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

[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. ]

[He nods in agreement. He did leave for himself.]

This place... it's... exhausting. All these faces. Voices.

[He thumbs a spot on the dog's scalp, old raggedy bracelet flicking left and right. He tucks his chin a bit, into the imperator's scarf he'd been given, before Furiosa and the girls drove off into the salt flats.]

So you sought out solitude. [ but why did it have to come at the expense of our concern? peggy swallows the sharper retort. seconds ago, she'd watched how poorly he'd reacted to her aggression. her disappointment. perhaps she could keep it in check for a day or two, before she inadvertently chases him off once again. ] Only...I wish you didn't feel as though you needed to run so far to find it.

[...........

He blinks, is quiet for a moment. Quirks his brow.

Points toward her, turning slightly. Sounds coolly confused.]

You were worried.

[ she doesn't much care for the ease with which he reads her. deceiving others has always been a skill she's possessed, but it's hard to lie to a man who understands social cues in an entirely different dialect. he reads the smaller indications, and lays her true concerns bare.

stiffening, peggy must accept his assumption. but she doesn't let it go without her own particular spin: ] I am the first mate aboard this vessel. It's my duty to worry about absent crew.

[He still looks utterly confused, scratching at the dog's ear still.]

Ran further than this before, in this ship. You didn't seem to mind.

[Yes Peggy, please do answer, he's interested.]

[ for a moment, her jaw works without a sound. and peggy begins to feel the particular heat of being in the very same position she so often thrust upon him -- the limelight, with questions lurking behind full-stops.

she does him the courtesy of looking into his eyes when she answers. ] Ordinarily, that's not after parting on such...tense terms.

[ not exactly an apology. ]

[Lucky Peggy, he never expects one.

He considers what she says, tries to think of a way to say what's in mind.]

... Shouldn't waste so much worry on what our parting terms are.

You'll go gray.

[ thoughtful, she touches a curl. ]

There's product for that, you know. [ peggy doesn't smile. but then again, she's not hostile either. ] Besides. Some -- people are worth a few silver strands.

[ she nearly said some things. but all she could hear, still, is the echo of him proclaiming himself a person and not a thing. far be it from her to bulldoze that opinion. ]

[Can you make him anymore confused? Because... really.]

Don't understand why so many people —

[He huffs, biting his tongue. He wants to be invisible. And that's impossible. And for some reason, people talk to him. Ask if he's okay. Offer to patch him up, or offer him booze, or offer their services as a doctor. Snap him out of his episodes, are willing to cook with him, work with him, pilot next to him —

Why?

What did Furiosa see in him, to offer him refuge with her people?

What does anyone see, when they look at him? Why doesn't it match up with what he sees?

The ghosts always knew better.]

We invest our energy wherever we want to. Perhaps it doesn't require your understanding -- only your respect for someone else's choice.

[ for whatever reason, she's latched upon him as someone worth fussing over. worrying about. hell, even her inclination to argue raw with him carries with it an ounce of affection. she's a spy, after all; she could always deflect if she wanted to. ]

[He shakes his head, a smile ghosting his mouth.]

Can't tell who's crazier.

[How's that for respect, you rattling nuts.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject