encompass | ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴘᴏsᴛ 2018+2019 ( ɢᴇɴ + sᴍᴜᴛ )

[ sam used to claim that at any given moment, cap had the ability to make an inspirational speech. Give the man a fight or a mission and he'll have meaningful words that will lift and inspire hearts. it's your real superpower, pal, he claimed.

just about now, steve thinks the man should have seen him. his throat is dry, the words stuck somewhere behind his tongue, in the space around his heart. there won't be any good ones, what can he hope to tell her? that he fought armies and aliens and mad robots to reach this moment? that he has always always hoped something would lead him to his best girl.

home.

he comes in through the window, climbing the wall silently and rolling inside. the place is empty but steve knows peggy would be there. he's been watching her for three days, working up to this moment where he can find her alone. he peeks though the crack in the door, takes in her silhouette, the line of her neck, her shoes resting on the floor.

it's been years but he knows he loves her, he loves her so terribly. he thinks about saying something about the stork club, about a dance, in the end he simply speaks up. ]

I would never imagine you as one who could stand clutter.

[ living a life like hers, peggy has collected a lot of ghosts—phantom voices that slither between her ears, from time to time, and remind her of the price she’s paid to sit where she now sits and do the work she now does. his—steve’s—isn’t an uncommon one, except that his grown quieter over the years. with every fading note, she wonders whether or not it’s time to put his memory to rest. ]

Good God, man. When do I ever get the time to tidy up?

[ she answers without lifting her eyes. but after a heartbeat or two, peggy’s echoic memory fleshes out some of the differences between how she remembers his voice and how it now sounds. the timbre is richer; the delivery is deeper; the tone is tired.

and it’s the tiredness that catches her ear the most. peggy hugs the report to her chest and slides off her makeshift seat, kicking her shoes out of the way in the process.

she looks at his shadow in the doorway and her heart constricts. tight, tighter, tightest. hers is a strangled sound—like a creature rarely cornered but suddenly finding herself at a distinct disadvantage. at a loss. ]

—No.

[ she begins with disbelief. she conjures it like a suit of armour purpose built to protect her heart from further devastation. ]

I can explain.

[ he says, at once. he stays where she is, keeping his distance between them. though there is nothing, nothing he wants more than take a step forward and then another, until her can feel her close and fill his nose with the scent of her soap and perfume. still, he lingers. ]

I think I can explain.

[ slowly he reaches into his pocket, produces the compass that he's always kept on his person, the one he took with him when he went down in the ice. he bends, puts it on the floor and gently kicks it in her direction. a symbolic little proof. ]

[ it's more a negotiation than it is a reunion. perhaps she should feel some guilt over it—but her expression is careful and suspicious even as hope unknots itself in her stomach. peggy doesn't allow it to surface—not yet—but instead catches the compass with her foot.

the metal is cold against her instep. it chills her through the silk stockings an she would love, love, love to blame her shiver on it. slowly, thoughtfully, she mirrors steve's movement when she bends down to collect his peace offering. and as she turns it over in her palm, she feels the same tension and the same instinct as he does: a deep set desire to close the distance between them and soak up the moment.

peggy tears her eyes off him (no small feat) as she examines the compass instead. ]

You're late.

[ she chides—voice thick with an emotion she wants to hide better but knows she can't. his explanation (his attempt at an explanation) can wait. ]

Edited 2019-05-08 12:31 (UTC)

[ For a few quiet moments, Steve watches her. He watches her as she watches him, as she picks up the worn-out compass and examines it. Even then, he misses the weight of it in his pocket.

He misses her even more. ]

Yeah. I know.

[ he might never be able to explain to her just how late he is. But the old quip makes his heart clench. His eyes burn as he takes a step forward and then another until he can finally look her in the eye. ]

I'm sorry.

Don't you dare apologize.

[ something in her voice—and old ember—catches flame. peggy's cheeks flush with a mixture of indignation and relief. oh, at what a crossroads she finds herself! especially now that he's here, he's near, and she can reach for his wrist and grab it with a vice-like grip.

his skin is warm. ]

You're here, aren't you? Late or otherwise.

[ she sighs before pressing the compass back into his palm. peggy hadn't bothered to pop it open. she didn't need to. ]

That ought to be enough.

I'm here.

[ there are be people he will miss but not as much as he's missed home, her, a chance to do right and live a life as tony had implored him to do.

Everything is different but this is hardly like waking up in 2002. Nothing is foreign, not really. Least of all Peggy. He grasps her hand ( she's here, too. It's almost difficult to believe ), before he tugs her into his arms for an embrace. ]

It's damn good to see you, Peggy.

[ it's so much more than a hug. it's a homecoming—and she can feel it through the tension in his shoulders and in how the air seems to hum with restless energy. her piles of paperwork are forgotten behind her, as are her shoes, and she leans upward to press her forehead against his.

there'll be no closing her eyes. not so long as she can see his—real and just as blue as she'd remembered. peggy wants to ask him where he's been, what's taken him so long, and what he intends to do about his return. but for the moment all she does is bask. she bites down on a smile.

she wraps an arm around his waist. ]

Yes, yes, naturally—but how the devil did you get in? Our security is top notch. Tippy top.

[ priorities. ]

I learned a thing or two.

[ though where, when and from who is not clear. It was her first and much later romanoff ( natasha, he realizes -- he might be able to save natasha, when the time is right. ) ]

I gotta talk to you. Not here. Somewhere private.

[ though he's still holding her, even when he makes his request. He trusts Peggy but SHIELD already might house some unwanted agents. ]

[ he learned a thing or two. steve may have resolved to keep the answers to himself for the time being but peggy—feeling her way through this reunion by intuition alone—allows her misgivings show. to say that he's learned something implies time and action. learning is an act of living.

so where has he been living all these years? ]

Here is private.

[ she hedges. it's her office, isn't it? the whole bunker is her little empire of secrets.

and although she argues, she doesn't let him go. ]

[ it's hard to know who to trust but her. Steve knows all the names of the sleeping hydra agents in the time he came from but finding them here might prove to be more difficult. He needs Peggy, can't do it without her. Still, it's a sickening thought that she might trust people who would one day try to ruin everything she struggles to build.

He cups his cheeks, looks at her in the eye. ]

Please.

Steve.

[ his name tastes like rust in her mouth. no, no, that won't do—she feels sheepish at the thought that it might be glaringly obvious how little she's said it over the past years. and so the hard swallow that follows is one of misplaced embarrassment. not something she feels lightly.

and as if to complicate matters, the steady touch of his hands on her cheeks brings an unwanted shimmer to her eyes. she feels pinpricks, like threatened tears, settle in the corners. ]

How am I supposed to walk out of Camp Lehigh with you in tow? They only just stopped short of putting your portrait up at the front gate.

[ her gaze flicks away—not with aversion, but rather with a desire to read the clock hanging on the opposite wall. ]

I know when Agent Latimer takes his coffee break. [ she alludes to a gap in her own organization's security. ] Think we can kill 40 minutes doing anything but talking about what we need to talk about?

They won't see me.

[ he nods at her question. He could spend years like this, looking at her this closely. But spending any measure of time with her seems like a wonderful, wonderful gift - one that needs to bs taken advantage of. Besides, he can't simply look at her quietly.

He has to say something but hell, he's tongue tied. ]

Need help finding whatever it is you were looking for?

—You grossly underestimate the sort of impression you make.

[ she murmurs her protest. suggesting, of course, that she simply can't envision a scenario where someone doesn't see him. shoulders like his; gait like his. peggy knows that she could pick him out across a room of five hundred.

(but then again...that's her, isn't it?)

it's a moot argument, however. and one it seems she's already won because he shifts the conversation onto her work. tugging away from one of his hands (albeit not the other) she turns her head and surveys the pile of papers that awaits. ]

An alias. [ she huffs. ] Or what I think will be one. I'll know it when I see it.

[ the implication settles in the air: she's been sifting through pages and pages in the hopes that she might jog her memory. ]

But I wouldn't turn you down if you offered to audit the reports with me. Set aside anything unrelated to the USSR.

[ his lips curve into a smile. Turns out, he takes her first words as a compliment. He doesn't say anything of it, however; simply takes a seat and three piles of files and starts sorting through them, offering her a happy, ]

Yes ma'am.

[ his smile thrills and kills her all at once. it's the same small smirk he'd flashed over a broken radio—one that spoke of well-earned confidence and the assurance that rightness is on his side. steve had taken her critique as a compliment and peggy didn't much mind, really, when she give it some thought.

heaven knows her smile is near identical in reaction to precisely how he says ma'am. seeds start to sow in the in-between places of their conversation. or else it's more accurate to say that old, tired, chilled, hibernating seeds are sprouting anew. ]

Trying to keep an eye on an old—[ what should she call her? ]—adversary. She's notoriously tough to pin down. Russian trained, but long since gone rogue from her handlers. Ever so often she gives me the slip.

[ ...peggy waffles a moment before taking a seat directly beside steve. she reaches for a pile of her own to sort through. ]

Infuriating woman.

Adversary.

[ he echoes, looking up from his papers. A rogue Russian agent could do a fair deal of damage if left to her own devices. He can certainly understand Peggy being invested in this one. ]

You want to bring her in?

Always. It's difficult to get the drop on her.

[ she confesses offhandedly, and in a quieted voice. she makes it appear as though her attention is fixed upon the files in her lap but in reality (and without a doubt) she has every sense of hers, every instinct, trained on him.

her shoulder touches his. she exhales when he exhales. ]

However. [ peg clicks her tongue; her gears are already turning. ] She's never see you coming.

[ she brightens and raises her gaze to steve—so quick, she is, to put him to use. ]

You want me to find her?

[ he seems amused. He thought of a dance maybe a second kiss but doing good work is never something he'll back away from. Especially when he gets to work with her. After all these years, he's missed this, this natural back and forth - it's almost as if no time has passed at all, like muscle memory. ]

Just say the word. I'll read her file, I'll bring her in.

[ she is director peggy carter and can—on any given day—expect a certain level of deference from her staff. it was hard won and in many ways it remains an up hill battle, but she's grown...accustomed to it. but none of it, not a lick of it, compares to the easy collaboration between steve and herself.

yes, she wants to kiss him again. yes, she wants to dance with him. but more than those things (more than anything else) she wants to find their same page. to her quiet delight, it's as easy as opening an old well-loved book to a well-thumbed chapter.

it's a miracle. her chest remains tight. ]

Yes. [ soft; light; lighter than she'd intended to sound. ] That is—soon. You mustn't start right this second.

[ she drops a hand on his—as if suddenly and thoroughly afraid of losing him all over again . peggy laughs. ]

For years and years, Steve, I planned exactly what I'd say and do when I saw you again.

[ when. ]

I'm afraid I can't recall so much as a crumb.

[ there's work ahead of them. There's finding Peggy's Russian adversary, there's finding Bucky, there's HYDRA. the latter two they can talk about once he gets her out of this building, once he's sure they're truly alone.

For now, her hand rests on his. He turns his palm, entwines their fingers, runs his thumb across her knuckles. ]

I know how you feel.

[ it's telling. A shared experience means he's spent years and years thinking of her, too. ]

I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.

[ she wants very much to believe him. how nice it would be, peggy thinks, to be possess his same depth of conviction. but she's lost him before—and as losses went, that one had been the chief informant of her skepticism going forward. it was never a challenge to trust in happiness, only a challenge to trust in it staying.

but she takes comfort in other things: the easy way he takes her hand, the mercy shown when neither of them try too hard to say too much, the assurance that the longing is-was-always-will-be mutual.

peg turns her head to look at the wall clock once more. thirty minutes, yet, until latimer takes his coffee break. she sucks in a breath of air between her teeth and (with an impatient sigh) uses her free hand to slap the file back onto the desk. ]

Nor is Agent Latimer. [ going anywhere. ] Are you quite certain I can't tempt you to tell me what's really afoot? Straight away? Right here?

Dead sure.

[ he is not sure who to trust. He trusts Peggy will, once she knows what they're up against but telling her will have to wait along with a million other things he wants to say - some professional, some wonderfully intimate. ]

I can wait.

[ he says as he picks up another file. He doesn't say it but his smile seems to challenge, can you? ]

[ can she?

patience isn't her strongest suit—but the woman loves a challenge, loves one dearly, and the one he presents with crook of his mouth is all she needs to get her blood pumping once again. his arrival may indeed be a delight and a miracle, but this is her domain. her castle.

peggy untwines their fingers but only so that she can plant her hand on the desk and turn her whole body toward him. head-on.

eyes front. ]

Give us a hint. Something. Anything.

[ she isn't ordinarily this cajoling. at least not by nature. but peggy sees fit to bat a lash and drawl out a vowel if she thinks it might in some capacity soften his resolve. ]

[ he can't talk about the work up ahead but steve supposes there's no harm in telling her a bit about him. He wants to, terribly so. Only - where to begin?? He looks through the files and starts with, ]

2023.

[ he meets her gaze and holds it. ]

That's the year I come from.

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...crawls back weeks later.

eeee!

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