Rosen's heart wasn't racing because of Peggy Carter.
Don't get it wrong—the woman was a titan. A legendary founder of SHIELD and one of the finest strategic minds to ever walk the earth. But at the end of the day, Peggy was human. She was bound by biology and the slow, inevitable creep of time. Rosen was focused on a different kind of legend—the kind that didn't just fade away into the history books. He was looking for a ghost.
After slipping through the manor's side entrance, Rosen used Gale Step to become a ripple in the corridor. He followed Sharon Carter into the main living room, where the air was thick with the scent of burning cedar and expensive tea.
London in October was a miserable, damp place. While New York might still be enjoying the tail end of a crisp autumn, the fog over the Thames brought a bone-deep chill that demanded attention. In the center of the room, a grand stone fireplace crackled, casting long, dancing orange shadows across the Persian rugs.
Peggy Carter sat by the fire, wrapped in a thick wool shawl. She looked fragile, her hands spotted with age and slightly trembling, but her eyes—sharp and blue—remained as piercing as ever.
"Old injuries," Rosen thought, watching her adjust her shawl. "Decades of field work and damp London air don't mix well."
"Aunt Peggy!" Sharon greeted her with a warm, affectionate smile, sitting on the ottoman beside her and linking her arm with the older woman's.
"Ah, little Sharon. What brings you to this old drafty house today?" Peggy asked, her voice a soft, cultured rasp.
"Oh, stop it. You know exactly why I'm here," Sharon teased, her voice taking on a slightly childish lilt. "You promised that once I graduated, you'd put in a word for me at SHIELD. Well, it's been six months. I'm starting to think you're holding out on me."
Peggy let out a weary sigh, though a gentle smile played on her lips. "I truly don't know why you're so determined to walk this path, Sharon. It's my fault, really. I shouldn't have told you so many stories when you were small."
"I want to be like you, Peggy. I want to prove I have the Carter blood," Sharon replied, her eyes bright with ambition.
"Very well. I suppose I can't keep the gate closed forever." Peggy pointed a trembling finger toward a mahogany desk in the corner. "Middle drawer. There's an admission letter for the SHIELD Academy. It's personally signed by the current Director, Nick Fury. You can report for duty next month."
Sharon squealed, jumping up to grab the parchment as if it were a golden ticket. But as she gripped the letter, Peggy's tone shifted. It became cold—the tone of a Director who had seen too many friends disappear into the shadows.
"Listen to me, Sharon. This is not a game. Once you enter those doors, you observe. You learn. But you do not trust anyone. Not the instructors, not your fellow recruits. No one... except for Nick Fury."
Sharon froze, her brow furrowed in confusion. "But why? Isn't SHIELD the good guys?"
"There is no 'why' in this business, Sharon. Doubt everything. It's the only quality an Agent needs to survive."
The Puzzle of the Retired Director
Rosen, tucked into a corner of the ceiling using a combination of Shadow Fade and Blink, felt a surge of curiosity.
Peggy's warning confirmed one thing: she knew the agency she'd built was compromised. She'd spent decades fighting HYDRA, nearly uncovering their "Athletic Social Club" front several times. She and Howard Stark weren't fools; they knew the serpent hadn't been fully decapitated.
"So why is she sitting here by a fire?" Rosen wondered. "Why isn't she burning the rot out?"
It didn't make sense for a woman of Peggy's conviction to simply retire and let the agency fall into the hands of double agents. And then there was her trust in Nick Fury. In the standard timeline, Peggy and Fury were from different eras. Fury had been Alexander Pierce's protege, not hers.
Unless... unless there was a variable. A reason for her to be so sure that things would work out.
Rosen slipped out of the room, his Gale Step still active. He began a sweep of the manor grounds. As he moved, the incongruity of the place struck him. This was the home of a woman who held the secrets of the world's most powerful intelligence agency. There should have been motion sensors, silent alarms, and a dozen elite guards in the shadows. Instead, there were just a few elderly housekeepers and a gardener.
"She isn't afraid," Rosen realized. "She has the best security in the history of the world."
The Man with the Shears
Rosen's footsteps slowed as he reached the rear garden. The sun was pale, struggling through the London mist. In the center of a bed of late-blooming roses stood an old man.
He was wearing a canvas hat and a simple, loose-fitting gardener's coat. His back was slightly hunched, his movements deliberate as he carefully trimmed a stray branch with a pair of shears. From a distance, he looked like any other retiree enjoying his twilight years.
But as Rosen approached, the air seemed to grow heavier. The man didn't turn around, but his posture shifted. It wasn't the brittle movement of an old man; it was the coiled tension of a tiger.
The "gardener" slowly raised his head, his gaze sweeping across the lawn directly toward where Rosen was standing. Even through the veil of Gale Step, the man's eyes—piercing, clear, and impossibly sharp—seemed to lock onto the ripple in the air.
His face was weathered, a map of deep lines and sun-damaged skin, but the jaw was unmistakable. The broad shoulders beneath the canvas coat still held the memory of a shield.
"Found you," Rosen thought, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the London weather.
It was Steve Rogers. The Captain America who had lived a whole life in the past. The man who had seen the end of the world, fought gods, and then traded it all for a dance with the woman he loved.
"You really did it, didn't you, Cap?" Rosen mused, watching the old soldier's hand hover near his garden shears as if they were a vibranium disc.
Steve Rogers was the reason Peggy was at peace. He'd spent a lifetime fighting alongside Nick Fury in a future he'd already lived. He knew exactly who could be trusted. He was the ultimate insurance policy.
Rosen stayed perfectly still, his heart thudding. He realized that if he made one wrong move, this "gardener" would probably put him through a brick wall before he could even think the word Blink.
He had a sudden, wild urge to tell the old man about the Skrulls, about Wanda, and about the mess the "bald egg" Nick Fury was going to make of the future. But for now, he just watched.
He'd come to London for Vibranium, but he'd found something much more dangerous: a man who had already won the war.