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

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. ]

Precisely.

[ she answers him with that same brusque tone she always gets when sweeping something under the rug—a bit too shortish, a bit too energetic. a sure sign that she's lost control, if only briefly. ]

We've got your personal bests on record. Naturally. [ peggy puts such energy into slicing up her next pancake. ] It'll be good to compare your current performance to what we already know.

[ good lord. why did she have to say performance? ]

You know, it won't be the same. I had a good few miles to run when you were training me. Running laps 'round a garden won't necessarily produce the same results.

[ but hell, why not. He could use an outlet for his energy as it has spiked up since last night and maybe it could really help the report on his progress.

And so, after breakfast, Steve puts on his training pants and an undershirt and does exactly as they've agreed. He starts running, picking up the speed. It feels nice; it's spacious and though he can't run as fast as he would if he were outside, he can still hear the wind in his ears. ]

[ —after they eat, she tips her dishes into the sink and mutters something about scrubbing them before lunch. he cooked, after all, so it only seems appropriate that she should clean. her fault (she supposes) for insisting that howard send away the house staff before they'd both moved in.

but, eager not to miss a footfall, she leaves the sink for now and goes to fetch a light shawl to tie around her shoulders while they decamp to the back garden. the clipboard's present, of course, but so is an old friend—the very same stopwatch she'd used during the war, during training. it had always been hers to begin with and it had remained hers after the treaties were signed.

remarkably, she manages to time him and enjoy the spectacle. the undershirt gives a view of his arms that she'd always missed and imagined. more than that, there's something lovely about seeing his body at work. but, when he's ready for a break, she's there with the canteen. ]

—How's it feeling?

[ he has a chance to stop thinking when he runs, which is why he likes it so much. That morning, however, he still entertains a few thoughts. What does Peggy think of last night? Of this morning? Does her mind wander like his?

He offers her a grateful smile and after a short sip of water, closes the canteen. ]

Fun, same as it's always been. Is the timing good?

[ fun. somehow, it isn't the answer she'd expected. but neither is it surprising. peg checks the stopwatch—unnecessarily, as she already has the numbers committed to memory, but it gives her somewhere else to look but at his chiselled profile that seems to have barely broken a sweat.

—god, but what would he look like if he had? suddenly, viscerally, she wants to see him a bit more worn. exhausted, ideally. peggy's cheeks puff with a self-conscious sigh and she smacks the clipboard once against her thigh. ]

Good enough. [ her lip catches under her teeth. brief, but telling. ] You're right, though. A better measure would be on a longer course. Perhaps—perhaps tomorrow, we can take a bit of a hike. Like old times.

[ but there'll be no jeep to take them both back. ]

Yeah? Think we can do that?

[ they don't really go out a lot. Steve thinks it might do good for both of them, they've been cooped up inside for weeks; with all that restless energy trapped between him and her. A change of scenery might do the trick, at least for a couple of hours. Inside the house, Steve's mind wanders to her wardrobe, to the pile of silks he's carried to the empty guest room. ]

Why not. It'll be fun.

[ once again, fun. he takes a seat, looks up at the sun for a moment, soaking up a bit of warmth. ]

Tomorrow after breakfast?

[ goddamn but he's so eager. she watches as he plucks this little possibility of togetherness and runs with it—happy as though it's already happened. has it always been this easy to please steve rogers? has it only ever required little bits of water and sunshine and words of encouragement? in this moment—and, it must be stressed, in the most affectionate way possible—peggy likens him to one of the darling plants she keeps in her flat back in new york. the ones she's left, for now, in angie's competent care.

he sits. she stays standing—but reaches for the canteen, drinking from the same source as him. ]

It's a date.

[ she tests these waters. ]

[ it's a date, she says and steve thinks it feels right. He never made it to their last date. Scheduling one for tomorrow, when neither of them is going anywhere - it's much safer. ]

'ts a date.

[ with a hike in store, they won't be dressed for a traditional one but Steve figures they've never been wholly traditional, anyway. No reason to start now. He lets the moment linger a bit before pointing to her clipboard. ]

Got some clear paper in that thing?

[ clear paper. she can handily guess why he's asking for it—beyond a desire to deprive her of her working medium, she supposes—and so flips through her clipboard with a considering hum.

she removes four sheets, folds them in half, and then half again before carefully tucking the square into the waist of her pencil skirt. hers—and hers alone. otherwise, she passes an emptied pad down to steve, a sharpened pencil tucked into the clip. ]

It's lined.

[ she warns him. ]

I've worked with less.

[ he has a few notepads upstairs but he feels no great desire to get up and retrieve them. One, in particular, is stashed under the mattress in his bedroom, one filled with sketches upon sketches of a familiar profile, nose and eyes, fingers and hips.

It's really all about finding something to keep his hands occupied with, instead of reaching for her. He shifts and makes room for her to sit, starting to sketch the outlines of one of Stark's roses. ]

[ just like the prior evening, there's nothing especially graceful about taking a seat on the ground while wearing a tailored, hip-hugging skirt. she kicks off her shoes and assumes a position similar to that of last night, with her legs stretched ahead and her ankles crossed.

this time, however, she's near enough that she can lean in and watch each pencil stroke. ]

I will have to confiscate the paper. Naturally. Once you're done.

[ she's teasing. isn't she? surely she must. surely, she's playing some joke while communicating that she'd like to keep his sketch for herself. ]

Can't have you taking it back to your room and shading it all in with pencil to find old impressions.

If I had known you'd be taking it, I would have gotten clean paper.

[ he remarks as he works, eyes leaving the page and meeting hers for a moment before returning to his roses. His lines are careful, the knowledge that she might be taking it with her makes him think before the pencil touches paper. Very soon, thumbs are stained gray but he doesn't seem to mind. ]

D'you even like roses?

[ asking for a friend. ]

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