driftfleet | closed » you're the horizon line -- i'm the last sunset

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closed » you're the horizon line -- i'm the last sunset

Who: Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers
Broadcast: Definitely not.
Action: Closed, aboard one of the occasional waypoint stations as the fleet drifts.
When: Mid-afternoon

[ today, peggy decides she's done with nudges and hypotheticals. done with veiled suggestions and unfulfilled promises. she and steve had danced around the concept of going steady; of being official; of committing. they danced around it without ever really dancing at all. he'd made overtures enough, even if his follow-through was rubbish. and she feels a concrete certainty about him, even though her overtures are shite. so, today, it changes. ]

...Steve? [ peggy rapsher knuckles loose against his bunk's doorway. she looks casual (by her standards) with her hair plaited and her sleeves rolled up. she watches him from the threshold, tilting her head with a flicker of affectionate admiration. ] Let's get out of here for the rest of the day. Just us.

[ although she doesn't use the word 'date', she decides it's been suggested often enough that she needn't so crassly underline her intentions in this very moment. to do so would surely insult his intelligence.

...right? ]

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[ not quite subtle enough. she reads him even in the little details -- and if he is smug, now, then she supposes he deserves to be. in easy submission, she rolls her cue onto the table. peggy stands beside steve, leaning her hip against the table. ]

You do realize, of course, [ she drawls -- and glances up into his eyes. ] This was a date.

Yeah -

[ and then she's right there beside him and oh to hell with it, there's no one there but the two of them and he's too happy with the whole thing, this day more so than his little victory. It's as easy as that, ducking just a bit, just low enough to kiss her, short and sweet ]

Still is, I think.

[ -- it's nice, indeed, to be on the receiving side of his kisses. but peggy only briefly entertains this one. her fingers flutter a moment, and she nearly touches his shoulder...but then the kiss broken, and she ducks her head. she stifles a smile. ]

Still is. [ she confirms. cedes, really, to his optimistic view of the day. ] And so -- I suppose this is us...

[ she can't quite articulate it. not properly. she means us, together. but the important word gets stuck in her throat. clearing it, she steps back and brushes her hands stiffly over her skirt. almost -- almost! -- nervous. ] Us, dating.

[ this is us, she says and there is much that goes unsaid but is still there between them. It's what they should have had once and didn't, a memory of a vision instilled in his mind long ago by wanda of everything he wanted and could have had in a life that he lost long ago.

And yet here they are, as if the years between them had disappeared, she's finally within his reach. us, she says, dating and it feels as if she had sent his heart on a marathon with those two words. Dating is an easier notion to most people but twice as significant to them. This, here, together, will never be taken for granted.

When he draws her near it's for an embrace rather than for a kiss, a gentle hold as he affirms, ]

Us.

[ here, together, at last. He's not sure if he could ever let her go but that thought is banished away for now. ]

I don't think I can remember a day where I didn't want this.

[ her, like this. Solid, real. ]

[ somehow, the hug is better than the kiss. she crushes against him -- wrapping one arm around the small of his back and embracing him, in turn, with a far less gentle grip. since the day he crashed the valkyrie, she'd so tightly woven her grief into every aspect of her character. even now, she finds it difficult to shrug the weight it had put on her shoulders. but, maybe, she can sidestep it for the time being -- so long as she had him, here, alongside her. natasha was right; who did they help by waiting? who did they hurt by reaching for the brass ring?

peggy isn't often weepy -- but she feels emotional just now. pressing her cheek against his chest helps her pretend as though tears don't threaten to fall. her voice is a touch hoarse when she scolds him: ] There's no need to be so dramatic -- you lived all kinds of days before we ever met. We both did.

[ rich, interesting, divergent lives. and yet they found each other. lost each other. found each other again. it hardly seems fair, but she's done questioning serendipity. ]

[ there is a shift there, in her voice. Something that makes him tighten his hold of her. it's been so long, she had told him, a heartbroken cry that had broken something in him in return. He swallowes the lump in his throat, replaces it with a little smile and presses it to her hair. ]

Seems to happen to me all the time 'round you.

[ the dramatics, that is. ]

Chin up, [ she announces in a voice that's still on the lighter side, volume-wise. it's unclear whether she's encouraging him, or herself. ] Today was meant to be all fun and laughter. Not --

[ awkward, strained, heartfelt, emotional, whatever. ] Not like this. [ but she can't control the world, much as she tries. she can't control him or his disarming sincerity.

gentle-like, she shrugs off his embrace and meets him with a very purposeful smile. although it's a twinge forced, not a fraction of it is a lie. a funny little paradox of a smile. she's making it clear that it's time to proceed as though everything is normal, and as though this isn't some landmark moment in their lives. ] Congratulations, Steve. On winning.

Thank you.

[ it's oddly formal and it draws a chuckle out of him. Suddenly, the variety of options presents itself to him and before long, he takes her hand in his and this time, it's his turn to tug her in a different direction. ]

Walk with me? I'd like a second look at that view.

[ now! here's a brave new world. there's something of a tempest in her eyes when she watches him -- and quickly flickers her attention to their hands, joined, before looking him in the face once more. being us, together might very well mean walking, together. and it isn't as though she hasn't walked with him many handfuls of times: during the war; here in the fleet...

but walking, hand-in-hand? she's a little ashamed of how giddy the thought turns her. she slides her fingers between his and accepts the invitation with grace and enthusiasm. ]

I rather think I'd like that, yes. [ losing a game has never felt quite so sweet. she wonders if this is how he'd felt in the wake of their paintball match. too pleasant to be surly.

peggy follows. it's not common choice, for her, to follow. but if there has ever been a person worth following, then captain steve rogers is the one. ]

[ it's a reversed matter. for most people, this sort of things might seem mundane. For Steve, well. They never really had many chances for mundane in the days of the war. Mundane becomes extraordinary; just this simple afternoon, entwined fingers and a walk through the way station.

In the wake of all of that, his recent victory is almost forgotten. ]

Do we always have an option of coming into one of these?

[ not many people seem to take that chance. it's not the Ritz but after days spent inside the Starstruck, it might as well be. ]

[ it's a bit awkward in the beginning: keeping a-pace of one another, neither drawing ahead by too many steps -- hauling the other along. peggy splits her attention between the view above and the wonder on his face. ]

So long as there's a station in range of our shuttles? Certainly. It's all riddled with glitches and everything in the automated shops is woefully low quality. But it's an option.

It's funny isn't it?

[ asked as they step outside into the little make-do - what to call it? A tiny faux park with its fake trees?

At least there are benches for them to sit on and he looks up before meeting her gaze again. ]

Space being vast enough to hold so many planets and also places like these.

I imagine Earth's first explorers said much the same about our oceans and our continents -- amazed that there could be so many other valleys and mountains and plains.

[ the trees leave a lot to be desired -- but if pressed, she would admit that she'd take fake trees and a study, real steve rogers to the opposite. ]

We always think we've just about seen it all and then there's something new.

[ he looks up for another moment. ]

Kara's from another planet, Thor is from Asgard. You know, I used to think the only people I've known from far away were those who were born overseas.

[ overseas? she smiles. ]

Was I so alien to you, Steve?

[ she knows he (likely) doesn't mean her. there are seas far more foreign than the one that separates america and its once-ruling nation. but he seems thoughtful, and she seeks to prod him out of any potential melancholy. ]

Yeah, but not in a bad way.

[ he remembers very clearly what he first thought of her when they met. It hasn't changed, only deepened but one thing is certain today as it was then, ]

I've never really met anybody like you.

Clearly, you haven't met enough people. [ or maybe simply not enough brits. she pats his elbow. but when the joke settles, she confesses: ] To be truthful, I often think much the same about you.

Clearly you haven't lived in Brooklyn.

[ he counters just as he squeezes her hand for a fraction of a moment in silent gratitude. ]

It got the best people.

It's true. My apartment was in Manhattan. [ not brooklyn. but: ] But I'd be lying if I told you I hadn't been back to visit a few of those alleys you'd pointed out to me.

[ and if any young woman first arrives in nyc, she points them to brooklyn first. the spirit of lady liberty can be found in her people. ]

Manhattan, huh?

[ he liked it well enough, as any New Yorker is bound to. He can just about remember what it used to look like, it's all even grander now. ]

You did?

[ curious now, he asks ]

What did you think?

About New York? [ about brooklyn. she smiles. ] It smells -- like old pennies, and garbage. Car exhaust. And when it's hot, it's too hot indeed. Not as hot as California, mind you...

[ new york is loud and rude and smoggy. like london, but less well-articulated. all the same: ] I think I love it.

It grows on you, doesn't it.

[ all fast-paced and crowded and everyone is always in a rush to be somewhere. it may not be the one city connected with captain america's clean and golden image but steve will never feel quite at home anywhere else. ]

been to the Thanksgiving Parade yet?

Once. I can't say I'm all that fond of parades -- VE Day is just as bad, frankly. [ too many people. too much noise. she doesn't swallow celebration as well as she used to -- these days, it might be different. but back home? every fresh show of patriotism made her miss him all the more. ]

I am a fan of Broadway. At least, I think I would be -- most of what I know was filtered through a woman who lived next door. [ ... ] Aspiring actress.

[ it was always a little weird thinking he missed VE Day. It would have been a bittersweet experience, he imagines it might have been like that for her. He would have thought of little else but Bucky. ]

Broadway?

[ he smiles and nods ]

Angie.

[ the very inspiration for the flirty American blonde he met that day on the previous planet. ]

Yes. Angie. [ == there's a sweet (if quiet) happiness at hearing him remember the name. for so long, her time after the war had felt like a separate life. it's hard, still, to let the two mingle even in spirit. ] She once tried to talk me into attending an audition.

[ a snort of laughter. peggy doesn't think much of that prospect. ]

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