driftfleet | You can check out anytime you'd like.. [Hotel Corona Mingle]

Maybe we'll avoid room service, [ she suggests, reading the hesitant atmosphere now ripe around them. removing themselves from the bedroom and its fleeting (and not so fleeting) implications might be precisely the cure needed for all this twisted, tangled tension. ] Spare Romanoff's pocketbook the further expense.

[ peggy steps beyond him and grabs her jacket. ]

Don't wanna know what she spent so far.

[ he agrees, follows her, trying to shake away the awkwardness and fall into the comfortable pace he usually leads with her. at the same time, there is a quiet realization. The next time this entire subject comes up, whether it's in that room or outside of it, he'll have a whole other answer for her.

after all, it really can't get any more awkward than it is just did and that will have to be a comfort, for now. ]

You think there's anything around here that's familiar?

[ for now, her armour is raised. as much as she does love steve -- and even alone in her thoughts she harbours no question of its existence -- she can't help but scold herself for being too relaxed; too unguarded; too honest. it's easy to forget how much ground they have yet to cover. she had colleagues, back home, she'd known for longer than the total sum of her and steve's association.

and that despite modernization's best efforts, he is still that skinnier version of himself beneath it all. still the man who talked himself into awkward corners. it doesn't mean she'd go easier on him -- far from it. but it means she can, at least, empathize with his more graceless moments. ]

At this point, I'll settle for edible.

[ she pockets the room's keycard. the atmosphere may be chilly, but it's not hostile. ]

[ he had unwittingly managed, it would seem, to work himself right into what he assumes to be a rather large amount of annoyance. it's hardly the first time this had happened but unlike the last time when defending himself had proven to make things even worse ( life lesson: never blame a woman of fonduing a shared friend after you were caught kissing another woman ), this time he accepts it as it is. after all, god knows he earned this one. the method here has to be winning her back, one degree after another and it'll take time and patience and they have both.

well, they have the latter. he always hopes they still have the former, too.

there will have to be an apology, but not now. he knows her well enough to know it's not the time yet.

but knowing what not to do, while a good start, isn't the same as knowing what to do without escalating this and moving from her frosty side straight into ire.

and captain america or not, steve isn't interested in risking her ire.

he should say something. something that will be sweet enough to maybe win him back a smile or a glance or anything but this. ]

That still means no protein goo.

[ well it's a start. ]

Heavens. [ she agrees. vehemently. ] That still means no protein goo.

[ peggy's strides are as long and as confident as ever. she meets each new discomfort with the same old posture -- even this one. but she doesn't rush ahead of steve, choosing intead to walk abreast of him. calculated steps means she doesn't let him lag behind her the way some soldiers (when they know their rank) are given to walking just a few paces after. ]

Steak, maybe. Or whatever passes for one. The animals in their bloody little ersatz forest are all made of gears and wires.

[ well, it's a bit better. perhaps one degree or so. he tries to think what it'll take, to win her back this mixture of professionalism and what he assumes is her being ticked off at him. you had to go for the honor card, he shakes his head and smiles a moment afterwards. ]

Well, with the record the planets have for safety, maybe we should be happy they're not real animals. Can you imagine?

In case the animals broke out of the zoo? [ an almost-smile -- but even had it manifested, it would have been razor sharp. crooked, too. like a half-sprung pocket knife. ]

I think I'd take the animals' side in that one.

[ he almost seemed startled at how quickly chilliness slips into something else. apology, he decides, now, before he gives her any more chances to get angrier.

carefully, he tries for a gentle, coaxing, ]

Peggy,

[ and it's only that infamous captain america courage that makes him reach and place a hand on her wrist before this far too quick of a walk will land them in a place with people. ]

I'm sorry.

-- Don't. [ apologize. when she rolls her wrist, a thin joint clicks. old injury, maybe. or merely repetitive strain. peggy turns to face him -- a little horrified, actually, that this is happening in the middle of a damned hallway -- but she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin and tries not to care too much about the difference in height. ]

You surprised me. A-and my read on the situation was wrong. Two things that very rarely happen, Steve.

[ she's not upset with him. she's not angry. she's embarrassed. somehow, she'd done the mental arithmetic of the situation -- judging his reluctance, his bashfulness, his comment about her honour -- and came to the wrong sum. ]

Edited 2016-12-19 23:49 (UTC)

[ it's a bit ridiculous, the way that this happens. she's sharp and proud and a minute ago he wanted so very much to be out here and now all he wants is to go back inside and understand this a bit better, the thing that makes her falter for half a moment. he stays planted where he is, opens his mouth, closes it again and then - ]

It wasn't - I was being an idiot.

[ and probably a bit of a jerk, too. what on earth made him assume anything about her private life? oh, here it is, what made her so angry - he did assume things about her private life, didn't he? ]

You were, yes. A colossal idiot. For a moment. [ no punches pulled; no feelings spared. they have no time to pussyfoot around problems, which is (perhaps) another reason why she's so hot under the collar about his easy assumptions. ] But I rather pride myself on seeing those moments before they happen. Spare us both.

[ so she can nip them in the bud. shoot him down before he shoots himself in the foot. cruel to be kind, really, but she somehow lost the plot back in the room. off balance, because of what she'd been trying to tell him. too comfortable, she'd thought he'd been joking. she's answered him as though he'd been joking and then was caught slack-jawed when she realized she'd read him wrongly. somehow, in all the months prior to now -- and all the time before that, she simply never thought it possible steve would have even ascribed her any sexual definition, let alone decide he thought her inexperienced. it's a possibility she'd never planned for. and why? it's a branching conversational path she'd never planned to take.

(damn, but romanoff is good at her job. peggy can't help but admire her in this moment.)

all of this trouble. all of this hassle! and she hasn't yet managed to properly reflect on the fact that he'd said the feeling was mutual. ]

You're predicting when I'm going to make an ass out of myself?

[ he arches an eyebrow, amused, maybe before he softens. he doesn't like this, any of this. he doesn't like feeling of hitting a soft spot without intending to, doesn't like that she has to think ahead and make sure this won't happen, doesn't like that he's not sure what this stiff-upper-lip is hiding and more than anything, he hates that they're having this conversation in the hallway. ]

Peggy - I am sorry. For being an idiot this time and at - any other time before now. I - it's because you're -

[ there's something to say here but it's frighteningly close to something they only addressed once, in Morse code, of all things and he lays a hand on her wrist again. ]

Let's go back for a moment.

[ little things betray her. her fingers flutter to the back of her neck -- tracing the plane of her nape. but she's quick to realize her body language has gone rogue, and so settles her hands on her hips instead. longingly, she looks down the hallway: to the lift, to the promise of a dinner-table too public to allow such sensitive conversation. she's about to say no, I'm starved, let's eat but ultimately she isn't prepared to be so cowardly.

her nose twitches. she frowns, willing to register her dismay all the same. ]

Fine. [ ... ] For a moment.

[ she doesn't want to talk about her feelings. ]

[ it's a mixture of things. there's endless relief that they won't have to spend an evening doing, what? small talk over dinner with this looming over their heads and a healthy amount of uncertainty. there are things he needs to tell her but the how is a riddle.

and there's a whole lot of annoyance at Natasha, too, for good measure.

a moment later and they're back inside the room that served as a catalyst to this entire thing, whatever this is and steve sits, jacket and all.

he avoids another apology, by now it might be redundant and instead fixes her with a look, curls his fingers and uncurls them. ]

I shouldn't have assumed anything about your private life, Peggy, it doesn't even matter to me.

[ this way or another. ]

I guess I got used to it, I guess I'm still not used to -

[ he gestures towards her. her entire being. here. reachable. if he rises again, he can touch her cheek; from where he's sitting, he can smell her perfume. ]

[ the door is shut and here they are again: surrounded by unseen contraband. contraband -- now, there's a knee-jerk thought. army-talk. under better circumstances, she would have indulged in laughter. instead, she focuses on him. meets his eyes. peggy doesn't follow suit; she doesn't take a chair. but she watches him, comfortable enough. ]

I've lived a life. [ she doesn't say i was engaged, once. though the words settle on the back of her throat. and even then, fred wells wasn't the first. peggy didn't agree to re-enter this room just to provide a list of past conquests -- and she doesn't expect that list is anything near what steve wants to hear. like he said: it doesn't even matter to him. ]

And a life isn't easily lived, here. [ and it isn't about the sex. not really. instead, it's about the holding pattern. they were important to one another, but the very nature of the fleet made it difficult to grow. to live. a hundred little reasons make them hesitant, despite natasha's nudges. ]

[ there's a moment when something shifts, that he feeezes and looks incredibly - what? Pained. Haunted, even. It strikes at a place he usually keeps well-guarded, at conversations she'll have with him in years and years. my only regret is that you didn't live yours, she told him and his heart was - is - broken at the thought that he has given her something to regret at all instead of what he was supposed to; instead of happiness and comfort and love. He looks away for a moment, banishes the past in favour of the present. ]

Yes.

[ he agrees snd perhaps it's the memory that makes him admit, ]

But I know what a life without you feels like, too. It isn't easy but Peggy this - this is the second time I ended up somewhere I shouldn't be in only this time, I already know what I've been missing.

A life lived under surveillance, or a life that isn't lived. [ if she laughs now, it'll be from sheer exhaustion of the topic. of chances not taken, and opportunities ignored. but one opportunity leads to the next which leads to another -- and where do they end up, except back here surrounded by implications? ] What a choice.

[ only she sees him freeze. she sees his pain and it's not the first time it's happened, but it's the first time she chooses not to ignore it. to not pretend like it didn't happen. she waves a finger at him. ] Just now, what were you thinking?

An easy one. I'll take the first. I know the second one a bit too well.

[ he looks at her for a moment and knows that he is not going to lie to her. All of this, this magnitude of what he's feeling for her has been kept from her until now and what good has it done? ]

Waking up, one of the first things I told them is that I had a date.

[ and while no one understood, he already knows she will. ]

And I looked for you. I found your file and I -

[ it's not something he told anyone about, the meetings, the hours he spent with her. They were private and terribly painful. ]

And I went to see you. I got you peonies, the first time.

[ he shifts, looks at her. ]

You were still - you still tell me I'm way too dramatic and your smile is the same. These moments they're - I'm just grateful for them, for every each one.

[ -- once she understands the breadth of what he's telling her, peggy's hand shoots up. she shows an open palm. a wordless request for him to wait. all this time, she's had her own assumptions. harboured her own theories. thanks to jim, she understood a rough sketch of her life through the fifties and sixties but...

but somehow, she never thought herself likely to survive so long as to see him again. the thought moves her. and a rare glimmer of unfiltered emotion steals across her expression. peggy's tears, so often withheld, threaten to make an appearance.

as fortuitous as it's been to see him once more in the fleet, steve's now describing a completely different windfall. she glances upwards -- fighting tears and doing the quick math. and when she speaks, her voice is choked. ] I'm going to see you? Again? Truly? Not here, but...

[ home.

her reaction is almost girlish. vulnerable. baffled, as though the possibility of reuniting with him once they leave the fleet has never properly occurred to her. she frowns, if only to discourage her own urge to cry, and gives her head a disbelieving shake. ]

Edited 2016-12-20 01:46 (UTC)

The moment I could, I came to see you. You were - you're the only one who made sense to me at times. I'm lucky, I'm lucky to have you at home and now. That I got to see you again was -

[ he looks at her and at once, he rises, walks towards her, tugs her into his arms. ]

It meant the world, Peggy.

[ and it means the world to her, now. never has she so easily settled into his embrace, tucking her chin firmly against his chest. if she wept openly, now, she might at least do herself the slim favour of doing it out of direct line-of-sight. she grips him by the fabric at his sides -- tightly balled fists of shirt, anchoring them together.

it's overwhelming: the sudden, certain knowledge that she will see him again. that she might go home tomorrow, forget all of this, but will still someday greet him again. doesn't matter the number of decades it might take, or the life she'll live in between. doesn't really matter what form or shape that reunion takes, because she isn't so naive to think there is romance to be had. all that matters is the promise of the reunion. even here, in the fleet, her grief has been like a wound that won't quite heal. always present; always tender.

is this the danger of knowing too much about one's future? risking this searing (almost unbearable) feeling of completion, decades away? when she cries, now, she's certain to dry her cheeks on his clothing. unabashed, really. ]

Oh, God. I feel like I can barely wait. But at the same time, I don't feel like I'm in any rush at all. [ a strained clearing of her throat. ] Bloody paradoxes.

[ there was an endless amount of relief, seeing her here. Not making her wait for decades and decades as fate had him do at home. There's a greater amount of relief at telling her and it's bittersweet, so much that he holds her a bit too tight, cradles her in his arms and soaks up her warmth and the intensity of this moment.

He reaches down, gently moves her hand and wipes away at her tears with a thumb. The shift came so fast, her walls crumpled at once and now he can see her, vulnerable and open and strikingly beautiful. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks, tastes salt and powder and perfume. ]

I know. Loving someone at two different timelines can do that.

[ romantic or not, love is love and it exists both here and at home, two different ways to love the same woman but both very much a truth. He reaches into his pocket, places his compass in her palm. ]

Three. If you count the time when I first got that.

[ there is a flinty look in her eyes. not directed at him, exactly, but it revealed something just beneath the surface of her reaction. she isn't comfortable with her reaction. she fits to look stern, because she can barely stomach crying in front of him. in front of anyone.

her cheeks are hot. and when she speaks, she is unhappily reminded of how her voice broke back in the new york office when she'd had to explain to the others why she'd stolen the vial of steve's blood. a second chance... ]

-- The compass. [ she uses her thumb, thoughtless of her nail, and pops the device open. she knows what she'll find there. even to her eyes, she looks so young. she'd been naive, back then, in many ways.

more tellingly, however, she betrays no surprise at the compass's existence. he'd never shown it to her -- not personally, at least. by all rights, she shouldn't recognize it. but she does. ] You still have it?

I had it with me at home. It never made it all the way here but -

[ he smiles. ]

I won it back. Best pinball game I ever played.

[ but curiously enough - ]

You've seen it before?

Never in the flesh. So to speak.

[ she examines the seam. and the needle, too, although it seems to suffer from a lack of honest bearings. without an northern pole to point to, it swerves and spins. hesitant. ]

But I caught sight of it more than once on the film reels. [ she swallows some of her more self-guarded instincts, and admits: ] We always watched them before passing the reels on to be edited. You, the Commandos, whatever missions that managed to be caught on tape.

[ there'd been a long swathe of months, there, where she and he had barely spoken. they'd been busy, certainly, but it had been hot on the heels of her unloading a clip at him. by all accounts, their rapport had been frosty. but, sitting next to colonel phillips, she'd noticed the compass and the picture housed within it. they'd all noticed it. no-bloody-wonder word got 'round after the war about her and steve... ]

I'd watched very one.

[ not only because it had been her duty. gently, she presses the compass back into his palm. ]

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