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

[thespaceopera]

[ Calibration Rooms ]
( for N-Z characters )

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ROOMS BY CHARACTER

N - P Nami Natalie Goodman Natasha Romanoff Noctis Lucis Caelum Nono Okita Souji Otono-Tachibana Makie Pavel Chekov Prompto

Q - S Riona Cousland Theirin Rip Hunter Sam Winchester Seymour Krelborn Shinji Ikari Shouta Aizawa Signy Mallory Sokka Sorey Steve Rogers

T - V Takashi Shirogane Takeshi Tyrion Lannister Uraraka Ochako Vash the Stampede Velvet Crowe Victor Nikiforov

W - Z Yuan Ka-Fai Zaveid Zelda

Comments

[uprightness]

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. ]

[mucked]

[ 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. ]

[uprightness]

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. ]

[mucked]

[ 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. ]

[uprightness]

[ 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?

[mucked]

[ 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. ]

[uprightness]

[ in the background, the narrator speaks of great battles, the sky opening up, aliens, robots, names and dates. steve barely pays it any attention, he looks between her and the door. the dance he needs to make is out there but - ]

I can't dance.

[ he confesses, seems nearly embarrassed by it. he does so want to make it on time but the truth is - ]

Never really got to learn.

[ he has to make it in order to do that, after all. ]

[mucked]

[ -- she takes a bolstering breath. it won't do to break. not now. so she ignores the screen behind her and she offers her hand. still. god, she'll stand like this until the end of time if she has to do it. ]

I'll show you how. [ but it doesn't sound as sweet as when she said it last, swaying in the lounge aboard the starstruck. ] You can surprise her -- impress her with what you've learned.

[ there's a tightness to her tone. something she's just barely managing to contain. ]

[uprightness]

[ this time, when he reaches into his pocket, he finally pulls out the very thing that calmed him throughout this journey. it's a compass, old and worn out by time, he presses a thumb to its lid and slides it back into place. ]

I need to stay here.

[ with her. it's his job, after all. it's also his job to be here, the 21st century where every inch of him wants to go out and seize the figure in blue and let her lead him out. ]

A little longer.

[ he agrees. a bit of practice can't hurt. he takes her hand. ]

And then - [ after he surprises her with smoother dance moves, then ] we could go home.

[ he and her. the woman in blue and the woman who's here. she doesn't belong here either. ]

[mucked]

[ she knows the compass when she sees it. god, she'd known it back through the newsreels; she'd suffered the knowing glances from the brass around her whenever it came into view. it's hard to fault him for it now, however.

peggy pulls him by his hand. drags him to his feet. and then she does a stupid thing. ] I promise; I'll see you home.

[ peggy carter knows better than to make promises she can't be certain of keeping. and yet she does all the same as she wraps an arm around his back. ]

[uprightness]

It's - [ he looks back. obviously, he means to say that wherever home is, it's surely with the figure in royal blue but - ] I'm not sure where it is.

[ it's a confession. all this time, he was so dearly hoping the woman in blue might show him. she seems to be so much more certain about it than he feels. this shade of steve rogers is a man searching for a home rather than a man trying to claim it back.

there is no music, just the narration in the background but he places his arms on her waist and for a while, moments and hours and days, that's what they do. people come and go, faceless and quiet and in the middle of a room of memories, he lingers and practices and they dance.

and then, suddenly, hours and hours later, something happens. he spins her and she twirls closer, his hand finds the small of her back and he looks at her and for a moment, it seems as if he finally, finally sees her because there's a flicker of something joyous, as if he's discovered she's been there all along. he looks as if he's about to say something but the room is starting to fade and he seems sorry for it; sorry because he steps back, lets go of her entirely so she could be released from the room as it fades to nothing and she's finally allowed to wake up. ]