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

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. ]

[ there are notes about music, books, films, modern food. There are also pictures, all of them in vibrant colours, all of them of an odd group of people. ]

These are my friends. My team - the Avengers

[ his voice softens. It's odd to talk about them when some of them have died. They will only meet again in years and years. ]

Earth's mightiest heroes.

[ when he doesn’t scold her for snooping, she snoops some more—pausing to read a full paragraph on something called a cronut. some details are charming; others are bleak and uncertain. all of them, every last one, is penned or penciled in his strong and familiar hand.

she turns a sideways photo right-side-up and marvels at its clarity and colour. ]

Sounds like a line you’d find on a propaganda poster.

[ earth’s mightiest heroes. but there’s something slight and honest in her smile—she doesn’t hate it. ]

—Who’s that?

[ peggy taps a familiar-looking man with a distinctive goatee. so quick and curious, she is. ]

[ steve looks at the person she's pointing at without saying anything. A great part of him is still grieving Tony and his daughter who will grow up with the memories of her father's legacy - much like Steve did.

He's looking for the life Tony urged him to live. He knows he would approve of this in his own weird way. He looks at her and covers her hand with his. ]

I think you already know. Would you like ne to tell you about him?

[ she does know already—but it’s a strange and unsettling knowledge, the kind that jars with everything she knows is probable. except that howard has settled down. and he’d… ]

Is he anything like this father?

[ it’s the first thing she asks. as if, perhaps, the one question might actually be enough to answer all the rest that could possibly follow. ]

he's a lot like him.

[ he refuses to talk about Tony in past tense especially since here and now, he's in their future. ]

He talks to himself, and to his computer programs and he has robots who do everything for him. He's a genius. He also has a weird sense of humor.

[ robots! how terribly science fiction of him. her laughter is muffled, quiet, and it signals a parting of ways between peggy and her previous play-acting. there’s no game to be one in a moment like this one. ]

I imagine it was no coincidence that the two of you ended up working together. Like attracts like.

[ suggesting, somehow, that she considers both men to be odd and quirky (in their own ways). peggy adjusts how she sits, leaning her back against the bed’s rickety headboard. ]

He’s terribly handsome.

[ oh, no, here comes that playful ribbing once more. ]

[ her laughter fills his heart with a keen sort of both love and relief. He keeps his hand on hers and looks at the picture. He finds that it's easy to talk about Tony, despite of the pain. ]

we didn't get along at first. But he's a good friend.

[ oh but now he has to laugh ]

he would have loved to hear you say that.

[ she an read a kind of despair in him—something she suspects he’s trying not to reveal. and as tempted as she is to pry, peggy doesn’t. instead, she shakes away his hand—only so she can get a better look at the picture. ]

And this one! [ she points at thor. ] Arms like tree trunks. Good lord.

[ there will be time to figure out how she feels about a next generation of starks taking up the cause—but she can’t sort it out just now. ]

That's Thor. God of Thunder. The one I told you about from the place called Asgard.

[ he points to the others ]

That's Bruce and Barton - this is Sam and Wanda and this one -

[ oh, he misses her terribly. It's been so very long. ]

That's Natasha. She's a good friend.

[ each name she commits to memory—and although she can’t imagine why she’d be called upon to recognize any of them, she knows that she could pick each one out of a crowd. these are steve’s friends—no matter if she never meets a single one of them, they’re worth knowing.

worth remembering. ]

You look like a family.

[ —she offers, quiet and thoughtful. ]

We are. I owe them my life.

[ he looks at her ]

and I know for a fact they want me to live it. I've missed home, I've missed you. No matter how close we got - it wasn't the same. It wasn't home.

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