The morning after Peggy Carter passed, the world outside her quiet Virginia home was oblivious.
But inside the Spencer mansion in upstate New York, in the tangled quiet of the master bedroom, an insistent vibration broke the dawn.
Sharon Carter's personal data slate, left on the nightstand, buzzed with a priority one encryption that bypassed 'do not disturb' protocols.
It was a sound she hadn't heard in months, a sound that always meant one of two things: a global crisis or a personal tragedy.
She stirred, her mind instantly shifting from the hazy comfort of sleep to the clear focus of a trained agent.
She was nestled against Aryan's side, her head on his shoulder, Wanda's arm draped over both of them.
For a moment, she savored the warmth, the simple rightness of their shared space.
Then, she reached over, and picked up the slate.
The message was from an encrypted number she recognized… the private line for Peggy's live in nurse.
"She passed peacefully in her sleep an hour ago."
The words were a physical blow.
Sharon's breath hitched. She closed her eyes, a wave of heavy grief washing over her.
She had known this was coming.
Peggy was old. But the finality of it was a shock to the system. Peggy was a mentor, the unshakable pillar of strength that had defined her own path.
She was the reason Sharon had joined SHIELD, the reason she had strived to be a woman of substance and honor in a world of shadows.
And now, she passed away.
A hot tear escaped her closed eyelid and traced a path down her temple.
Aryan was already awake beside her, his body having sensed the subtle shift in her breathing. He just wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.
On his other side, Wanda stirred, her own empathic senses picking up on the sudden spike of grief.
She opened her eyes, saw the tears on Sharon's face.
She moved, her own arm wrapping around Sharon from the other side, her hand gently stroking her hair.
There were no words.
In the quiet dawn, the three of them were a fortress of shared comfort, shielding one of their own from the harsh reality of loss.
Sharon leaned into their embrace, a shuddering sob finally breaking free, and just let herself be held.
…
The funeral was held two days later at a historic church in Washington D.C.
It was a state affair, a grand farewell for one of the last living legends of the 20th century.
The guest list was a testament to the life she had lived: high ranking officials from the Earth Federation, decorated veterans from a dozen different wars, old spies with weathered faces who had emerged from the shadows for one last time, and the unassuming neighbors who had known her simply as the kind old woman who lived at the end of the street.
The world knew her as Margaret "Peggy" Carter, a decorated war hero, a liaison to the Strategic Scientific Reserve, and one of the foundational figures in the creation of SHIELD.
They spoke of her courage, her intelligence, her unwavering dedication to the cause of global peace.
Eulogies were given by Chancellor Deven Ray, by old generals, by historians who detailed her immense, and often secret, contributions to the world.
Aryan, Wanda, and Sharon sat in the front pew. They had arrived in a private vehicle.
Sharon was dressed in a simple black dress, her face pale.
She was the very picture of the stoic agent Peggy had trained her to be.
But Aryan and Wanda, sitting on either side of her, could feel the fine tremors that ran through her. They could see the sorrow in her eyes.
Wanda subtly reached out, her hand finding Sharon's in her lap, their fingers lacing together.
It was one of human connection, a reassuring pressure that said, I am here. You are not alone.
Aryan sat on her other side. He was there, a solid wall she could lean on if she needed to.
Sharon listened to the speeches, to the stories of Peggy the soldier, Peggy the agent, Peggy the legend.
But her own mind was a flood of different memories. She remembered Peggy's warm laugh.
She remembered the scent of old books and Earl Grey tea in her living room. She remembered the intelligent glint in her aunt's eyes as she taught a young Sharon how to spot a lie, how to read a room, how to be a woman of strength and substance in a world dominated by men.
A fresh wave of grief washed over her, and she squeezed Wanda's hand, grateful for the unwavering support.
One notable absence cast an unseen shadow over the proceedings. Steve Rogers was not there.
The official story was that Peggy's elderly husband was too overcome with grief and too frail to attend the public ceremony. A private service would be held for him later.
Only a handful of people in the world knew the truth: that the man who had loved her for over fifty years was himself a man out of time who could not risk the scrutiny of the world's cameras.
He was grieving alone, in the quiet home they had shared, his loss a secret he would carry for the rest of his days.
As the ceremony concluded, the honor guard performed a final salute.
A bugler played a heartbreaking rendition of "Taps." The sound hung in the crisp autumn air.
Sharon's carefully constructed composure finally cracked. A single sob escaped her lips, and she leaned heavily against Aryan, burying her face in his shoulder.
He wrapped his arm around her, holding her tightly, offering his own silent strength as a shield.
Later that evening, back at the quiet solitude of the mansion, the three of them sat in the softly lit library.
A fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow on the walls lined with books.
They had barely spoken since returning from the funeral.
Sharon sat curled up on a plush armchair, a glass of wine held loosely in her hand, her gaze lost in the flames.
Wanda was on the floor, leaning against the side of her chair, her head resting on Sharon's knee. Aryan sat opposite them.
"She was so proud of you, you know," Wanda said softly, her voice breaking the long silence.
Sharon looked down, a sad smile touching her lips. "She was... tough. She always expected the best. From me. She believed in leaving the world better than you found it."
"She did," Aryan said. "And she succeeded. The world is better because she was in it. The work she did, the foundations she laid... we're just building on them."
"It feels like the end of an era," Sharon whispered.
"It's not an end," Aryan said. "It's a transition. She passed the torch, Sharon. To you. To us."
Sharon looked at him, her eyes shimmering in the firelight.
She saw the truth in his words. The world Peggy had fought for, the peaceful world she had dreamed of, was finally a reality.
And she was also a key architect of that new world, sitting at the very center of its power. Peggy had left her a legacy of victory to uphold.
A tear traced a path down her cheek, but this one was a tear of a sense of purpose, clarified by loss.
She took a breath and gave Wanda's hand a grateful squeeze. She looked at Aryan, at the man she loved, who had held her together when she was falling apart. She was heartbroken, yes.
But she was not alone.
"To Peggy," she said, raising her glass in a quiet toast to the flames.
"To Peggy," Wanda and Aryan echoed.