encompass | ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴘᴏsᴛ 2019-2020 ( ɢᴇɴ + sᴍᴜᴛ )

Oh that's how it is? I'll give you a call whenever I find a job, then, we can give that another go.

[ he leans back against the foot of her arm chair and helps himself to another candy. If they're not betting on them, he might as well eat them before she decides she wants to take over his stash. ]

We can bet on a fiver or two.

Believe it or not, you have a job.

[ she mirrors his posture and they sit - across from one another - eating turkish delights and not at all putting this bedroom to its intended use. for all the hopes and dreams howard might have had for them, they're wasting it all now. ]

And you always will. For as long as you want it.

[ she's adamant. hell, she'll go to bat for him again and again. to give him the sort of work he likes doing - not the pr crap or the touring shows. real, good work. ]

Are you sure? I gotta tell you, I'm pretty sure I'll be a shit spy.

[ judging by the way he smiles, he's joking. whatever it is the ssr has for him, he knows it won't be that. He's a terrible liar and he's hardly subtle if to judge by the way he's been staring at her all night. He collects the cards and shuffles them. ]

D'you really think so?

[ the world has changed. Steve isn't sure just how much or in what ways but it may not be a world that needs Captain America anymore. ]

It's not all undercover costumes and fake accents. [ she promises. ] Often, it's throwing punches. Taking them, too.

[ it would be nice to work beside him again. he might never shape up as a proper spy, but he would make a good ground operative. he would be good for the sort of infiltration that don't requires grand cover stories or legends. and she'd always trust him in the field ahead of a great many others.

and maybe, just maybe, she likes the idea of more time spent in safehouses. more time alone together. if they spend enough time, perhaps all this tension will resolve itself. ]

I'll damn well quit if they don't take you back.

--- is some of it undercover costumes and fake accents?

[ hell, what has she been doing? he smiles as he studies her, trying to imagine her as a redhead Parisian or a blonde girl from Alabama. Hell, she could probably pass herself as both. He almost wishes he could see it.

He shakes his head at her threat. In the end, even after five years, she's still his best girl who saw something in him when no one else did, not even him. ]

Can't let that happen. It'll be entirely their loss.

Costumes, wigs, aliases, accents - [ she ticks each element off on a finger.

there hadn't been as much need for that sort of thing during the war. at least, never while she was in sight of the howlies. if she had her own missions, her own assignments, she very rarely discussed them with the lads. they were (after all) confidential. ]

Sounds a lot like acting.

[ he remarks. It's hard to imagine, he's always experienced Peggy as, well, uniquely herself, headstrong and independent, a fine markswoman, never anything less. ]

You sure you don't want to try your hand at it? Stark said he's making movies these days. Said he has his own studio.

[ her expression sours. ]

No thank you. I've turned him down more times than I can count - and it's always some ridiculous cheesecake of a role. Bar wench or femme fatale. All necklines and no meat.

[ it isn't as though she'd ever seriously consider a career in acting. that's angie's domain, thank you very much, and peggy's glad for it to stay that way. ]

[ he can't say the idea of her as a a femme fatale, neckline and all, isn't appealing but he bites his tongue and passes her another candy. To think Stark actually asked her - Steve shouldn't at all be surprised. He almost wishes he had the man's courage. ]

At least he picks damn good candy.

[ so there's an advantage to it all. ]

[ peggy eyes the treat nestled in his hand and - scoffing, low - she leans forward so she can just about reach his fingers and pluck the candy into her own possession. it's a mild feat of flexibility. ]

I imagine he sought to curate the whole damn house for you. [ lord knows it wasn't for her. ] To ease the frustration.

[ a double entendre even if she never meant it. ]

Nice of Stark.

[ he says, holding her gaze. He has a feeling he knows exactly the brand of frustration she's talking about and honestly, the house isn't helping, steve suspects nothing will.

nothing but resolving it, that is. holding peggy, finally getting a secon or maybe a third kiss.

there is a moment of silence. he can feel the tension, right there between them. ]

So does that mean you'd like pancakes for breakfast tomorrow?

[ —somehow, it simply gets under her skin. it's his defence of howard. and peggy has wastes so much breath and effort and blood in defending howard from all kinds of attacks. she'd do it all over again, too, if it was required. but even so something worries and nips at her heels...it's the way he's almost too charitable toward howard's niceness.

all at once, she rises to her feet. the cards scatter. she marches to the wardrobe and, throwing a door open, reveals a closet filled with nothing useful. just hanger after hanger of silk, skimpy undergarments. bras and knickers and teddies and negligees and nighties. all in different colours. ]

Oh, yes. Howard Stark is so very nice.

[ she's so flustered, so hot under her collar, that she can't even appreciate the promise of pancakes in the morning. ]

[ steve is not prepared for it. The way he sees it, they were going to talk about breakfast. He was going to offer making banana pancakes tomorrow - they do have fruit. but something else happens just then, that makes her walk over and open the wooden doors of her wardrobe.

When they were young, Bucky had postcards of women in many stages of undress. He gave a few to Steve, then one night Bucky's ma caught them and made them burn them to ashes, scolding them left and right.

Still, he isn't prepared for it, the colors and the textures, laces and silks. It's nothing like the postcards. Hell, he shouldn't but he thinks of Peggy in those colors, thinks of Peggy working the strap of her bra down her shoulder.

He could kill Stark, really.

He panics for a moment, what the hell should he say? Eventually, he gets up and walks over to stand at her side. ]

there's a medieval armor suit downstairs that could really look nice in the purple ones.

[ somehow, she looks just as livid as the she did the first time she opened the wardrobe and saw it all on display. vexed and frustrated and just a little bit embarrassed that anyone would provide for her in this fashion, let alone because that same anyone is so convinced that they'll be of use now that she and steve have some time alone together.

and it's not the the thought hasn't crossed her mind (god, it has, it has, a hundred times) but she simply doesn't want to give howard stark the satisfaction of seeing a single piece pulled off its hanger.

but bless steve rogers because he starts talking shite about a suit of armour and, peggy? well, peggy bursts out laughing. ]

I know the one you mean. [ she raises a hand, curling her fist against her lips to stifle another chuckle. ] Pity, I don't think he could quite fill any of these out.

[ not like they're meant to be filled. ]

Don't be like that. He'll give it his best shot.

[ something melts just a little, when she laughs, when he succeeds in turning her ire into laughter. He wants to tell her, right there and then, that he's crazy about her, out of his mind for her. In the end, he doesn't, he simply touches his fingers to hers, quick and warm, a fleeting gesture of affection. ]

D'you want me to move them to the other room? That way you could fit actual clothes in here.

[ god bless steve rogers. their fingers mingle, briefly, and very almost lace together. it's gentle and it's chaste and it's still so very different from any way they've been with one another in the past. steve offers to move every last piece and...

and she wonders whether it's a fair ask: him, pulling each off its rail and transporting it and seeing each one and... ]

Perhaps...[ she clears her throat, suddenly flustered. ] Perhaps just make enough room so I can stop living out of my suitcases.

[ steve is going to have a conversation with howard stark sometime in the near future. He doesn't like the man trying to hurry them back together. In his mind, making Peggy laugh, hearing about her flat in the city, is a fine start as any.

And while the thought of her in those pieces will haunt each and every one of this dreams, he hates how this affects her. ]

Yes ma'am.

[ it's not even difficult. He simply has to be surgical about it. Still, he's tender, too; these fabrics are soft and thin, he doesn't want to damage them, only to remove them.

( he tries not to think about learning how to undo the clasps, how it would feel to peel them off Peggy. )

He does a quick an efficient work, taking off twenty or so and piling them in his arms. It helps that they don't carry the scent of her perfume. ]

Think it's better now?

[ she watches—a little dumbstruck—while he works. she ought to intercede, she thinks, but also strangely enjoys the sight of his arms piled up with underthings. peggy could have moved them all herself, of course, but his offer spoke to something beyond convenience or service. it's a little like being looked after. it's a rare feeling, she doesn't feel it often, and she wallows a little in it now. ]

Much.

[ she sinks onto the bed's edge, sitting on the mattress. ]

But—I've got a question before you move them for good. If you don't mind.

Yeah.

[ honestly, the sooner he puts them down, the better. He can't watch her sitting like this on her bed without thinking of the soft fabrics, the colors. Would peggy even like them at all?

He makes himself look at her, hold her gaze and try not to think of a pretty emerald green teddy and how the color would suit her. ]

What is it?

Silly though, perhaps.

[ oh—something must be afoot. she almost never disclaims herself like this. hardly ever sees fit to. ]

But I did wonder if there was any rhyme or reason to what you removed and what you left behind.

[ or did he simply grab willynilly to free the requisite space? ]

[ she hits the nail on the head. Steve loves art, colors and textures. Imagining Peggy in these is easy, far too easy. Most of all, he thinks he knows what colors would work best, deep reds and greens, rich purples and silvers. ]

These are nicer.

[ he looks back at the wardrobe the ones he left are less flimsy, too. He likes the silks best. ]

Something about the colors.

[ she breathes a half-chuckle through her nose, but something suggests she's far from humourous. there's a serious look in her eye as she considers his answer. wonders, really, what it might offer in future applications. ]

Some are as bright and bold as your old uniform.

[ she hedges, weirdly enjoying this conversation for all the bluster around. perhaps it's the way his cheeks hold their colour. ]

I could never pull the colors off as well as you do.

[ steve likes seeing them on her. Her dresses are ‏serviceable but elegant but never dull. The colors are always rich in a tasteful sort of way.

He tried to leave pieces that hold the same appeal. ]

[ her arms cross over her creased, half-untucked blouse. she glances from the wardrobe back to steve, wetting her lips while thinking about the circumference of this conversation. the hidden wants and wishes just below every word. ]

You make them sound almost—[ she shakes her head, hunting for the right sentiment ]—elegant.

I think these ones are. In a way.

[ they're provocative but they're not tasteless, turns out there's a fine line between one and the other. Steve has never seem any up close to realize it but just now, it makes sense. ]

I guess anything can be.

[ even underwear. He watches her for a long moment. ]

Night, Peggy. I'll see you tomorrow.

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