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

[ 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.

[ all her cocksure posturing drains away. and although her stare never leaves his, she can feel how her heart bottoms out in the pit of her stomach. of all the possible explanations—of all the reasons why—this was certainly never one that she and howard had dreamed up on those evenings when they both got a little too drunk and a little too nostalgic. ]

2023.

[ she repeats. and tilts her chin as she does the math. ]

Bollocks. [ peggy's spine straightens. ] If you don't want to tell me where you've been, so be it. There's no need for bad jokes.

[ he shakes his head and reaches for her hand again, squeezes it. ]

I've never lied to you. I'm not about to start now.

[ he didn't take too much with him but he does have his old phone; no reception, no wifi but the pictures stored on it are there. He swipes right and shows them to her, Time's square, central park, different time stamps, 2009, 2014 - a picture of a bleak, grey city reads 2022. ]

I told you. I have a lot to tell you.

[ it's agonizing to sit still and watch him fiddle with the small block (brick?) he removes from a pocket. peggy watches as it sheds light. watches, too, when that light seems to coalesce into impossibly accurate photos. her fingers twitch; she wants her hands on whatever he's got. she is not herself a technologist—but she admires the work of those that are. and this? this, whatever it is, seems ripped straight from howard's wildest imaginings.

time's square. central park. the geography makes sense to her; not all of the architecture does. her intake of breath is audible; heavy; disbelieving, still. ]

...How long has it been?

[ it only now occurs to her that if he's telling the truth (if, if, if) then a separation of decades to her mightn't be the same span of time for him. and at the sight of that sorry bleak city, she finally gives in to temptation and tries to take the device out of his hand.

she wants to scrutinize it. ]

They found me in 2011. So really, it's only been about twelve years.

[ a long time but not as long as the time gap might suggest. He hasn't lived through all these years. Bucky did, he thinks - though hopefully Steve can fix that now. ]

It's a long story.

[ he lets her hold his phone, lets her inspect it. ]

I've missed you.

[ it's probably evident but still. He will say it a thousand times - now that she's here. That he's here. ]

[ questions bubble up in her blood. who was they? where was he found? what did he do for twelve years? how did he find his way back?

but instead of ask one (or any) of these questions, peggy tucks down her chin and focuses instead on the funny, thin little block. as her fingertip skims the surface, the whole image seems to move (swipe) aside before being replaced by another. with a soft noise of surprise, peggy pulls back her finger and inspects first her skin and then the screen.

—she starts to think about the practical applications of steve's knowledge, his experience—

but then he commits to words what has already been communicated in another fashion and—lifting her head—she nods. ]

And you've been missed in turn.

[ most assuredly. ]

Every day. [ she closes her hand around his photography device, ignorant to the reality that it is indeed a phone. ] Perhaps every hour. Hard not to—[ she twirls a finger, indicating the whole base ]—after all, this is where it all began.

[ where we began. ]

They're quite proud of that fact. They put up a sign.

I don't care about them.

[ he says, keeps his eyes fixed on her, taking in her gestures and her expressions. She's so terribly familiar, everything about her seems just right, just as he remembered. It's been years but he knows her as well as she knows him. ]

I'm not here for them.

[ just her. ]

[ her mouth goes dry. drier. it takes a hell of a human being to fix her in place with a look; steve manages—and then some. she holds in her hand a marvel of future technology, a glimmer of what's-to-be, but it might as well be a lump of clay for how unimportant it feels under the weight of his attention.

sod the clock. sod her questions. sod agent latimer. because at long last steve's charm and steve's determination circumnavigates her impatience and her curiosity.

peggy advances on steve in order to claim a second kiss. something fierce and deep and wanting—something that speaks directly to the claim he makes, that his appearance here in this year is a calculated one. he's here for her.

she needn't ask him about his feelings. just as she needn't tell him about hers. it's as good as said with other words and other proofs.. ]

[ he's seen a lot in 12 years. Seen the damage HYDRA left on so many - on Tony, on Bucky, on SHIELD. He'd seen a hole in the sky and a city flies, he'd seen the world falls to its knees and rises again and after that, Steve has decided he's done enough, that he's ready to go back home and live his life, just as Tony and Nat told him to.

Home.

Home isn't Brooklyn, it isn't SHIELD or its agents. It's just her, just Peggy - just the right partner he's been longing for all these years. He's seen so much loss. The world is okay now - Steve is more than ready to just live.

It still takes him by surprise, her moving close again. He had embraced her but she catches his lips with hers and steve forgets to breath for a moment before he drops the file he's holding and pulls her closer, his phone wedged between them. She smells nice, he dares to rest one palm on the small of her back and touch a lock of dark hair with the other. He's never gotten to do this before. ]

[ contrary to certain reports by certain operatives, director peggy carter isn't made of stone. despite being all but married to her work, she's taken a lover here and there in the last handful of years. good men, interesting men, attentive men—but none ever quite measured up to her lost love. kissing them was never like kissing him.

he remained a titan in her heart.

and she kisses him until her lungs burn. her body twists; her fingers grab for the solid certain plane of his side, gripped through the material of his coat. and the touch of his palm on the small of her back is more reassuring (she's quite certain) than anything else she's ever felt.

even after she kisses him, she lets her mouth trail along jaw—heedless of the last few smudges of the day's lipstick. and when she finds the shell of his ear, she tells him: ]

Twenty-seven minutes.

[ until they can slink out of the facility and speak in confidence, in privacy, about anything and everything. ]

[ his mind is blurry. He forgets everything, past and future. all his attention is fixed on the present, on her proximity and the touch of her lips. Steve feels just about ready to put aside his burdens and worries and just feel. He's been thinking and longing for her and just mow, letting her step away seems nearly impossible. With every kiss and touch he assures himself she's there, that he's not too late. Not anymore.

Steve clutches her close, presses a soft kiss to the bridge of her nose and echoes his earlier words ]

I can wait.

[ though he's far more distracted, now. He presses his forehead against hers. ]

So long as you don't move.

[ a tinny, thin-bodied voice—a voice of weakness—asks haven’t we waited long enough? but peggy ignores it. now’s not the time to get greedy. not with the prize in her eyes. not with him solid and present and real—realer than any daydream or nightmare, because he’s made a cameo in both.

so, for once, she’s inclined to listen. she doesn’t move—well, alright, she doesn’t move away. but surely he won’t begrudge her an insistent little tug, hauling him nearer, practically hauling him into her lap just to get at him and sneak another kiss beneath the boundary of his—whatever he’s wearing. she doesn’t spare a single grey cell in processing fashion over processing him. ]

Won’t make any promises. [ her warning is muffled against his throat. ] A modicum of movement might be—necessary.

[ she's fast and serum or not, he can feel that she's also strong. steve remembers how flustered he used to be when she taught him hand-to-hand combat - at her proximity and her passion. just now, at the receiving end of her true passions, he can barely think, can barely remember to breath. she's warm and close and she smells like perfume and shampoo. he holds her close, hand dropping to her knee and squeezing it. ]

necessary?

[ he asks, smiling. ]

[ no one smiles at peggy the way steve does—at times both innocent and cajoling. but always, always, always earnest. the very hint of it on his voice is enough to draw her head back, cause her to square her shoulders, and watch him with guarded excitement.

her affection for him holds an arm wrestling match with her curiosity for his circumstances. however-many-minutes left (and counting) and she decides to trust him, to trust that he’ll share his intel when the time and place are right, and for now they ought to enjoy this.

her affection wins. soundly. ]

Do you disagree? [ she challenges (glad to challenge him) and tips her chin. ] Should we instead sit shoulder-to-shoulder and knee to knee and diligently wait out Agent Latimer?

No.

[ he shakes his head, cheeks flushed a light pink. her lipstick is smudged and steve can only guess his own lips carry her color the thought makes him stare at her, utterly speechless before he cups her cheeks ( he wants to touch her, he realizes ) and kisses her, soft and determined. ]

I can knock him out.

[ what, it's utterly harmless. ]

[ the day she lost him—the day they all lost him—is the yardstick against which peggy measures all other losses, all other defeats. likewise, the buoying happiness she feels when he kisses (again, again, again) will no doubt become a benchmark of its own. she hums against his mouth before she tastes him. kissing steve is like kissing a memory: car fumes and crisp air, dragging her straight back to their first kiss.

she draws back and her cheeks are also pink—warm under his hands. her eyes stay bright and wide and fixed on him. she laughs. ]

He’s a good operative. [ peggy argues—but it’s a superficial conversation, settling like a thin sheet over a more important exchange: the way she lays her palm against his chest, searching for a warm heartbeat beneath his clothing. ] I hired him myself—poached him from the Los Angeles office before the SSR disbanded.

[ her next breath is an audible one; it hints at a certain measure of pleasant tension. ]

—But I’ve got a better idea.

[ steve has missed her so much that, at times, it hurt. Now he relishes the little discoveries, how soft her hair is, the scent of her perfume, the chance to look closely at her eyes. He drinks her in, sight and scent and touch. ]

He'll come to in an hour. No harm, no foul.

[ he offers with a small smile. ]

'm listening.

[ peggy scoffs. ]

No harm except for the internal investigation launched by one of ours being conked unconscious on his own turf.

[ he’s darling; he’s lovely; he’s charming the very cynicism out of her voice with just the crook of his smile. peggy sighs, sidles backward until she’s simply sitting beside him once again, and rubs a hand against the back of her neck. ]

I’ll take him his cup of coffee. He’ll be so busy wondering what the devil that means—whether he’s in favour or trouble or both—that he won’t notice you as you slip through the side exit.

That is very confusing.

[ he agrees, smile lingering. It comes to show that perhaps steve, even now, understands how peggy carter seems like a riddle wrapped in am enigma. He takes an empty page, scribbles an address in Brooklyn and places it in her palm. ]

I'll wait for you here.

[ he’s got an address.

in brooklyn.

and peggy can’t sort out whether she’s glad or mad or something else entirely that this slip of paper, this scribbled address, suggests to her that he’s taken time to obtain it. she memorizes the numbers and half-reckons she can visualize the street, the corner, the building from those alone. it’s wishful thinking. ]

—How long since you arrived?

[ slowly, with a measure of grace, she unfolds herself from her perch on the desk. ]

Three days.

[ he already misses her. She moves and he missed her proximity and how warm she was and the way her lipstick tasted. He almost follows but instead offers a bit of information. ]

I wanted to make sure - I didn't want to intrude.

[ on someone else, on perhaps a whole different relationship. ]

Intrude? Intrude on-- [ what? peggy's frown betrays a hint of consternation (or else of disbelief) as she puzzles through whatever earthly reason steve might have had to delay their reunion.

she is already three steps in the direction of the closed door, but this particular revelation is worth turning on her heel. her lips press together (and, yes, he's right, the colour has smudged) and she pauses with one hand on her hip. ]

You wanted to confirm whether or not I'd descended into spinsterhood. [ but she smiles, quick and smirking, as she chooses to reshape her indignation into something lighter, brighter, more playful. ] How downright strategic of you, Captain Rogers.

[ but! now she hesitates... ]

Is it 'captain,' still?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject