driftfleet | did somebody say mingle

[ the hug isn't awkward, per se. it isn't unhappy. but nor is it simple or perfectly sweet. there is baggage in every light squeeze. somehow, it's easier to let her fingers linger on the metal instead. she isn't a woman who hugs easily outside of a crisis, but there's something lovely about being met with the request.

something lovely about her hug being wanted. so she lets it last a little longer. only to slide hard back into her usually brusque nature the moment they stepped back from one another.

peggy whistles low. ] Your office? Heavens. [ hands on her hips. nothing demure about her. ] You've done well for yourself.

[ Nothing is simple anymore, but old facades, armour from a lost world and a lifetime ago are a role he can step back into. Mostly. A lot of the pieces of Bucky are, he thinks, gone for good. A lot of that man never woke up from the ice. ]

Now, now, everyone has one. You too, where you've been assigned. Though I don't know why we need 'em, it's a small ship.

[ It's a small ship indeed, with narrow corridors, giving it a claustrophobic air. But everything is neatly arranged, nothing sparks or malfunctions, and the low hum of the engine follows them all the way to his door, which he opens for her. ]

If I'm honest -- [ and she'll have to be ] -- I didn't stop long enough to peek 'round the Starstruck. It wasn't...

[ hmm. she ducks her head under a corridor's low opening and follows (with some confidence) to the door in question. ]

Well. My priorities were elsewhere.

[ Her first priority was her friend. Winter, he assumes, first, because they both have to worry about him, and there's a relief in knowing Peggy would stop at nothing to help. The office is neat as well, several blankets folded on the desk, the floor space cleared. Jim opts not to comment on it — probably shouldn't be drawing attention to that anyway. ]

We sleep here. He doesn't like the bunks.

[ Pulling out a chair for her, ]

Here.

-- Who would.

[ like the bunks. her behaviour is rhetorical. bordered. peggy smooths the line of her skirt when she takes a seat, and crosses her feet at the ankles. her eyes acknowledge the blankets and the blank space with a cautiously stoic expression. they've turned the office into a tidy little bivouack. and can she blame them, really?

no. not at all. ] The ground was always more inviting than the cots.

[ soft. almost nostalgic, but not quite. she isn't fool enough to long for a time of bloodshed and suffering. ]

You don't gotta tell me, [ he says, equally rueful, as he sits opposite her ] the mattresses on these future beds, [ the word is like anathema. there doesn't seem to be peace in the future at all ] just too soft. I slept on — it's called tatami; it's from Japan. They're mats woven outta rice straw. All the joys of sleeping on the ground without the bonus of mud.

[ A beat. ]

Can I get you something to drink?

[ mud. her smile is thin, but it perks up long enough to recognize the mutual relief on that front.

peggy folds her hands peacefully in her lap. ] I believe that depends entirely upon what sort of drink is on offer.

Well, have I got a treat for you today, [ rummaging in the cupboard, he brings out about four bottles. one is green; the others all colourless. He points to the green one, ] this tastes like lime met scotch. [ the second, third, and fourth bottle get, ] these are all whiskeys. Or somethin' like it, anyway.

Blimey -- [ her attention hones straight upon the green bottle. she lifts it from the desk, letting its liquid slosh a little while she inspected it behind its glass. lime and scotch? it's not a hard sell: she loves a good gin and tonic, and a lime-flavoured scotch sounds like the red-headed stepchild of the booze family. she's drawn to the underdog with such immediacy. ]

A finger, only. [ she qualifies. they are in space, after all. she'd love to keep her wits about her. ]

Yes'm.

[ That didn't take long at all, did it? His eyes twinkle, as he gets two tumblers and measures a finger for her, and one for himself. ]

Sorry we don't have proper glasses.

[ They are in space. ]

Cheers.

[ it's not dignified to suggest that even a battered canteen would do, and so she doesn't. best leave well enough alone: if he's anything like the barnes she'd once known, then he'd know how little the cups mattered. and yet (for good show) she crinkled her nose as she raised the tumbler. ]

Here's to 'make do and mend', no matter where we find ourselves.

[ space. the western front. a london tube station during the blitz. what a frightfully useful saying for all occasions and for every toast. ]

[ They could be drinking out of shoes (not that he would), yet some part of him is still subtly tense. To all appearances she's Peggy, but he's no longer the same man, just as he no longer was the man Steve remembered, in the War. Never the same, after Azzano. ]

Been a while since I heard that.

[ Comforting, if the cold around him could be pierced by such a small, perfect thing as an old toast. ]

Somebody shooting at us, and it'll be just like old times, huh?

Yes. I rather suppose it has -- [ been a while. she knocks back the first long sip and feels first the burn of the booze and next the fresh tingle of citrus. like a hard sugary fire with a tropical twist. her exhaled breath carries notes of masked delight. mild enjoyment. ]

But let's not say too much that might bring fate crashing down on our heads. [ to invoke gunfire is a lot like welcoming it. ] Tell me instead about your crew, Captain.

[ His eyes crinkle at the corners, amused both by her preamble and pleased by the fact that she enjoys her first taste of space scotch. ]

My crew, or one in particular?

All of them. Their names, at least. [ her answer is prompt. circumspect. ] And then the one in particular.

[ He tilts his glass towards her, in a cheery gesture. ]

There's six of us, including me. I'm the engineer, Michael's on security; Vima Sunrider's the pilot, Leanne is on tactical support, and Hinata Shouyou on maintenance. The other Barnes is lab support. S'a pretty well-equipped ship; we just lack a comms officer.

[ It's not an invitation. Peggy will go where she's needed and no less. ]

He's been here about two months. There's marked improvement, all things considered.

[ not an invitation, no. but she can't help but hear the absence of precisely what she can provide. the thought sits heavy in her mind for a moment. once upon a time she might have leaped at the opportunity. but now...

well, that's a conundrum for another day. let's start small: ] We spoke. Him and I. I can't decide whether it's a blessing or a curse that he doesn't remember.

[ remember me. ]

[ The absence of what she provided once, with her steady friendship and steadier shot. Now don't get him wrong, he's hardly one to dwell on what's been lost, but in the future... he can't trust the STRIKE team like he trusts the Commandos. Rumlow's all right — Jim holds himself apart from the others. Call it Natasha rubbing off on him, but there's better people to spend his time with than the ones who he has to see at work. But maybe — one of these days, he'll have the courage to take them up on the standing pool invitation. ]

Yeah, it [ he pauses, looking for the words ] whatever you said, it did him good.

[ Keep doing it; she will. ]

There's some kinda... programming. I don't know. Whoever did that number on him — they did a damn good job wiping everything away. I've told him about Steve; he likes listening, but [ gesturing ] nothing.

[ He scrubs a hand down his face. ]

There's a way, Pegs, we gotta find it.

[ there it is again: pegs. she lets her attention sink into her scotch -- but doesn't dare ask him not to call her that. it bears a familiarity long buried, and one he might have once had every right to claim. but now? now she feels so far away from pegs. a younger woman with younger dreams. what a difference a few years makes. ]

Hypnosis, perhaps. [ an unhappy look. she swallows another mouthful of drink. ] I've seen something like. Well, not quite like it. What I saw hadn't erased so much of a person.

[ but then she thought about dottie, as well. or whatever her true name might be. whatever had been done to those girls had erased their foundations so that any number of new ones might be applied on the surface. something in between that and leviathan's hypnosis. that's what the winter soldier made her think. ]

[ It speaks to his desperation for familiarity that he doesn't even notice that minute detail, where before he prided himself on picking up. ]

Like how?

[ His jaw sets with worry, and he leans forward, hanging on her every word. The only person he's been able to ask is Natasha and well, he hasn't, figuring he's pushed at her enough without asking for her history to be laid bare for some audience. ]

-- Does the name Leviathan mean anything to you, James?

[ she nearly chokes upon the familiarity -- but she feels she owes him something for his hospitality. ]

[ James. Not Barnes, which usually had a clip of irritation to it, or the insistence upon distance in the professional arena. And thank God, not Bucky. He doesn't think he can stand being called Bucky, after all these years. That man fell with Steve. ]

Sounds familiar — I think I read record of a prisoner transport; nothing more than that.

[ He hasn't finished catching up on everything that led to the Cold War; some records got lost. They know why now, of course, it's HYDRA's doing: obscuring the truth. ]

What've they got to do with this?

Only that they've proven themselves a thorn in my side for the last little while. [ pursed lips. her face reveals distaste -- and for a moment, the scotch is forgotten. but otherwise she meets barnes with utter honesty. ] I watched as a good man -- an SSR chief -- was compelled to ruination through Leviathan's tricks. Mind control. Hypnotism. The Leviathan snake nearly ended Howard Stark, too.

Nearly ended all of Manhattan.

[ He frowns; the full reaction will hit him in a moment, but for now, he quickly compartmentalises. ]

Is there any reason you'd want this highly classified? I didn't read it anywhere.

[ If she would, a yes is all he needs. He trusts her judgement. ]

[ highly classified. peggy quirks her head at the implication -- still living in the aftermath of dooley's death, it's hard to say what might someday prompt such a decision.

she sucks in her breath. ] It wasn't our finest hour. I'll grant that. But embarrassment isn't the best excuse for redaction. [ ... ] Though I don't see where my wants enter into the equation.

[ after all, she still sees herself as something of a desk-jockey. or, rather, the agency does. ]

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