recruited: (Default)
Steve Rogers ([personal profile] recruited) wrote2014-11-01 07:49 am
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mucked: (☂ cages and poles)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-06-14 02:17 pm (UTC)(link)
[ her toe taps. and just as he stares at her intently, peggy carter stares straight back. she studies every inch of him that’s visible—from the too-tight shirt to a pair of shoes that don’t (in fashionable terms) exactly match the rest of his outfit. she begins to deduce more of the current situation—wherever he’d come from, whenever he’d come from, he’d come with little else prepared. he’d stashed the shield, as he’d said, and then he’d…what? changed his clothing? unless this sort of mismatched too-tight look was in vogue come the 21st century.

peggy’s nose crinkles at the thought. she’s never complained about the sight of him in a taut, tight tshirt—but it’s hard to dredge up that appreciation in a moment like this one.

finally! the phone line clicks to life. she rattles off a series of numbers and greek letters, presumably some manner of priority passcode, and cradles the phone against her shoulder as she waits some more. on hold with her own office! christ alive. ]


[ there are things she wants to say, but she doesn’t dare say them so long as the phone is off its cradle. peggy doesn’t believe her home line is bugged, but in reality she can’t be certain of anything. best to save it, for now, until…

aha! a human voice, a trusty deputy, and peggy turns her body just so, forcing steve to stare at her in profile only. her voice is quiet, but still quite easy to make out even if he didn’t have heightened senses: ]


Something important came up with the Panama dossier. I won’t be in—no, no, I won’t need any spare hands, either. Yes. Cheers. [ a pause; a slight proud smile, presumably in response to something she’d just been told. ] Give her my best, Latimer. Oh! And when Stark finally drags his sorry carcass into the lab, have him give us a ring. On the home line, yes. [ … ] You as well.

[ peggy sets the receiver back on its cradle. ]

You’ll need to come up with some better answers. [ she turns back to face him. ] Eventually.
mucked: (Default)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-09-27 01:18 pm (UTC)(link)
[ is peggy carter happy?

as steve asks his question, it doesn’t cut like the knife she’d expected it to be—instead, it’s like a persistent sprouted seed, pushing its tender green shoots up through craggy concrete. it’s a bloom of something warm and new like a kind of bonus love navigating its way through dirt and ash.

yesterday, peggy could have described herself as plenty of things: accomplished, busy, racing towards satisfaction. however, happy would never have been among the adjectives—not because she was unhappy but because happiness was never meant to be part of the equation. not since losing him.

she sucks in a careful breath. peggy knows what he wants to hear (what he needs to hear) and withholds it until she scrapes from him a bit more intel. ]


Are you staying?

[ she answers his question with another question. the subtext is so obvious it’s painful: yes, she could be happy—is he here to deliver that happiness to her, gift-wrapped and overdue? ]
mucked: (☂ and exactly who's to blame)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-10-02 05:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ presumptuous is putting it lightly. peggy isn’t an expert in this sort of thing (far from it) but it seems as though steve had cracked apart some fundamental law—some rule—of the universe so that he could return.

return to her.

her comfortable sitting room, the one that had always felt much too large for only her, suddenly feels cramped—claustrophobic, almost. or maybe she should blame the heat gathering under her collar. steve is staying, always intended to stay, and articulates as much with all the same swagger as the man who’d marched back into base camp with a band of rescued prisoners behind him.

peggy smiles. it’s small but so very real. ]


It’ll do.

[ she uses understatement like a crutch—taking strides toward him but staying ever-so-almost out of reach, ignoring the temptation to grab for him. ]

You’ve been missed.
mucked: (☂ she'll kick you while you're down)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-10-04 12:59 pm (UTC)(link)
[ steve catches her off her guard—pleasantly and perfectly. and he kisses her. more often, she’s the one doing the kissing than the one being kissed: peggy can trace this pattern all the way back to her first. it had been a quick and furtive thing just outside the chapel at st. martin-in-the-fields school for girls. it had been with a whitechapel boy, one who’d roved into the nicer, posher borough of lambeth with a band of his mates. he’d been sly and he’d been curious and peggy had been the one to coax him behind the freshly-painted chapel. she’d instigated; she’d initiated. and then she’d never bothered to learn his name—all he’d been was someone to giggle over with her friends. she’d done it in the service of bold action, not love.

—so she meets his kiss with a twinge of indignation, recognizing that by failing to act quicker and with more conviction than him, he’d denied her that opportunity to be the braver one. her fingers knot in the fabric of his sleeve; her head lifts to meet his affection. and peggy steadies herself with a breath through her nose, telegraphing that she’s got every intention of making it last.

kissing steve rogers sends her senses straight back to europe, to the war, to the smell of car exhaust and cordite wafting on the air the first and only other time she’s tasted him. relief and frustration tumble toward adrenaline—and peggy? she devours it all.

every kiss that had come after—after the war, after losing him—had always paled in comparison to their first in the bowels of the red skull’s fortress. it had been a pivot point (for both of them, she realizes) and now that he’s here it feels laughably obvious that he was always, would always, will always come back to her. so right, so meet, so appropriate that she’s already beginning to take his presence for granted.

her right hand migrates to the space above his heart. she feels for the beat and breaks their kiss just long enough to take a shaky breath. ]


Nor did I.

[ her voice remains curt and calm—quite in contrast to the colour in her cheeks, the warmth in her eyes, and the way she still grips him so. ]
mucked: (☂ we saw you lying in the road)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-10-07 01:30 pm (UTC)(link)
[ she takes careful stock of every clue and confirmation that he is alive. the quickened beat of his heart; the warmth of his body; the lingering heat of his kiss. peggy won’t let him go. her fingers shift only barely, as if trying to get a better grip on his bicep.

—she remembers these arms. ]


Not anyone?

[ she queries—humour leeching back into her voice. laughter rekindled by proximity and love. her touch skirts the edge of his collar and her fingertips draw an absent line across the place where his throat disappears beneath his shirt. ]

That’s rather proscriptive.

[ surely, she’s teasing. surely she knows that the way in which he invokes the verb—to dance—is leagues different to just any old common use. never-anyone-mind that she’s got very little intention of dancing with anyone else—not now that he’s here, he’s back, he’s hers again. perhaps in a way he never quite managed to be the first time around.

but peggy is peggy and steve is steve and they would neither of them be themselves if she didn’t at least try to keep him on his toes.

she pats his chest with one certain, punctuating tap. a sly smile. ]


There’s only one person with that much authority over my dance card, Captain, and I’m afraid it isn’t you.
mucked: (☂ moves in mysterious ways)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-10-16 04:16 pm (UTC)(link)
[ peggy still has questions—lots of them, questions bubbling up in the back of her throat, and questions she makes a herculean effort to keep reined. there will be time to interrogate him later. and perhaps she doesn’t think too much of whatever growth and development he may have found in the future, because she believes (whole-heartedly!) that steve rogers won’t stand a chance under one of her interrogations. just now, she swears he seems to once again be the stammering, stumbling steve that she’d gotten to know so well during the war.

—he’s still him, isn’t he? she can see it in his eyes. she can hear it in his sigh. she dares to think she can smell so when she cants her head and almost-but-not-quite nudges her nose against the reliable curve of his shoulder.

clearly, she’s got no intention of fleeing his arms and calling his bluff.

except: ]


Even so. You’ll have to let me go.

[ she parks her chin on that same shoulder—one heavy sigh seems to sell away all the tension carried in her posture. how remarkably easy, she thinks, to carve out a place for herself here—right here—fit so snugly against him. ]

The record player won’t turn itself on.

[ there’s one behind her and within steve’s sightline—it’s a lovely model, modern by the current decade’s standards, and flanked by albums. it’s the one corner in an otherwise utilitarian and sparse room that speaks to a life being lived.

even now, she sidesteps the intent of his questions, his comments, his concerns. steve pledges her a kind of togetherness and instead of facing head-on she doubles back to an earlier point: their dance. ]
mucked: (☂ o cursed spite)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-10-17 12:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[ it’s—unsettling. peggy is unsettled, just a little, by how he boldly takes the helm of their reunion. she may have been the one to conjure the record player’s use but he’s the one who intends to use it—circumnavigating her in her own sitting room and browsing her record collection as if it’s already half his.

peggy sets her jaw. she’s feeling frustrated and enamored and tempted all at once. hawkishly, she watches his back as he drops his chosen album into place—but by the time he turns, by the time he’s once again looking at her, she’s managed to school her face into a more curated expression. pleasant, yes, but distant—maintaining that same aloofness she’s always been careful to preserve while around him. to do anything else would mean wearing her heart on her sleeve and she’s already done far far far too much of that.

she clears her throat and eyes his waiting hand. trumpets—warm and brassy—fill the air underpinned by playful piano notes. the song is sparse yet jazzy. bright, yet measured. easy to dance to. and peggy, eyes narrowed, has to wonder whether he knew what he was doing when he selected this record. ]


I can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t.

[ her answer is roundabout, sharp, and laid over a thin smile. peggy slides her hand into his and the touch sparks as if they hadn’t just already spent minutes in an embrace.

she tugs him near—close—and gives every impression that she intends to take the lead. ]
mucked: (☂ love buckles under the strain)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-10-17 11:59 pm (UTC)(link)
[ she feels the warm weight of his hand on her back. it reassures her and weakens her knees all at once. perhaps she's danced a time or three since his disappearance but only rarely and never without a sense of loss settled deep in her chest. not so now: her blood's never felt brighter, happier, speeding through her veins.

peggy dispenses with most of the modesty afforded a proper dance -- leastwise what the current decade might consider proper. she fits her body to his and lays her hand on his shoulder so that it can curl ever-so-almost beneath the collar of his shirt. she holds onto him and stumbles only when he makes such an unspoken drama of contesting her lead.

she looks him in his eyes and murmurs, quiet-like: ]


And here I was still expecting I'd have to show you how.

[ her voice stretches across the words. they're sweet and they're a bit coy -- flirtatious, almost -- but they mask pain, too. they echo their darkest moments, their abortive goodbye, their poorly kept promises. peggy's head tilts as the song picks up and she clears her throat with all the impatience of someone who believes she's only humouring him his lead.

-- though it's mighty lovely to hold his hand, she thinks. ]
mucked: (☂ who broke into the mansion)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-10-21 04:55 pm (UTC)(link)
[ with her next breath — exhaled, slow and careful — she infringes further on that thin bit of space between their bodies. the music dips; she noses her face against the crook of his neck and feels his pulse hot and present against her cheek. looking him in the eyes might be lovely, yes, but so is this aggressive proximity.

he flatters her — deftly, sweetly, and with more social skill than she’d ever thought he could muster — but peggy doesn’t let her heart get off-balanced by it. the entire moment becomes less about dancing and more about reminding herself that she isn’t dreaming.

— she remains so curious about his life in the future. ]


And what did people start to say?

[ if he won’t tell her the salient facts about his discovery, his work, or his return, then perhaps she could at least learn a little about his social standing in this brave new world he’d called home in recent years. who mattered to him? what was expected of him? did anyone look out for his soul half-as-much as they looked out for his public image?

peggy thinks about the day she’d found him doodling uniformed monkeys in the rain. the memory kindles an old indignation — she feels a bit bitter and jealous of the future, of its population, and of what they might have done-said-expected of captain steve rogers while she wasn’t there to direct him. ]
mucked: (☂ or near enough)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-10-25 04:03 pm (UTC)(link)
[ captain america. there it is—the title given to him by his country, his government, but one that she’d rarely ever used. if she called him anything, it was only ever captain rogers. or steve, in her more tender moments.

her expression crinkles, but it’s still so buried in the crook of his neck that she doubts (hopes) he doesn’t see her reproach. it’s unfair to hold him accountable for the things the world might have done or demanded of him. for example, she’d never held the uso shows against him. steve rogers had wanted to make a difference—no matter the how. doesn’t mean she didn’t leap at the chance to give him an out, an alternative, a third option. ]


Friends?

[ she asks — about as casual as she can muster. her hand tightens on his; her breath skates his adam’s apple. there’s no reason to be so possessive when she’s got him in her grip. yet here she is, holding him closer.

and, christ alive, it’s not as if she doesn’t also have friends. even if peggy would be unwilling to use the word. ]
mucked: (☂ i never lost control)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-11-12 03:28 pm (UTC)(link)
[ she’s taken aback by how easily, how confidently, he clarifies his position the moment he announces it. and both interested in other people. peggy produces a quiet scoff in the back of her throat, as if she might scold him for thinking she was at all concerned, but the reality is that his admission brings with it a flush of warm relief. her possession isn’t simply a romantic one, mind, but it’s good to have certain pieces of intel out in the open.

it gives her an opportunity to decide what she might (or mightn’t) do with the information. going forward. ]


Does Howard count? [ she hums, leaning her chin on his shoulder. ] Until today, I’d have thought I was likely the only one in the whole world who’d call him a friend.

[ but now steve’s back. oh, heavens, steve’s back. ]

And I keep in touch with Dugan. The lads.

[ but what about all the others? the friends he doesn’t know about? the friends she’d not met until after she’d already lost him, and the woman they’d grown close to was that hard-shelled and grief-stricken professional who hadn’t made it easy for any of them to get near to her. ]

Mister Jarvis will simply adore meeting you.

[ there. she’ll start there. ]
mucked: (☂ for three good reasons)

[personal profile] mucked 2019-11-22 06:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[ their dance evolves into a comfortable, close-bodied sway. once upon a time, she might have fantasized about clean lines and precise dance moves—but this is a more than appropriate substitute, she thinks, as she cozies her chin against his shoulder and feels the rumble of his voice.

hard to trust people outside of this circle, steve says, and silently she acknowledges that he’s right. even when she’s got every reason to trust someone, even someone within her circle, she struggles. it’s not always that she distrusts their motives; sometimes it’s as simple as distrusting someone’s ability to navigate the shadowed, dangerous vocation to which she’s committed herself.

these thoughts are swirling in her head when she senses how steve stiffens. her body language reacts to his—and she has to wonder what she’s said that’s had such an effect. ]


—What do you mean. Designed?

[ it’s not quite a question. she frowns into his collar, but doesn’t yet raise her head from his shoulder. ]

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