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

[ she remains attentive but silent as she steps inside his small, chosen apartment. peggy takes stock--the fire, the table, the drab colour of the walls--and wonders how a man newly landed in a foreign year even manages to afford such a thing after only three days. had he brought funds with him? did he know something she didn't know?

well. evidently, he knows plenty she doesn't--that's one reason why she's here, tonight, with so much expectation welling up beneath her breast. but there are a clutch of other reasons alongside: bittersweet and heartfelt and straining in the back of her throat.

but it takes the sound of the bolt sliding into place behind her before she says anything--speaking after his retreating form as he disappears into the kitchen. ]

Tea would be grand. [ this feels all dream-like. her breath catches and she begins to unbutton her coat. ] Black and hot as hell.

Yes ma'am.

[ easy and natural as that. Steve remembers many nights where they would boil tea over a short-lived fire in east europe or the forests of France. It was black back then, too. seems like that hasn't changed since the end of the war. it's nice, finding out these little things about Peggy.

He busies himself with it for a moment, making two cups of tea, bringing them to the little, old coffee table and taking a seat on the sofa, gesturing for her to sit as well. He can't help but looking at her, it would seem. He's tempted to touch her, her arm, her cheek.

he's promised, however. ]

I'm not sure where to start.

[ she hesitates. unusual, for her. but peggy can’t quite decide whether it’s best to remain standing or whether it’s prudent to take the proffered seat straight beside him on the sofa. her toe taps; her fingers clink near-silently against the edge of a tea-cup she stoops to pick up from the coffee table.

she takes a sip before it’s even had a change to cool a little. the heat is a welcome distraction all the way down her throat. it reignites a fire. ]

Let’s start with why you’re back.

[ she hums. and, tucking her skirt beneath her, takes a seat that positions her once again shoulder-to-shoulder with steve. ]

That's the easiest part.

[ and so he's glad they can start with this. It's a simple question that also has a simple answer ( not all of them do. ) ]

I spend so many years knowing I've missed out on a whole life. I knew I couldn't get it back. I tried to move on, start over.

[ like you told me, he wants to say and doesn't. ]

But when it turned out I could go back - I finished my work and I did. To have a life.

[ it’s a remarkable thing: to him—to hear anyone—so wholly and unabashedly advocate for their own happiness. it’s certainly a hurdle she’s failed to scale on many an occasion. even now, even when confronted by such a fine example, peggy can’t help but feel a funny little twinge of surprise.

she has to ask herself: could she ever have done the same?

but rather than chase that question too far down its rabbit hole, she chooses instead to gulp down another hot mouthful of tea. ]

Quite a feat. [ she answers, quietly, and reflects upon her own guilt stitched into this moment. she’d failed to find him; it takes him, breaking the very rules of the universe, to bridge the chasm separating them both. ] How can I be certain you’re here to stay?

[ a selfish question. it’s hard to say whether she’s asking if the science will stick or, just possibly, if he won’t end up compelled to take up another fight and (in the process) be torn away again. ]

I would have came sooner, if I could.

[ he knows that as sure as he does his name. Once Bucky got a shot at a life, he could have gone back if he had his chance. he looks at her and decides to tell her the truth of it. he promised her, after all. ]

When I woke up and I found out you found SHIELD, that was part of why I joined. One of the first things I did was to look for you. When I got to see you again, it meant the world.

[ he touches the very ends of his fingertips to her palm. ]

I've missed you every day. Even if I could go back, I wouldn't.

[ her tongue clucks at the revelation of so much future- and past-knowledge. it’s a challenge to parse his grammar, his tenses, and for a moment she has to wonder what he means when he says he looked for her. does he mean now?

does he mean then?

peggy raises a hand and rubs, quasi-nervously, at the back of her neck. she’s so so unaccustomed to nervousness—what is it about him and his forthright nature that puts her so squarely on the back foot?

she tries not to let it show. ]

What made it possible? Why now?

[ why not several years ago, why not the very moment after he’d disappeared, why? ]

It's a very long story. You're going to have to bear with me.

[ much of it sounds unbelievable. He tells her there is life out there, in outer space. He tells her about Thor and how much he's helped them, how they named his people gods because of their powers, even though they were not. He tells her about the creation of their universe, about the stones. ]

Peggy - the cube. There is a stone in there. The space stone. If you know how to use it, it can take you anywhere in space.

[ it's...a lot. as if everything else tonight wasn't already fit to overload her with information, steve takes her beat by beat through the last few years. his last few years. although she can tell that he's still hoarding a detail or three to himself. when she senses so--when she hears the tell-tale symptom of a gap in the story--she allows herself to frown.

(and, for a moment, she allows herself to think a little too long and hard about the practical applications of a stone with such power.

peggy downs the rest of her tea and places the empty cup on the table. ]

It's an awful lot to take on faith, Steve. [ but if there's anyone she'd believe... ] Which means it will be a hard sell to anyone else. Barring Howard. Perhaps.

that's not even the crazy part.

[ he admits with a tired smile. Honestly, even as he told her to story he found it hard to believe. ]

I don't know if I should tell the story to anyone else. The stones brought something terrible with them. nobody should ever look for them. the less people know about this, the better.

[ she sucks a breath through her teeth. when steve says he doesn't know whether he should tell the story to anyone else, she assumes (with such ease) that what he really means is he doesn't want to tell it to anyone else. and that's a rather tall order, isn't it?

because there's a whole world out there—still—and she can't help but feel as though something could be done now to help what happens later.

a fight for another night, maybe. ]

I don't suppose you could have simply returned home without taking bad news and ill omens on your heels, hm?

she sips her tea. ]

I wish I could.

[ he has always wished that he wouldn't have had to leave at all, that he could simply make the dance and not be late, for once. Looking at her, his heart is both heavy and light all at the same time. He reaches a hand and covers her hand. ]

I wanted to tell you every detail. Just now, I want to assume we have time.

[ god but he's missed her. ]

[ time. steve articulates it just like that: they have time. as pennies go, this one finally (at long last) drops for peggy carter. she inhales—sharp and quick—and relaxes her posture to the point of leaning against the sofa’s back.

time!

she drains the tea cup and leaves it, perched, on the sofa arm. this frees her hand to meet his and squeeze his fingers in her palm. ]

This changes everything.

[ she watches their hands rather than his eyes. ]

Stay the night.

[ he says the words before he can have the time to rethink, to be shy, to worry about crossing a boundary. They're rushed and earnest. The truth is, he can't imagine letting her walk out the door at all. ]

Stay here tomorrow. I'll sleep on the couch.

[ he needs to tell her about zola, about bucky, about HYDRA but not right this moment. Not tonight, either. ]

[ he tempts her to stay the night—and well before he offers to sleep on the couch, her thoughts wander. in practical terms, she understands this offer is yet another victim of steve’s inability to speak to women—but, oh, her pulse quickens just a little, just a touch, at the prospect raised by his misspoken offer.

she hums a single note and waits for her better angels to shout down the siren’s song of blood and unfulfilled dreams. ]

Is there a phone in the building? [ stay here tomorrow. ] I’ll have to call in the absence. In the morning.

[ it’s an answer—mostly. ]

There's one upstairs in the hall.

[ but oh, he looks hopeful. ]

Is that a yes?

[ it sure as hell sounds like a yes to him. ]

[ is it a yes? peggy presses her lips—red enough to imply she’d reapplied her lipstick before arriving—into a line. what kind of a dangerous precedent does it set to submit, so easily, to his first simple request.

(it only now occurs to her that she’s telegraphing more details than she’d usually like to share: warm cheeks; fast heart; hard swallow.)

peggy’s fingers flex against his. ]

It’s a maybe. [ she exhales between phrases. ] I haven’t yet made up my mind.

[ liar, liar, liar. ]

A maybe.

[ it sure did sounded like a yes. Only he has to win this little challenge she presents him with to get it. No matter, steve likes challenges. He smiles. ]

How can I help you make your mind?

[ evidently, he's supposed to persuade her. ]

[ —the night’s debriefing takes a hard turn toward something else. something sweeter, something near-flirtatious. and peggy has to ask herself whether his slight misspoken phrase, earlier, wasn’t less of a mistake and more of a purposeful hook.

the kiss back at her office is never far from her mind.

she takes a beat. she gathers her wits. she tips her head toward a shut door. ]

Is that the bedroom?

[ two can play this game of not-quite-intended double entendres, whether he’d meant it or not. ]

What?

[ huh. Maybe he needs to convince her she'll be comfortable. He nods and gets up. ]

It's a bit small but I think it's cozy. Come on, I'll show it to you.

[ oh, but he still doesn't get it. He opens the door and lets her in. The bed is made, there's a little lamp by the bed, a notebook on the bedside table. ]

[ peggy is quite convinced it’s comfortable enough. during the war, she had slept rough enough, often enough, to disabuse her of most need for creature comforts. and she doesn’t for a moment suspect that steve picked his little safe house with luxury in mind.

still—she stands in his wake and follows him to the doorway, breezing through beyond him when he pauses on the threshold. he’s invited her to stay so she makes herself at home—rounding the corner of the bed and sitting on its edge.

peggy reaches for his notebook, fanning its pages with her fingertips, but she rather than looking at it she looks up at him in the doorway. ]

Better than a bedroll on a barn floor, I suppose.

[ she references one particularly grueling away mission—one where the howlies couldn’t get a proper extraction for days and had to wait, in considerable discomfort, behind enemy lines. ]

You have no idea how ‏much I've missed those at first. Going back to sleeping on a mattress was kinda weird.

[ he sits next to her on the bed. ]

Where do you live these days? Uptown?

[ she has a small idea of how much he’d missed those—not least of all because it’s a conversation she’d had with dugan. there’s a reason why the howlies shipped back out to europe even after the treaties were signed. but peg holds her tongue on that front; she doesn’t want to discuss the mutual friends who are still mourning him.

instead, she shifts an inch further up the bed—making room for him and making herself more comfortable. ]

I’d wager a tenner you already know the street—if not the exact address.

[ half-annoyed; half-proud. ]

I do.

[ at least his smile is just a,tad guilty. He has the decency to do that. ]

How do you like it? Do you even spend any time out of the office??

[ he knows the answer to this, too. Still, he asks. ]

I’m out of the office right now, aren’t I?

[ she answers with a played-up huff. her chin lifts; she performs her defensiveness. peggy knows she’s guilty of burying herself in her work—that maybe, just maybe, those quips about being married to her job are more truth than joke.

it’s a near-impossible thing to admit to on a good day. doubly so when confronted with the example of someone who has fully relinquished his calling simply to be here. back here.

with her. ]

Tradecraft isn’t getting any quieter. [ this is what she confesses, instead. ] If I don’t go into the office then I wind up doing work at home—and that’s something of a security risk.

[ but she doesn’t want to talk about herself. so, instead, she starts to flip through his notebook with more attention paid—digging into its contents and details. ]

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