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

[ 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.

—Good night.

[ she rises to her feet, a second too late, and he's already beyond her. arms replete with bras and knickers and every last inch of him too damn noble to be true. peggy grips the bed post and feels herself sort of sink against the wood. ]

And that's a yes, by the way. On pancakes.

[ but once he's gone she collapses into bed with a great, heavy exhale. there'll be no sleeping tonight. not with her mind racing like it is. ]

[ steve throws the items in one of the guest rooms. He can't help it, however - out of curiosity, he touches the fabric of one of the nightgowns. The silk is smooth and cool. He thinks of Peggy, slipping it on, slipping it off and swears under his breath before going back to his own room.

He doesn't sleep, either. He takes a thorough shower before heading downstairs, moving the kettle to the stove as well as a frying pan. She did say she'd like pancakes. ]

[ morning comes. and peggy feels half-haunted by their incomplete conversation from the night before. rather than meet the day with her characteristic expediency and alacrity, she mills idle around the bedroom—not quite capable of committing to any choices until, at long last, she returns to the wardrobe and fingers the fine silk on one particularly rich-coloured set of lingerie. it's wine-dark, reddish, and edged with black lace. its cups are full and supportive; its garter belt is a wide, scalloped band that only allows the knickers beneath to just peep through.

when steve had spoken of colours, last night, this one the one that leapt out at her. so she pulls it on, piece by piece, and admires her silhouette in the mirror. damn, but it does look good. it fits her like a glove. like it was made for her measurements. of course, it's entirely possible that it was.

otherwise, she dresses as she has every other morning in the mansion. office smart, this time with a long-sleeved blouse and a tight, hip-hugging skirt. the foundation beneath only accentuates her figure—and she's left wondering whether or not steve will notice.

she's also left wondering whether she wants him to notice.

but by the time the batter hits the pan, peggy breezes into the kitchen—clipboard cradled in one arm—and helps herself to a cuppa. ]

Sun's out, today.

[ a mild, safe comment. she waits for his acknowledgement and takes a long sip of tea. ]

[ the clipboard is back. Steve finds himself already missing last night's easier approach. With that thing in place, she mostly reminds him of long days of trying to make it through drills, long jogs and push-ups. Only the military clothes are replaced with her nicer, civilian ones. Something's different, though he can't seem to pin-point exactly what, something her posture, perhaps? he eyes her for a moment before nodding at her observation. ]

Yeah. Nice day outside. I thought about sitting in the garden after breakfast.

[ he almost forgets to flip the pancakes, almost.

Only it's a bit weird, knowing something's different and not being able to spot the difference. He points to a tea cup on the counter. ]

Food should be ready in a minute.

[ she remains on her feet, balancing her teacup on her palm. it's warm and welcoming—a lot like his company, even with the clipboard's presence. although she has set it aside, briefly, in order to enjoy the morning meal. ]

Excellent. [ her tone is even, measured. ] I'm starving.

[ and she thinks a little bit about whether she might want to sit in the garden with him. it could be nice. or, she realizes, it could be a little soon after last night's slight awkwardness. perhaps he wants time to himself. ]

That's good. I made a lot.

[ his appetite has returned to its increased state in the last few days. which means that he can go through two batches of pancakes. He's made three of them. He puts a bit of butter next to each one and passes her a plate with a small smile.

He wants to ask her if she's gotten any sleep at all but decides against it. ]

There's a pretty big library. I thought of getting another book.

[ only once the plate is set on the table does peggy ease into a chair, still holding onto her teacup. a soft curl of steam rises off the pancakes, and she wants very much to dive straight in. she delays just long enough to ask a question—]

Got any particular titles in mind?

[ she enjoys reading, certainly, but not half so voraciously as steve does. quite possibly because she's come to resent the sheet number of reports that must be read for her work. but she still likes to tuck into bed with a guiltyish pulp novel whenever the opportunity arises. ]

Not really. I read just about everythin'. Got a recommendation?

[ the local library in brooklyn didn't have much but steve loved it all. there was poetry and some classic novels, some study books and a bit of religious scripture. With some time in bed due to one illness or another, he had gladly devoured them all. ]

I'll be happy to try. It's nice, seein' some new books. Before I enlisted, the old man down at the library let me keep a few about army tactics and history.

I only just finished They Do It With Mirrors—if you don't mind my slightly dog-eared copy.

[ rather than raid howard's stash (although, lord, the man does have some choice bodice-rippers) peggy had brought her own small selection of pulpy detective novels. and she doesn't much mind sharing, if it turns out steve's half-interested in the same content.

she forgoes a knife and instead uses her fork to cut a v-wedge into a pancake. ]

I won't say whether it's good or not. Even that much, I think, might spoil the end.

I don't mind dog-ears.

[ it would remind him a bit of the library books and that's always nice, a fond memory. He takes a bite of food and thinks about her words and their implications - mystery. It shouldn't surprise him that Peggy likes mystery novels. ]

Sounds interesting. I'll give it a shot.

[ if only to see what kind of a book impressed her. ]

Have you read any other Agatha Christies?

[ she inquires, spearing a bite of pancake and looking thoughtful as she chews. the clipboard sits face down, at her elbow, and seemingly abandoned. surely, the ssr takes no real interest in what steve reads (or doesn't read) and this question is entirely personal.

on the other hand, it's not as if peggy needs the pen-and-paper at hand. she might not have steve's photographic memory, but she's sharp enough to recall answers later and record them in solitude. ]

I've read Death on the Nile, a couple of years back.

[ it was good, he's enjoyed it, even. It might be nice to start another one, especially if it's one that peggy has enjoyed. It would almost like sharing an experience with her. ]

I liked it. I'll try that one, then.

[ he watches her for a moment. ]

D'you think the banana works? for the pancake?

[ she shoves another hearty bite into her mouth—clearly approving, clearly enjoying. and yet he asks her all the same. and peggy, once she swallows this mouthful, pauses to lean her elbow on the table. ]

You're all twenty questions, this morning. [ a half-smile. ] Is it some form of payback? Revenge, perhaps?

[ it's not a serious question. or, rather, not one with any ill intent or offense. ]

Not really.

[ though he's willing to admit that he has been asking her many questions. Last tonight, this morning. He looks at his plate and then up at her again. ]

It's just nice. Gettin' to ask you things. For a while, it didn't seem like we could have a talk like that and I have things I want to know.

[ hell, he has so many. endless questions he wants to ask her. ]

[ alright, she'll bite.

and more than just the pancakes. ]

Things like what?

[ peggy is no open book, of course, but she can only think of so many things she wouldn't tell steve if he asked her outright. no, most of her secrets are kept with a sense of convenience. or maybe because she's learned not to talk about herself too much or too often. ]

Little things.

[ nothing too dramatic, or so he thinks. He spends a moment eating quietly before deciding he'll try his luck. ]

What other food do you like, besides pancakes? D'you like the warm weather or d'you like winter better? do you like sports? plays? pictures?

[ peggy laughs. mostly, because there are just so damned many avenues crammed into such a single breath. it somehow hadn't occurred to her that steve might even be half as curious about her as she tends to be about him. all her effort had been spent on asking him questions—professional and personal—that she'd neglected his own natural brightness. inquisitiveness. ]

I like marmite on toast. Fresh oranges. Chips—the proper kind, I mean, fired potatoes. [ a waggle of her hand. ] And I think the best weather is spring weather. I played field hockey at school and...I don't much care to sit so close to strangers. If I can help it.

[ that was a lot of words all at once. more than she usually speaks, really, and so she washes it all down with a sip of tea. ]

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