driftfleet | i know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

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i know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

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[ once he returns the key, they sit together in a moment of silence. she's unwilling to paw her way through more memories; she won't always be so lucky. but she can't stay here for hours and hours, either. especially as he gets restless. ]

-- There's no use worrying about the dance. [ peggy implores. having walked through the hall, she could tell that it was a pretty piece of torture. she doesn't want him to endure it again. or ever, for that matter. ]

Unless, of course, the way out is out there. [ she turns where she sits -- then rises to her feet. ] Through one of the other doors, maybe?

Can't leave before you complete the tour.

[ that's the catch with museums, isn't it? and what's more, there doesn't seem to be a way out of the room. they have to go back to move forward, to the flashy nightmare world and the music and that dance he's so concerned about missing. it's not so clear how many of these displays one needs to experience before a tour is complete. after all, every museum experience is subjective. ]

Done here?

[ with this one, for all its simple objects. they can stay here a bit longer. it is on repeat. the main hall will always have that dance for him. he can stand to stay a little longer.

not much longer or he'll miss it entirely. or next time, it might not replay at all and that's no good. ]

[ is she? done?

peggy can't say for certain. she doesn't want to be done. and perhaps if she stayed and touched everything in this room, she mightn't need to see anything else. but she can already guess what the jacket would tell her; the rest would only flesh out what she already knows. perhaps she shouldn't be aiming for the easier route.

and yet. she gives her answer when she reaches for the train ticket instead. ]

[ the little screen flickers to life again to show a little alley. steve rogers is speaking to bucky but this time, the suit is gone, turned to uniform which fits him well. did you get your orders?, The one-o-seventh. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.

it's his last night and steve needs to clean up and get a train ticket to go to the future --

The future turns out to be the World Exposition fair. It's night time and the scene is filled with people and well lit. the two are still talking, I don't see what the problem is. You're about to be the last eligible man in New York. You know, there's three and a half million women here.

there indeed seem to be. the place is crowded as crowded can be but steve shakes his head and looks a bit uncomfortable by the notion of the evening when he replies, well, I'd settle for just one.

when the screen goes black again, he'll reach back into his pocket again. ]

Just us left.

[ the other faceless people seem to find the whole thing dull. they want to see captain america rather than the awkward boy from brooklyn, after all. ]

[ just us left. she'd been so engrossed in this particular film -- heart aching at the sight of him, clumsy but bullheaded as ever. ]

They don't know what they're missing --

[ she'd take these sights over the propaganda any day. not that she loves steve any less for what he's become, but perhaps she's given to overcompensation in her adoration for what he'd been.

gently -- reverently -- she places the ticket back where she'd found it. ]

Are you really that eager to get back to where we came from?

[ part of her is ready to indulge him, even now. ]

If I make it on time -

[ but he doesn't complete the sentence. outside, the music fades at once and he sighs. too late. the vision is gone and the one he's looking for has gone away with it. he was hoping to catch another glimpse of her, to see where she goes to so that he might follow her. she's going home, after all.

but it seems like he's meant to stay here. ]

Seems like I'm running late. Next time.

[ it hardly matters right this instant where they go. the chance he's been looking for will only replay itself in a few minutes. ]

[ running late.

the words cut deeper than they should. every fresh disappointment experienced by steve's manifestation builds up to a greater sense of sorrow. it's one with which she can empathize; she's felt it before. she's felt it accumulate brick by brick in her own heart.

and maybe that's why she takes pity. without offering a hand, but merely giving a gesture, she points back to where they'd left two memories ago. ]

Just once more, perhaps. [ a beat. ] And then we're getting out of here.

[ -- in one minute, the recording says and the door opens. He seems to know his place in that room, almost as if he has watched endless replays of this scene. He doesn't like the first part, flinching at the noises and the sights; but he's willing to face it if only for another chance to be there when the woman in blue spins into his arms, lifts her chin to ask him if he could just imagine it -

It's all gone again. No luck. He sighs, tries to find her but - no. Not this time, either. ]

Gotta be quicker next time.

[ the tragic irony settles heavy on her shoulders as she keeps to the wayside and watches. peggy doesn't need to see her own face to know with whom he dances -- for whom he aches, despite the boom of guns and the wine-dark stains of red. her next breath is a shaking one; she resolves not to let him pass through this grotesque scene again. twice is more than enough. heaven knows how often he'd lived it before that, stuck in his own mind.

with a shake of her head, she takes the manifestation by his arm and tugs him towards the 21st century. ]

Yes, yes -- whatever you say. [ she doesn't mean it. ] Next time.

Always another shot.

[ that he's fated to miss. He doesn't seem to realize it, however. Perhaps this is why he's tied to the room, seeking a way to fix it still.

But that doesn't matter. She chooses another door and he follows, looking over his shoulder as he does. No trace of the woman in blue. He closes the door behind him.

This room is much bigger. In fact, it leads to another one. In effect, it's more crowded as well. He takes a seat on one of the benches. Not many of those are unoccupied.

In this room there are more items to peer at. A vase of flowers, a little computer chip , a vintage motorcycle leaned on the wall. To the left, there are a few more - a black tuxedo jacket is hanged on the wall, an old radio is sitting on the table, so odd in an otherwise modern setting. ]

[ right. she must complete the tour, yes? but the question remains over how that completion ought to be achieved. part of her doesn't half-wonder whether that's a lie in and of itself. that, perhaps, her solace (and his in turn) ought to be found elsewhere.

every person in here -- everyone who isn't him -- can be discounted. they aren't her mission.

peggy takes a moment to roll up her sleeves. first things first: the radio. ]

[ he looks at the radio. it starts working, though no sound comes out, just static. the screen is still dark, no image in sight. for a moment, it might seem as if something is wrong. but another moment passes, and an image finally appears. a room comes into focus. an old fan is working but barely so, the same old radio is working, a baseball game as it happens. steve rogers is wearing simple clothes, the most notable one is an ssr t-shirt. there is a glass of water by the bed. the memory plays itself out.

a woman walks inside. a memory of another time in her simple uniform, her curls and dark lipstick. one might think she walked right out of another era. she's kind, she's smiling, he doesn't.

where am I, really?, I'm afraid I don't understand.

the radio is still playing.

he game, it's from May, nineteen forty one. I know, cause I was there. Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?

what happens next is very quick. she presses a button, men wearing black walk in and steve rogers bursts out through a faux room inside a larger facility. somewhere in the background, the woman's voice can be heard, all agents, code 13.

and then it all changes. he runs out to find out she wasn't lying, he is indeed in new york. times square but nothing seems familiar, lights and noise, bigger, brighter, different and a man wearing black with an eye patch.

-- to break it to you slowly. you've been asleep, Cap, for almost seventy years. you gonna be okay?

yeah, steve rogers says, takes in the city around him. yeah, I just. I had a date.

and then it's over. ]

you should turn it down.

[ the radio. the static is terribly loud. ]

won't hear anything on it.

[ -- she knows the story. its broader strokes, at least. but she hasn't seen its details. hasn't felt his bewilderment, a she does now. peggy's breath catches in the back of her throat. part her wants to cheer him on in his clever working-out of the discrepancy; part of her wants him to go back to sleep. this is shield, isn't it? how could something she eventually has a hand in creating ever do this to him.

this isn't your fight, she thinks. it was never meant to be your fight.

and then he says it -- the blasted word. date. if she touches the edge of her thumb to the corner of her eye, then perhaps it's because she trusts this manifestation of steve to be indifferent to her tears. ]

I heard enough. [ -- even so, she toggles the volume button with a gentle flick of her finger. ] Poor fellow. It's not a terribly kind way to wake up in the world.

It was a bit of a rude awakening.

[ it's an understatement and one he delivers without too much of a fuss. as if he prefers not to think about it at all. he looks at the radio and then at her. and then at the room around them. the narration is back, speaking about the reawakening of captain america is 2012. he listens and nods. ]

I guess they didn't know what to expect.

[ they should have let you be.

and perhaps that's what she should do, now, too. but peggy shakes her head and wanders across to the vase of flowers. they're pretty; her favourites, actually, if she's ever pressed to name a favourite. although she doesn't touch, she does lean in for a whiff. ]

They should have known better. You're not the come quietly sort. But -- I suspect even they get fooled by their own fairy tales.

[ captain america -- the perfect patriot. a symbol, as the voice-over said, and not a man at all. ]

Don't.

[ he rises up, eyes the vase and the flowers. for the first time, he seems startled by her proximity to one of the items. He walks over, takes the vase, holds it carefully. ]

You should know better too.

[ some things are not as they seem. he looks down at the vase of peonies and touches his index finger to a petal. it's hard to tell if he's guarding them from her or perhaps guarding her from them, odd as it may seem. ]

[ -- now, that's curious. she hadn't anticipated drawing such a reaction out of his shade. but peggy now takes a step back, eager to reevaluate what's happening. for whom does he worry? himself? herself? his attention is tender; it makes her wonder.

what do the flowers hide? ]

You're right. [ soft; sweet, even. ] I do know better. I don't want to dot this. But -- [ darling ] -- I think I have to. I can't bear keeping you stuck here. I need to continue the tour, don't I?

[ or all she'll ever do is make him miss his dance again and again. ]

Maybe something else, first?

[ he's buying time. thinking that maybe they have a way out of this without him giving up the vase he's holding. though even he seems to know better, there's still this attempt. he arranges the flowers in the case; there's only five of them. he seems to be counting, making sure they're all still there. what a small thing to be so worried about. ]

The order doesn't matter.

[ the flowers can wait. he can, too. after all, he's really here for that dance next door, isn't he? ]

[ -- she wants to tell him he's braver than this. whatever it is, whatever he doesn't want to share, they can weather it together. but it's rare to see so much trepidation on steve's face. she's unwilling to push him the question of the vase any further.

but here's the trouble: now she's knows better than to hesitate and let him step in and plead his case. she will have to grab the next item as quickly as one might rip off a bandaid.

i'm sorry, darling.

peggy takes three steps backward and places her palm on the suit jacket's lapel. she's no slouch; she knows precisely why steve rogers would wear something like that. ]

No, wait.

[ he places the vase aside and moves to stop her. he's quick, it is his mind after all, but not quick enough. she grabs onto the jacket and the screen behind him comes to life. his shoulder slump. there's no helping it.

he does sit down, however, both hands in his pockets now. he should have guarded these better and now, it seems that whatever the jacket's hiding, it's worse than the vase he was protecting so fiercely.

and then there is simply a memory. a church on a chilly london morning, a chorus singing and a terrible, terrible weight of wood on his shoulder and an endless journey down an aisle. it's all a bit of a blur, almost as if some of it was never properly processed even though he was right there, though heavily burdened by a sting in his eyes and a tightness in his chest. some words do carry over, a woman's voice calmly states, and she said, compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say -

but then, it all fades away. and it's just him and a familiar sound of footsteps. when natasha comes by, she's wearing black as well. and their conversation is quiet. -- I was just lucky to have her, she had you back too. they talk for a while, about something that surely he needs to sign so they could all stay together.

I'm sorry Nat, I can't sign it,, I know.

he looks confused for a moment, Then why did you come here?

she looks at him and before she tugs him into her arms for an embrace, she confesses, I didn't want you to be alone.

He watches the little screen when the images fade, almost as if he had forgotten he's not alone here, either. ]

[ of all the churches, she'd not expected st. luke's. it's a chelsea landmark -- and a very fine venue, indeed. but not (she'd thought) for her. how bizarre it is to be more familiar with the venue of one's funeral than with the people attending it. well -- except for one. he appears so solemn and handsome in his suit but he bears a burden she wishes he wouldn't have to bear. peggy has only recently had to terms with the concept of a funeral; now she must stomach the bizarre realization that it had been (according to steve's memory) well-attended.

it's too much. the fuss is palpable in the air -- with some attendees in dress uniform. and some unknown woman putting in words in her mouth that peggy never remembers saying. but she can taste their intent. they're easy to believe.

and in the wake of every other body streaming out of the cathedral, peggy is left watching helpless as someone else gathers steve's sorrowful bones into their arms. she watches him do exactly as told: he plants himself like a tree.

it can't be helped. she walks up to his bench from behind and -- standing there -- places both hands on his shoulders. the cloth of the green jacket feels much more different. rougher, in some ways. better in others. ]

-- We can take a moment. [ she offers. perhaps he needs it more than she does, although her heart tightens beneath her rips. she's got a million questions, but doesn't dare ask a single one. ] Steve, we can wait here all night. Make a brave stand right here and wait for the Atroma to kick us out.

[ it might take hours. it might take days. regardless, she is prepared to sit with him and look at nothing else so long as he'll sit with her and ignore (if he can) the dance just beyond the door.

again, she knows better. ]

There's somewhere I need to be.

[ he reminds her, his gaze is drawn towards the door. outside, there is a chance to be seized. a fresh attempt to be made to hold onto a figure in blue before she twirls away into nothing. ]

Can't be late.

[ not again. lord knows how many times he's been late already. too many to count and not enough for him to give up. ]

[ she pushes down on his shoulders -- worried, perhaps, that he's going to try and stand up. he can't leave without her, can he? peggy can't be certain about the rules of this place. ]

Not yet. I promise you you'll have your dance. [ ... ] That's what you're worried about, isn't it?

[ once this is over, they can dance all they like. no hallucinations required. ]

[ hr frowns, as if her question is a puzzle. for a moment he eyes the room, the peonies to their left. ]

I promised.

[ he doesn't get up, however. he has to be here if she is. those are the rules. but still, outside, there's something he needs to grab a hold of for more than just one second. ]

I'm late.

[ already. god knows where she is. ]

If I don't make it on time --

[ there can be no dance and if there can't be a dance, he can't very well go home, can he? ]

Are you sure?

[ late, late, always late. peggy shakes her head while she stands behind him. there's no use in telling him he's absolved of his lateness. she suspects it won't make one bit of difference. not to her guide, such as he is.

plant herself, hm? and be unmoved by the world? so be it. peggy resolves there and then not to enter back into the chaos of the dance hall. nor would she pick up another object only to drag pieces of him into the spotlit where the crowds, fictional though they are, could gawk and spectate over his pain. ]

-- I suspect I'm a poor substitute. [ she speaks wryly as she rounds the edge of the bench and stands in front of him, instead. peggy offers a hand. ] But if it's a dance you want?

[ -- they can dance until his mind tires of her and releases them both from this hell. ]

i know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

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