driftfleet | enter if you dare (i'm kidding we're 80% approachable)

[ peggy carter builds walls around herself. as brash and as forward as she can be, she only allows people to peep through the portholes she's made. embrasures in her parapets, so to speak. only lately all the bricks have begun to crumble, despite how fine a job she's been doing at making it appear as though her fortifications have suffered barely a chink -- until recently, when the dust begins to show. and, in some moments, her moods appear to be as dark as max's own.

but today she's productive. engaged. while max is off doing lord-knows-what, peggy stops by the cargo bay to visit the dog. rock, she coos, what a good boy.

and so he just might walk in to find her bestowing a few tender pets on the good dog's head. ]

[Max does eventually come back -- questionably... covered in oil and grease and looking like he really needs to have yet another shower today. It's amazing how quickly you get a desert warrior filthy in this place where everything is, for the most part, a clean affair. He stares at the scene before him with a mild softening of his attitude. Good to see the dog is always welcomed, even if it's a mangy and oftentimes grouchy dog itself. Not a talker, but it listens well enough, so Max isn't about to complain.

He clears his throat.]

Time for its -- the dog's medicine.

[He's still not actually saying his name, but he's at least not saying Dog, capitalized. Also hi Peggy how's the space weather.]

And here comes our best nursemaid, now.

[ she refers (of course) to max. in the absence of his name (not yet properly given), she'll call him what she will. nursemaid is merely the newest word-cum-pronoun. like a lingering stinging gratitude for all he did for her.

self-conscious, she stands up straight once again. withdraws her affection. and eyes his swollen cheek. ] When'd you have it done?

[He makes a face at the new name, but he doesn't complain about it.]

Yesterday... Doctor pulled it.

[So. There. Are you happy?

He wanders to fetch the dog's medicine, which isn't far away.]

[ she's happy. happier. she's just not smiling. ]

Which doctor? [ abrupt interrogation, but she at least steps out of his path -- letting him tend to rock as he needs to. ]

... Beverly.

[Wow, listen to a real name come out of his mouth.

That seems to be all he wants to offer on that reply, though. He unwraps a piece of some gelatinous creation from the kitchen; probably something Rock has taken a liking to, because he gets up, a hobbling three-legged walk in that cast. Max snaps his fingers harshly, wordless, and the dog sits slow, waiting.]

Doctor Crusher? [ a fine choice. finer a choice, indeed, than peggy had ever anticipated max making. she considers this while watching him lay down the law for the pooch. a snap of the fingers? hm.

either rock is well-behaved, or max knows how to inspire it. she's not yet prepared to write off the latter. ] She seems the sort to have a good, steady hand.

Mmm.

[Max is good with dogs. That's all you'll get out of him.

Rock is still in training. He's old, so he needs more guidance. Luckily, his past owners must have been mellow. Or must have put the fear of god into him. Considering how much he doesn't shrink away from people -- grumpy though he is -- he's assuming the dog wasn't beaten. Small mercies for training. He only has to push his palm out once at the dog when it tries to venture forward again, as he presses the medicines into the food.

He plucks up a section of it for himself, throws it in his own mouth. Swallows. Sighs, rubs a hand over his eyes and nose and mouth. A grimace rubbed down his expression.]

Punched her in the eye.

You what--? [ peggy demands.

except! she heard him. she absolutely heard him. the wide-eyed wonder and half-horror creeping across her face suggests that she must have heard each word with distinction, despite the way max mumble-growled his way through life. ]

Why on earth did you...[ huff. ] Bloody hell.

[He reaches into his pocket for his own medication, slipping the small meal toward the dog; Rock eats it up with vigor, apparently not slowed down when it came to inhaling food. All the while, he doesn't look at Peggy when he stands back upright, because he doesn't want to see the look that accompanies that tone. He sounds a bit frustrated himself, actually. A sort of helpless frustration, like a car getting stuck in sand, or a knife that is too dull to do its job.]

Was n'accident.

[ is this my fault?

the question is unavoidable. after all, she was the one who'd pressed him to start throwing punches in the damned cargo bay. after all, she'd pressured him so resolutely to see a damned doctor. without hesitation, she pulls that burden onto her shoulders like a particularly over-filled rucksack. ]

What do you mean -- an accident?

[He looks self-conscious, uncertain. He doesn't -- want to talk about this. He doesn't want to explain. The people in the room at least knew, saw it, didn't have to ask him why. Or maybe they wanted to -- doesn't matter. This sort of thing, it's too vulnerable, and too messy, and it makes him almost nauseous to consider admitting any of it. To anyone. He shrugs and turns to move toward the hallway to the kitchen. Making distance, slowly. Trying a snail's escape, to not seem obvious.

But he looks troubled as he goes, in the lines of his brow and mouth.]

Like it sounds. Accident.

[That answers absolutely nothing. He wants to crawl into a hole with a gun and hide for a while, when he thinks of it.]

Hold up. [ and when she hears how harsh her voice is, she makes the effort to soften. ] Please.

[ her heels are never quiet on the cargo bay floor. clack-clack-clack. strong, steady strides. peggy can see escape in his eyes and she knows her shock has fed whatever seed of doubt he'd harboured until now. ]

You...panicked. [ she makes guesses. she writes a story where he won't speak. moment by moment, she adjusts to this explanation and her indignation subsides. ] Is she alright?

[He almost wants to somehow shut her out, as if it'd be so easy. A door, a wall, whatever. But that -- That is such a simple way to put it. Panicked. Panic spawns so many different things, doesn't it. He stops and glances back. Looks away just as quickly.]

It's a black eye. I didn't --

Didn't do anything worse. Couldn't have. They held me down.

[Which was part of the problem, too, but. He wanted to clarify as much, sounds like he's trying to convince her otherwise. He went in with back-up, had a plan, a just-in-case. He didn't want her to think he was being reckless stupidly, knowing how he is. Nobody was hurt badly. And it was fortunate. Lucky.]

[ peggy imagines she can sense his guilt. it rolls off of him like waves -- musky, stench-like. or perhaps that's only the lingering scent of oil in the air. she catches up to him and stands back by the usual respectful few paces. for the moment, rock is forgotten. ]

Black eyes heal better than infected jaws, I imagine. [ peggy breathes out. ]

[He looks almost offended, looking at her as if he's trying to determine if that was a joke or not. He's not sure. But he doesn't like it. He turns and bridges the distance, surprisingly close -- closer than he usually is. Still a step away, but close enough to see the lines of his face proper. His brow is furrowed, indignant, something deathly serious in the expression of his eyes.]

I am not a thing. I am -- a person. But I'm a dangerous person. I hurt people, and I do it a lot. And I'm good at it now even when I don't want to be.

[Blunt, frustrated honesty. He wants to crawl into a hole. It's a mantra, that thought. He misses tasting the grit of sand as he flees from one responsibility to the next. He thinks of Ino and FDR tending to his injury before, or Wanda giving him soup, or Furiosa offering her plant to cheer him in his time of illness. He's been forgetting his place, and that... scares the fucking hell out of him.]

Next time something happens, I'll fix it myself. Not you, or another organ mechanic, or someone in the fleet, or some doctor from some station. It's not... [He struggles. Voicing how he feels is perhaps the most difficult challenge he's faced so far, if he's honest with himself. His cheeks redden. His hands don't even know what to do, so they linger between them at his waist.] It's not practical. It's not smart. I knew better. Now you do, too.

[He quiets, looking at her. Waiting. Is this done now? Can he go crawl into that rabbit hole yet? Because he feels stupid, even saying this much. Too much. He hates this place, sometimes. Begrudges Peggy and Ahsoka and Beverly and FDR and everyone who seems to want to help or talk or be there near him.

But at least it's like an uncorked bottle.

Maybe this is what Peggy wants. He's not even sure anymore.]

Edited 2016-03-21 00:43 (UTC)

[ something hitches in her throat. but chief of all her reactions is the steady way in which she holds her ground. peggy is no longer the shrinking patient upon the bed, perturbed by his proximity. when he squares up to her, she seems to square back: spine straight and shoulders open. she looks him dead in the eyes and listens. ]

I'm afraid I still don't. [ know better. her jaw shifts. perhaps it's not the best place nor the best time to challenge him, but she can't help it. for every inch he gives her, she's eager to take a mile. to push and prod and engender progress. ] You'll have to do a better job of explaining it to me. My poor simple mind can't seem to keep up to your worldly logic.

[ her lip curls. he knew better? as if. ]

[He glowers. Is that what she's going to do? Play the fool?]

F'I'm some project for you to focus on instead of yourself, don't.

Figure it out yourself. M'going.

[He turns and starts away, this time quickly, ready to be done with this. There's no where to run. There's nowhere to go and it makes him feel frantic, makes his stomach twist. Where can he even go, that she won't follow? His best bet is the Iskaulit. The gym or bar. Anywhere there. He moves for the teleporter quickly enough.]

[ ...going? in earnest, this time, it would seem. and peggy feels that twitch in her gut to take action and stop him. but (once again) she resists it. his isn't the arm onto which you lay your hand and bid the better angels begin to listen. his peace cannot be ordered. peggy has learned that she must let him reclaim it himself -- alone, if need be.

she tightens a fist. loosens it. forces her feet to stay in place.

peggy carter doesn't say a word. she simply lets him walk away. ]

[Rock whines at Max's departure, limping over to Peggy, as if so completely in tune with such episodes already.

Meanwhile, Max hides. Or tries to, anyway. Sometimes this place is overwhelming -- too clean compared to home, too small, too cluttered, too populated. It makes his head hurt. He eventually will return -- three days later, and God knows where he was, but he's still got oil on his clothes and a messy head of hair and... He's tired, looks like he hasn't slept a wink.

He collapses to sit up against the wall, closes his eyes to rest them, and let's Rock plop his head in Max's lap while the wanderer runs fingers along the dog's gray and black fur. He dozes a bit, just a bit. He gets into these moods well enough; the longer he has a moment, the more exhausted he gets during them. Like a fish floundering in a net. He was bound to lose steam.]

[ a lot happens in three days -- you wouldn't think it, perhaps, given the staid nature of the fleet. but jim barnes left and therefore one more foundation brick in peggy's careful architecture tumbled away. it exacerbates the way she thinks on max's absence. she comes to wonder whether he, too, has disappeared.

but she (unlike him) does not wear her worries on her face. she tamps them down. they stew in her guts and put cracks in her walls, but they don't interrupt her poise. not, at least, until business brings her into the cargo bay on the third day.

rock but barely lifts his old doggie head to look at her as she enters. she hears the pleasant rumble in the dog's throat first, and second the lulling snores from the collapsed figure against the wall. jesus-ruddy-christ on a cream cracker. ]

You. [ she breathes. whispers, more like. and crosses the bay on hard-hitting heels. when she reaches him, the first thing she does is promptly nudge him with the toe of her shoe. and not softly, neither. ]

[He must've been preeeetty tired, to not hear those click-clacking shoes. When she nudges him a bit roughly with her shoe he startles awake, hands making fists and raised in front of him. Glancing up quickly provides him with a shot of Peggy looming (dangerously) over him, and his alarmed expression melts into an exasperated one as he collapses back against the wall again with a grunt.

Rock's ears perk and he stares up at Peggy from Max's lap, one paw lounging over the thigh of Max's bad leg.

Welp.]

Hrmph.

[A legitimate reply. Hello, Peggy, the most begrudging acknowledgement.

He's tired, you interrupted his nap.]

Finished with your strop, then?

[ -- no mercy. no quarter. perhaps peggy had expected him to be made of sterner stuff -- or perhaps she was simply piqued and pained that he should abandon them in any capacity, even if only for a few days.

her hands stay on her hips. and she stays looming. ]

[He rubs his eyes, then stares for a long moment, brow furrowed yet again.]

... Did you need me to leave longer?

[He doesn't sound bitter or sarcastic. He genuinely wants to know. She seems to be angry still, and he doesn't really want to bring about any of Peggy's wrath right now. It's not that he isn't... upset still. Not at all. As far as he's concerned, his words are still utterly accurate. It was a mistake to go to the doctor, a mistake to get any closer to this crew and have them... tend to him in any way to help him.

But Max, he's cooled down and he's too wiped out right now to fight it. This was perhaps the hardest week -- well, second hardest -- he's had outside of his world, in ways he isn't sure he knows how to articulate right now.]

[ and with a simple sentence, agent carter's frosty facade splits into pieces. her cheeks puff with a long, suffering sort of sigh. and (tell no one!) she slides down the wall so she might sit with max. it's a choice she most certainly would not have made were she not wearing wide-legged trousers. ]

I never needed you to leave in the first place. You left for you. Not for me.

[ she folds her arms over her knees. ]

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