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

[ 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. ]

[ she supplies him with a whole lot. Steve listens, captivated. So Peggy likes oranges and she likes fries, though she calls them chips, must be English semantics. She likes spring, that one he finds surprising, he's always taken her for an autumn person. She's played field hockey, of all things! ]

Is there a color you like?

[ in her meagre defence, a british spring feels different to an american on. and a british autumn all the more so when compared to its counterpart. spring is lambing season, and it's hard not to be swept up in so much new life. new promise. opportunities galore.

this question feels a touch more trappish, she realizes, and peggy wonders how best she might hedge. she still remembers him last night, explaining his reasons for leaving what he left. the colours, he thought, were nicer than the others. ]

I like all sorts of colours. [ she prevaricates. ] Jewel tones, especially.

[ like the rich ruby red of the silk she's wearing closest to her skin. ]

[ he could have guessed. It's nice, having some good guesses. It changes things. For example, tomorrow, he could squeeze oranges as well as making her tea. He thinks about the previous night, too; wonders if he's picked things she would have picked for herself.

or if she'd even pick such things. It's a sinful thought, so early in the morning. ]

See - it's nice. We've never gotten a chance to have a conversation like this one.

[ during the war. before he came back to her life. ]

[ she almost wants to tell him that this isn't a conversation—a sequence of questions doesn't amount to conversing; however, had they been merely conversing, she would have dodged nearly every prompt to talk about herself. conversations are easier to micromanage than a list of questions, as it turns out.

but she doesn't want to let him know how far he's succeeded. so! ]

It's not all that bad. [ peg admits. ] What about you—have you got a favourite colour?

Blue.

[ that one's easy, easy as pie. ]

My ma liked it. And it Bucky's favorite color. Blue reminds me of them. My ma had a nice blue dress she'd wear to church on Sunday and Buck had that blue scarf his ma knitted for him when we were kids.

[ blue reminds him of the people he loved and lost, in a sweet, sentimental way. ]

[ she's seized by the sudden instinct to pick something blue tomorrow. ludicrous, really, given the scene she'd made one day prior. but now she's already thinking about which shade he might like best.

—and then realizes that whatever he's left behind are shades he might like best. or, at the very least, he might think suit her. ]

I don't know if I could endure a life where colours carried so much meaning. [ her eyes unfocus; she looks back down at the pancake. ] Some associations are just too—painful.

[ it had taken her ages to look at the stars and stripes and now feel some sort of way. ]

It reminds me of nice times. I liked going to church with my ma every Sunday. And 'round the neighborhood everyone thought Bucky was tough but they didn't know he always carried 'round a scarf his ma made for him.

[ it's painful, yes, but it's also comforting, in a bittersweet fashion. ]

I didn't go back to church, though. Some things work, others are - like you said.

[ too painful. but he hates making her sad. ]

It's a good thing Stark has a big garden. After all this food, I could run a few laps.

[ aha, now here's something she can sink her teeth into. peggy polishes off her plate of pancakes and takes another two just for good measure. she mightn't have steve's appetite, but she's got an appetite all the same. ]

—I wouldn't mind watching you run.

[ she tells him, listens to it back in her head, and quickly adds: ] For...science.

[ although entirely true, it's only mostly convincing. ]

[ he looks up from the plate, mouth full and then she corrects herself. for science. Well, he'll take that and make it work. ]

Yeah? I figured you already know what I'm capable of. Half of the things I know about hand to hand combat I've learned from you.

[ she's trained him, after all. ]

I guess that was before the ice, though.

[ which explains why she'd need to watch him run, for science. ]

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