst in her chest, re-reading the words over and over again until she started seeing red. This wasn't happening.

He wasn't serious.

This had to be a joke.

Margot burst through the door, file in hand and her temper flaring. "Are you kidding me?" She nearly yelled, slamming the door behind her. "You're putting me on babysitting duty?"

Nick sighed, carelessly tossing what he was looking over aside before leaning back in his chair, hands crossed over his lap. "Agent Thompson, you are being put in charge of persuading Captain Rogers to our cause."

"He's an icicle!" She exclaimed, slamming the folder down on his desk, "I have living, breathing clients who need my help. The hammer in New Mexico for example. The Banner case. I don't have time--"

"Yes you do." Nick Fury cut her off, standing up at her indignance. Margot clenched her jaw and rolled her hands into fists. "I've assigned Coulson the New Mexico case, and Secretary Ross demanded the Banner case to be handled through one of his own firms. You now have a cleared schedule."

"You're taking me off those cases because you pulled a mythical man out of the ice? A man that my grandmother and great-aunt supposedly knew seventy years ago?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her great-aunt was dead. They'd buried her in the ground next to Margot's mother. Her grandmother was in upstate New York with a failing memory and a husband who loved her. And neither of them had any business with Captain America or Project Rebirth. Not anymore at least. What they knew, Margot now knew, and the rest had been buried with them. There was nothing to contribute. Her history was mediocre at best and awful at worst.

Fury stared her down and Margot swore she could feel his eyepatch boring into her. "I have other reasons, you know I have."

Margot scoffed. Of course. "This wasn't about my skillset at all. This is so you can play your little charade and get away with it."

Fury let out a guilty sigh, "Agent Thirteen wasn't willing--"

"Neither am I, but that's not stopping you."

Fury moved back behind his desk, placing his hands on the glass as he met her blazing gaze, "You are his last connection to the world he knew. He needs that now."

"Why? Why now?"

Fury went silent. Margot scoffed. Typical of him. Keeping everything close to his chest, never divulging secrets to anyone. It did the agency more harm than good.

"There's no one better suited to the task than you."

Knowing she'd lost the battle, Margot grabbed the file folder and turned on her heel, hair whipping behind her as she began to make her way to the room listed in the folder.

This was ridiculous.

Steve Rogers had been a bedtime story, something her grandmother would ramble about as she fell asleep, not a living breathing man she was supposed to help adjust to the real world. Not a man she was supposed to recruit to SHIELD.

She didn't even believe in the cause they were fighting for, how could she make a man out of time believe it?

Her heart pounded against her chest and teeth ground against each other as she snuck into the changing room adjacent to the main studio where'd they'd set up the set for their charade.

Ginger was changing back into her tactical suit when Margot entered. Dark circles surrounded the Agent's eyes, citing a sleepless night as she stood ready to greet Captain Rogers into the 21st century. A job that now belonged to Margot and Margot alone.

A musty skirt and button up top slapped her in the face. It was an exact replica of the one her great-aunt and grandmother wore in their days at the SSR. Right down to the thick brown tie.

"Your turn Thompson," Ginger teased, grabbing a cup of coffee on her way out. What Margot wouldn't give for another one right about now.

Not even bothering to change her bra, knowing the trap Fury was setting, Margot buttoned up the shirt and slipped into the skirt and tights, scoffing at her appearance as she let her curls hang freely the same way Ginger's had. It wasn't as though she hated skirts on principle–she still had to wear them to court when needed–it was just that she preferred pants by a longshot.

She'd had enough of dress codes in high school.

The heels clicked against the floor and she stood by a monitor, watching the golden man sleep. He was dressed in 40s slacks and a tight SSR t-shirt, his uniform having been transferred to the lab for testing and processing. Agents were already working on creating a new one, with Coulson having a large hand in the design. She smirked as she recalled the way the older agent had lit up when Fury told him about his assignment.  She did not envy the scientists who'd been given that job over studying his shield or the Valkyrie aircraft he'd been buried with.

The super soldier jerked back and forth for a brief moment and she recognized his mannerisms. Common in victims of PTSD or night terrors. He was probably reliving his worst memories right now. A moment passed and the Captain relaxed, looking perfectly content once more.

Margot found herself praying that he wouldn't wake up for the rest of the work day.

She stared at her watch.

One hour down, seven more to go.

All she could do was wait.

★★★★

STEVE'S EYES FLUTTERED OPEN, the soft sound of the radio playing in the background. He heard the crack of a bat.

A baseball game. He hadn't been to a baseball game since...

He blinked. The room around him was exactly like one he'd seen his mom in a few times before she died. The muted walls, the cheap fan, the uncomfortable hospital bed.

He forced himself to listen again.

The announcer sounded familiar, almost like one he'd heard before. But that wasn't possible. He looked down at his clothes, no longer in the Star Spangled suit Howard had gifted him before his first official mission with the commandos. He'd been wearing it when he...he gulped.

Peggy.

How long had he been out?

The rush of traffic and honking horns cut his thoughts off and he finally noticed the radio. The announcer's voice was clearer, saying names Steve remembered, names he knew.

But the plays were too familiar, too new.

The Dodgers tied with bases loaded, and if Steve's hypothesis was true, then Reiser was about to hit a homer which would send the team soaring into a win over the Phillies.

Sure enough, that's exactly what happened.

He knew this game. He'd seen this game.

It had lived in the back of his head for years. Was it years now? He didn't know where he was anymore. How much time had passed since he'd gone into the ice?

But one thing was clear, no matter how much the room around him resembled it, he was no longer in Brooklyn.

The click of a heel brought his attention to the door, where a woman with dirty-blonde hair with lightened edges entered the room, a soft smile on her face. Steve blinked.

She was dressed in the typical SSR fashion. The way Peggy had been dressed. But something was off, not just her hair color. It was the way she carried herself, the stiffness in her voice as she spoke.

"Morning," She checked her watch, lips twisting up into a wry smirk. "Well, afternoon."

The lipstick was the wrong shade.

It was a lighthearted joke, something meant to ease the tension hanging between them. A shiver crawled down Steve's back and he met the green hues of the woman's gaze. It was soft, but there was something else behind it. Something familiar. A sharpness hiding in the irises.

"Where am I?" He wasted no time asking.

The woman remained unfazed. He had to give her credit. "You're in a recovery room in New York City," she recited, the same soft smile on her face. It didn't reach her eyes.

Something wasn't right here. He felt it in his gut, and it had never stirred Steve wrong before.

Had HYDRA finally caught up to him too?

She didn't sound German, but neither had Fred Clemson.

Steve scanned her clothes once again. The tie was wrong. Too thick, too square. As he listened to the radio once again, it finally struck him.

May, 1941.

He'd been there. Bucky and him had taken two girls as dates. He'd struck out with the one he'd been set up with, but he remembered Bucky going home with his.

Bucky...

His heart pounded in his chest and he was surrounded by snow once more, back on the train as he reached out and failed to catch his best friend.

His stomach clenched and he turned his gaze back to the woman, who was staring at him like she expected something out of him.

Why was she dressed out of code?

Why were they playing a game he'd already been to?

And who were they?

"Where am I really?"

The look on the woman's face never faltered, and instead, she held her hands out in a gesture of surrender. "I understand this is overwhelming, but I need you to trust me."

"Not until you tell me where I am!" The volume of his voice shocked him, and while this woman seemed to know who he was, she didn't even flinch at the sight of how big he was. How he towered over her and could take her down in less than a second.

In fact, she didn't look phased by him at all.

"I told you, you're in a recovery room--"

"The game," Steve cut her off, not having the patience for any more tricks, "It's from May, 1941, I know cause I was there." He moved in closer, green eyes refusing to leave his, "Now where the hell am I?"

The woman let out a hitched breath, "Captain Rogers--"

The door burst open and three men in black suits came storming in. "I said wait--" The woman quickly addressed the three of them, but Steve didn't pay her any attention as he pushed them through the wall, a new hole in the side of the room confirming his thoughts. This was all a set up.

"Captain Rogers, wait!" The woman called after him, but Steve took off running. He needed to get out of here.

He needed to get back home and tell Rebecca about Bucky. He needed to find Peggy and fulfill his promise. He had a life to get back to and he wasn't going to let HYDRA stop him. It didn't matter what they said. None of this felt like New York.

"I repeat, all agents Code Thirteen." The woman's voice rang out through the building. Steve pushed past the soldiers with laughable ease, his bare feet dragging themselves across the wet pavement beneath his feet, cars and bikes flying by in models he'd never seen before.

Where the hell was he?

He continued to run. Right now it was his only option.

If he could make it to Times Square he could find his way home. His mom had always told him that. Bucky had always told him that.

Find Times Square, everything else is easy after that.

But it wasn't. Because Times Square was a mess of flashing lights and colorful movies with words Steve didn't understand like American Eagle Outfitters and Baskin Robbins.

Lights flashed and Steve could feel himself getting disoriented.

Colors swirled around him in bright hues Steve never had the luxury of enjoying during the harsh years of the war. He searched for anything familiar. Any landmark that might be of some use to him. But there were none.

None of the bars he recognized. The old movie theater was gone, replaced by a shop bearing fashions Steve himself didn't understand.

The loud sirens coming from black SUVs drowned out his thoughts, and Steve was left with more questions than answers.

The woman who'd greeted him stepped out of the car closest to him, her costume tossed aside and replaced with a pair of jeans and a red blazer.

A black man with an eyepatch stood beside her, "At ease soldier," The man commanded.

He seemed to be in charge, which alone rang alarm bells in Steve's head.

He'd seen plenty of men who looked like him in the war, but they'd never been able to rise into any rank of command. Steve had tried to get Jones an official rank after his rescue in Austria, but Phillips and Brandt had shut him down at every turn.

But something obviously must have changed if the man standing before him was any indication.

The lights were brighter.

Cars flew by with seemingly no care in the world, looking nothing like he'd ever known.

They didn't even look like what Stark had projected for the future.

Everything was sleeker and nothing looked like he remembered it.

He turned to face the woman and the one-eyed man. "Where the hell am I?" He repeated again, unable to process anything else at the moment.

The woman stepped forward, pumps replaced with a pair of sensible boots, although they still contained a small heel, he noticed. A determined look crossed her face, much harsher than the smile she'd worn to greet him earlier.

Something still seemed so familiar about her.

"Safe, Captain Rogers," She affirmed. "You're safe."

★★★★