sixthiterationlogs | a sigh is just a sigh

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a sigh is just a sigh

WHO: Peggy Carter
WHERE: Outside the Inn
WHEN: September 1st
OPEN TO: Steve Rogers
WARNINGS: n/a

It's been an odd few weeks most recently, what with one thing after another. Part of her feels like there are pieces of this puzzle that she's missing, because it seems far too obvious that the flu had somehow been connected to the opening to the other side of the village, not to mention that strange room of samples. It's the latter that's truly weighing on her, tugging at old, raw memories that she doesn't like to think about. Every night, she dreams about standing on the Brooklyn Bridge with what she'd thought was Steve's last vial of blood, but she'd been wrong, hadn't she?

What if they've got more of it here? What if this is some elaborate scheme to get at Erskine's serum and she's been looking past the obvious the whole time? Part of her is also aware that she's using the incident and discovery as a way to ignore the other dreams she's been having. Steve has been here with her for months now and Peggy is no closer to understanding how to open up and tell him how she feels if it isn't already glaringly obvious.

Every time she closes her eyes, she thinks about bloody Steve Rogers and how she'd kept trying to protect him even after he'd gone, like somehow she could save him when he had been frozen so far away from her. Will this just be another retreat of last time, another instance of Peggy being unable to do anything but let fate trod all over her and take away what she'd just figured out she wanted. It's these thoughts that plague the back of her mind as she wanders around the village to try and give herself inspiration and perhaps it's simply her mind directing her there or the universe pointing her that way, but she ends up finding Steve outside, working, and isn't entirely sure whether she's prepared.

Well, now she has to be, she decides, never one to shy away from something potentially difficult.

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Everything about this is difficult.

Despite best intentions, Steve finds himself drawn to her; attracted to what could have been. He won't remember this, will he? He didn't remember the previous time he'd been here, after all, and the knowledge of it makes it bittersweet. Peggy had seen him come and go far too often, and Steve feels guilty for it -- he can't imagine the heartbreak and the hope, the ache that echoes in him, as well.

He's busy this morning, keeping himself occupied with chopping up wood and general chores around the inn. This way, he doesn't give himself time to brood and spiral; and he gets to make himself useful for people who need his help. The backward nature of this village turns out to be strangely comforting, for some unnerving reason -- and he's trying hard not to think about that. It's the technology, the timeframe this is in, even if it's probably manufactured for the amusement of some nameless, faceless individual getting off on playing observer.

Still, he's surprised when Peggy comes around, and he looks up when he sees her, setting aside the ax. He's worked up a good sweat, and he can't help but brighten when she's around. Reflex, he supposes; he doesn't care.

"Hey."

For a moment, she lets herself be selfish and young, allows her eyes to slide over the wealth of strong muscle and the sheen on his skin. For just one moment, Peggy lets herself imagine that there hadn't been a war or the complications of Steve's ridiculous self-sacrificing nobility and they're not thrust here together by outside villains. Then, of course, the ridiculousness of ignoring all of that comes crashing down and she's forced to acknowledge reality.

"Steve," she greets in turn, her lips curving softly upwards as she finds that no matter how much he might torture her in the moments at night and when he isn't around, it's not the same when he is. "How are you?" It feels so awkward and strange to rely on small talk, but better that than diving into the harder conversations she's not sure she's willing to have.

"You know, you might save some of that for the rest of us," she can't help but quip, of his determination to chop wood and help out wherever possible. Even here, even now, he's so stupidly selfless and it would make her furious if she didn't love that so much about him.

She is still young, everything else considered. Steve allows himself a long, lingering look, meeting her eyes when she finally speaks up, and yes, it does feel awkward, doesn't it? It's awkward and new and she makes him feel like she's the only thing that ever really matters.

It's true, she is. Now, and here, he can allow himself to be young and selfish, too. Just for a little while -- at least until the dream ends and they return to where they're meant to be. "Doing pretty good. You?"

He's smiling at that quip; and oh, how he's missed her dry wit, the affection in the curve of her smile, and he sets the axe aside, letting it rest near the fence. "I'm sure you didn't come around just to watch me chop wood."

"I don't know, it is a rather fetching sight," she can't help but tease as she points out the obvious seeing as Peggy is quite sure that any number of women here might be compelled to share how much they like looking at Steve chopping wood. Herself, included, of course, given the high flush in her cheeks and the way she ends up drifting a step closer when he sets the axe aside.

He's right, though. She's not here to make small talk and simply exchange pleasantries, though she also wants to avoid the depths of what she ought to be saying. "I wanted to talk to you about the room with all the specimens," she says, crossing her arms over her chest, her blouse crinkling under the motion. "I wanted to ask if you were feeling any different, if you still had all your strength from Erskine's serum, or whether it's come and gone." Last time, he had still had some of it left, as if an echo.

Part of her, the part that's tired and simply pleased to see him, coaxes her into saying what comes next. "And," she begins awkwardly, "well, I've missed you."

Oh, Peggy.

Steve is quiet for a moment, choosing the words to say. The room with the specimens bothers him greatly, and he is not pleased about all that's unfolded -- but there is just so little to go on that he's been prodding around, finding out just what he can. She steps closer, and he frowns, just a little.

"I don't have it anymore." He confesses at length, because he finds that he cannot quite lie to Peggy, not when she looks at him like that, and what she says next -- because he has missed her, too; so much, all the damn time. He thinks of her funeral, and he thinks of when she smiled at him, discovering him over and over again.

"And I've missed you, too." He smiles, and it's bittersweet, an ache that doesn't go away. "How much did the previous me that was here tell you?"

She's not entirely sure whether that worries her more or less. Are they experimenting with his blood again? If he no longer has the abilities from the serum, have they counter-acted it with the help of the blood? Her brow is furrowed, lined with the thoughts, but when he speaks, she finds her train of thought collides into a stop. Momentarily, she is speechless.

Steve has always been rather damnably good at robbing her of her ability to be coherent. "Between yourself, Sam Wilson, and the others, I've cobbled together a decent picture of the future," she admits, though as to whether she likes that picture, she can't say. "They told me about finding you in the ice," she says. "That you were alive, that I had failed in finding you." That had been a good month of guilt eating her alive. Then, when he'd arrived, she'd learned more and pieced things together. "I know I'm not alive anymore," she says, trying to stubbornly be strong through this. "I know I passed. I know that you and I still haven't had our dance," she adds, lightly, as if it isn't something that weighs on her.

"I know..." Peggy inhales sharply and tells herself that after fighting a war and losing so many people, there is no reason not to say this. "I know that I'm still furious with you for not leaving me your coordinates," she insists, her grief slamming into the angry words, "and I'm angry that the radio cut off before I could tell you that I loved you. That, I love you," she belatedly corrects, for in this case, past is present and likely always will be future, as well.

What can he possibly say to all of that? That she knows she's no longer alive where he's from, the note of guilt in her voice -- it's not her fault that he wasn't found. He's not a big believer in destiny, but perhaps, somehow, it had been for the best (if not necessarily the best for either of them). How Peggy must have been hurting because of that; how their paths had crossed for too short a time.

She is what could be, but if anything, he knows that starting a family and settling down is not his lot in life; he's never been made for that kind of thing. And Peggy? Peggy had a family, she had a husband who loved her, a life she would be happy in.

But he can't look away from what she says, and how she still loves him despite everything, which is what makes him step forward, calloused fingers delicately coming to brush the line of her jaw, a lump thick in his throat at what she tells him. How often he had dreamed of those words, how he wanted to simply take her hand and disappear into the horizon, make a life with her -- and it all had been too late.

"Peggy." He grimaces, the longing pronounced in the way he says her name, how he would spend his life with her if he could. "No," He finally says, strained, because he's struggling between what's right and what's easy, and the line between the two has blurred irrevocably. I love you, too. "We haven't. Think we can get a music player working here?"

Without meaning to allow it, Peggy's eyes drift closed at the touch of Steve's fingers to her jaw, wishing that she weren't so damnably coaxed into melting for this man, but she also tells herself to keep her eyes open so she doesn't miss any of this. She's constantly alert, paranoid, worried that Steve is going to vanish like the last time and she needs to soak up every moment with him that she can or she'll regret it.

When he says, 'no', her whole body tenses and she thinks that this will also be like last time, that he's moved on while she still dreams of what could have been, but then he begins speaking about music and her exhalation unleashes the stress. "At the holidays, last year, I received a record player and one record. I'm sure everyone else is sick of it, given that I hosted a party with it before I moved out of that large house, but I've grown quite fond of the music."

She finds that she's still leaning into the touch of his hand, that she's reaching out to press her palm atop it, warmth to the warmth of his fingers. "We should talk about what we're going to do about that specimen room, though," is her hollow reply, business first. "If they have your blood, we need to get it."

"Do you really think they do?" He frowns, pulling his hand away reluctantly, because she's right, because they need to see what that specimen room holds, and destroy it accordingly. He understands her purpose, how she's driven to business first above all else, because the world is less forgiving to women, and despite that, she's carved out a place for herself in it.

He's missed this. He's missed her, and he doesn't look away, doesn't step out of her personal space because this is where he wants to be. That, and perhaps a dance later, right after they figure out just what it is that lies within the room.

"We find out what it holds, and then if it has anything that belongs to someone else, we destroy it." He says grimly, after a moment. He's thought about it a long time. "Did anything else about it stand out to you?" And why does she suspect that it has his blood?

"I think that given history and how Howard didn't destroy your blood as he was supposed to, there is every chance that somehow there are some lingering aspects of Erskine's experiment," is her calm, icy remark, more angry about Howard in this case than their captors, though at the same time, they haven't escaped her fury, truthfully. It feels right to be here again with Steve and talking strategy, even as much as they want to get back to personal discussions.

Dancing, with the right partner, and all.

"I think it's strange that it's here at all," she says, "and yet, if they're experimenting on us, then your physiology would be the first that I would go to." Flushing, she realises how that could sound and tries not to blush too visibly. "That is, your blood along with your body. They said that the glass can't be destroyed, but until I see with my own eyes, I don't believe that."

So he didn't. Steve is no stranger to providing blood -- he remembers he'd willingly given a few vials in the early days, but there never was a chance to find out what they did with it; only that it hadn't worked. He catches the shadow of anger in her tone, and he feels his curiosity roused, as well as realisation: that the whole blood thing hadn't worked was probably because of Peggy.

She'd looked out for him even when he slept in the ice, and he feels a knot in his throat. Oh, how he owes her. He catches her next words, and finds himself smiling, just a touch, despite the situation. No, they have to focus; despite the fact that he wants to know everything about her, everything about what she's done up until now, he forces himself to concentrate on strategy.

He owes her that much. "What did you do with my blood, before?"

Her face softens from the stubborn press of lips together, so determined to move forward in this single-minded mission in order to bring justice to Steve, even though he's here and can defend himself. The ache of it in her chest is surprising, given that she had thought that she had processed such things and had grown since then. "It was in something Howard called the Blitzkrieg Button. He made me think that it was a weapon that could destroy whole cities, but it wasn't. He used me," she says, the bitterness still there, "to get to it, didn't tell me what was inside. I opened it up and found a vial of your blood."

"Mr. Jarvis secured it for me," she says, so overly fond of the man for that kindness, "I took it to the Brooklyn Bridge to pour it over the edge. I thought, well, I thought you might appreciate that. It was something that I could do for you. Not enough, but something."

She reaches out to slide her fingers over his hand, squeezing his wrist gently. "I'm sure we can find a water source to dump them in here, as well. Shall we?"

She slides her fingers over his wrist, and Steve doesn't hesitate, no matter the fact that his feelings probably needs one hell of a lot of sorting out. He shifts his hand, curls his fingers over hers and squeezes, and he feels like he could stay in this moment forever -- something this simple and poignant, something this bittersweet is something he wants to remember when he returns back to New York.

He frowns when he hears that Howard's manipulated her for it; what had happened to the man, had he really wanted his blood so badly? There are so many questions to ask; he knows how Howard's career had been up until his death -- and he still can't think of him without a twinge of guilt. Perhaps they're just not all perfect, after all. That she still cares so much about him makes a lump rise in his throat, and Steve exhales, his eyes soft when he looks at her.

"You've done so much for me." He murmurs quietly. "I could never thank you enough, Peggy. Now come on, we have a lab to destroy." He starts off towards where the lab is together with her, and decides to take the axe along as well -- who knows, it could come in handy.

The shiver down her spine is most certainly anticipation and it makes Peggy reconsider precisely what on earth she's allowing herself to walk into, but given that he's bringing a weapon and determination to the game, she's not going to steer him away. Her heart beats faster not only for the fact that Steve is here, but that they're going to do something.

"I don't think I did near enough, seeing as your plane wasn't unearthed for too many decades more," Peggy says bluntly, because as much as she had worked to move on, she still believes that the world is a better place with Steve Rogers in it and him not being there through the trials she's been facing isn't unfair to only her, but to everyone.

She follows along, her steps brisk and determined, keeping pace with Steve no matter the difference in their strides because she refuses to be set back. "How are you settling?" she asks, aware that they can't simply charge in silence and this small talk that is masquerading true, genuine curiosity will be acceptable.

"A little easier than I did in 2016." There, the question of settling in is an easier one to answer. A lifetime of regrets as the years passed him by, when Peggy moved on without him; and he realizes that she hasn't, not here, and the selfish part of him is all the more pleased for it.

This cannot last -- it's a dream that will disappear when they return home, back to their time; and Steve knows of the people he has to save and protect, the ones who are depending on him. They walk together like they've done this a hundred thousand times before, and he finds himself mulling over her initial words, the blame she carries, still, and he pauses.

No, he can't pretend he hadn't heard that.

"Peggy. It's not your fault." She knows that, doesn't she? She has to.

"Yes, it is," she replies, and she will never be convinced that this isn't the case. "I allowed Howard to stop searching so often, I convinced myself and him that you were dead because I thought it was the only way that I could move on." Clenching her fingers into a fist at her side, she stares resolutely forward and thinks of Howard in that bloody plane, subjected to their enemy's persuasive words and Peggy thrust right back into talking to someone who nearly went down.

She finds herself walking nearer to Steve, keeping well-clear of the axe, but close enough that her hips brush against his every few strides, like she's checking into reality with the sheer presence of him. "I should have known, in my heart, that you were still out there." It's a wistful and sweet thought, one she knows is silly.

"I've also been told enough to know that what waits for you in the future is greater than me," she admits, as much as it aches to hear it, "but at the same time, I don't very much care what people in the future needed, some nights." Not the nights when she thought of herself as Peggy and not Agent. She pauses too give him a long look, reaching out for his hand to tug and prod him along. "I can feel guilty all that I'd like. It's hardly the only guilt on my conscience, I assure you that you're not taking up all the space."

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a sigh is just a sigh

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