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Rogue blinked and reached out to take the book. "No, no I haven't..."

She glanced at the name of the author. "I didn't even know there was another Bronte sister."

"Oh, I quite like Charlotte." And Peggy was happy to trust the book to Rogue's care. "A little less...macabre than her sister, perhaps. But no less entertaining."

"Well... thank ya," she smiled at Peggy. "I could always use a good book ta read. Especially since we're back ta just whatever's been pieced together instead of the library on the Marsiva."

"I can't imagine they would have allowed a few of the more choice volumes to be smuggled out from those shelves, either."

"If I'd had a little more warnin' 'bout the transfer, I would have tried," Rogue admitted. "I enjoy my smutty romance novels, but occasionally I like ta pretend I've got half a brain cell an' feed it somethin' a little substantial."

Lifting the book a little, "So thank ya."

She laughed. Charmed, really, by Rogue's honesty. Her lack of pretension. It was refreshing.

"Any time. I can't promise much sentimental intrigue from this one but -- there's a ghost. You can't go wrong with a ghost."

Can't you? It seemed to Rogue that the 'ghosts' who haunted her... and practically everyone she knew... were far more harmful than these stories.

Even when they were made flesh. Like Steve Rogers. Had Carter had her chance to say what was in her heart? It wasn't any Rogue's business, especially after the clash she and Steve had, but... she wondered if it might be the thing to address anyway.

"Gotta admit, there is somethin' 'bout a ghost story."

The uncertainty and the unreality of a good ghost story was like ice to the psyche: cold, down in your soul. Like a chill running up your knickers. Cultivating fear of a fictional unknown allowed her to tether a bravery and boldness to actual, real-life moments of terror. Abandoned buildings and stealthy infiltration. However frightening things got, it should never be as esoteric a terror as Villette. And she would never be as helpless as its heroine, Lucy Snowe.

But then HYDRA happened. And all that changed.

She kept her smile. "Keep it as long as it takes. I'll not rush you through it."

"Thank ya." Rogue kept the book and rested her elbows on the table, assessing Peggy for a moment. She thought about minding her own business. But, you know, she'd been reading lately and mankind was my business!.

So.

"...mind if I ask ya a personal question?"

"You can always ask, Rogue," Peggy answered in a tone that was warm and welcoming enough. But it implied just enough of a caveat to cover her ass: she may not, at any given moment, always answer those sorts of questions.

But the asking wouldn't upset her. She wouldn't take offense.

Perhaps someone with more tact and skill would warm this question up a different way, but... Rogue just had what she had. "Ya get ta do any of that... 'sayin' things unsaid' yourself?"

-- The question did catch her off-guard. It prompted the slightest quirk at the edges of her smile, threatening to broaden it. Brighten it. But Peggy, neither a blushing maid nor a prude, felt prepared to answer it with the simplest explanation.

"Not quite. But I've had a sound and thorough lesson in precisely why actions speak so much louder than words do."

...ah. Well, that was... good. It was very good. But at the same time...

Well. Congratulations first, she supposed. "Glad ta hear you're findin' a way ta get your point across."

"I suppose I aught to feel a little more...ambiguous about the Captain's presence. But I don't. I can't." But that was a little too personal, now. She cleared her throat. H-have you met him?"

Edited 2015-12-22 01:55 (UTC)

"We ran into each other in the hallway," she acknowledged. "He seems a mite... touchy."

Try: Wound as tightly as a corkscrew and a hair's breadth from violence. But, ya know, touchy will work.

Oh, bloody hell. Her smallish joy evaporated -- but not into sudden defensiveness. Captain Rogers didn't need her protection. Nor did he need a character witness. Instead, Peggy seemed rightfully concerned for Rogue.

"-- What'd he do?"

How smoothly love could lead into exasperation.

Rogue's eyes widened in surprise. "Nothin'!"

Oh Gawd, she hadn't meant that at all. Or -- any of this. She ran her free hand through her hair. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Just... he seems a bit different from when I knew him. Older. An' I know it's not my business, but I think... well, it looks like maybe he's been through some things. That's all."

She wasn't looking for defense, or an ally, though honestly -- Rogue was warmed that Peggy would even think to offer. And that was why she offered her own observation, because... well, Rogue knew all too well that it was possible to love someone and have them come back different. And it was possible to still love them, but... it was bumpy. And if she was going to bring this up at all, which hadn't been her intention, then Peggy might as well be warned, and she might as well offer to listen.

Her edges soften. Sadness crept in, elongating her expression. Putting weight upon her shoulders.

"Ah, well. Your business or not, I can't help but agree with you."

Peggy hadn't needed to speak to Steve at all to understand how much older, harder, and tried he might be. She only had to look at Jim, and she the stark difference on his face, to extrapolate onto her Captain.

...ah. Sadness. Shoot.

Rogue offered Peggy a small smile, "Some advice?"

Wryly amused, she tilted her head towards Rogue.

"Offering or requesting?"

"Offerin'." Rogue shrugged a little. "Just... from a concerned party who recognizes it ain't really any of her business."

Her arms crossed, but not in any combative manner. If anything, Peggy seemed to relax. Oh, there ticked away a pedal note of concern over Steve's behaviour -- how tightly, she supposed, he might be wound. But withdrawing and isolating herself over such a problem wasn't particularly graceful comportment, and Rogue was being awfully polite about it all.

"Contrary to what might be called 'popular' belief, I don't mind a spot of helpful advice. On occasion." She nodded her head. "What's on your mind?"

She spread gloved hands for a moment. "Talk ta him. Tell him what ya feel, how ya think. Ask him what's goin' on and listen. Really listen an' try not ta judge. I don't know diddly 'bout what brought you two together, but I do know a bit 'bout... tryin' ta make up for lost time. So make sure ya don't assume, an' make sure ya don't hide."

Rogue ran a gloved hand through her hair and said, "I'm sorry, I know it's not my call an' it's not my business." She felt. So awkward right now. But she still met Peggy's gaze, "But you've been more'n fair ta me, an' kind," she tapped the book, "an' so if ya do want someone ta listen, or ta talk, I'm here.

"I'm rather afraid there's too much he won't want to tell me -- no matter how bad it is, or how difficult he finds it. It's..."

She trailed off. There was no use in condescending to Rogue by explaining her hang-ups away as mere complications. Peggy capitulated to the moment, grabbed hold of a chair's back, and took a seat. Rogue was right: it wasn't any of her business. But perhaps that was what made her uniquely capable of being just the right sort of listener.

"Whatever has wound him up so tightly, Rogue, seems to be inextricably linked with a great many...revelations about an era far beyond mine. An era shaped by decisions not yet made."

Sensing this was going to be one of those talks, one of those times, Rogue moved to set water to boil before taking the seat across from Peggy. "Let me guess - doesn't wanna break the space-time continuum?"

Someone is a closet Trekkie.

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