Suddenly appearing in a strange place, she's not entirely sure what to make of the change from checking on the snares to being thrust into the middle of something so otherworldly and so awful that Peggy's defenses rise, like she's back in the war. She sees Liv, comforting Tony, and it's a good thing because warm platitudes have never been her strong suit.
Peggy's had to hear the man she loves go down on a plane and she still recalls the jagged edge of the grief that went along with it. It was as if being stabbed with it, and then someone began to pull it back, inch by inch, and the ache was all the worse the whole time. Grief is an uncomfortable and foreign thing to Peggy. She'd much rather find the person who's done this and fight them to solve her answer, punching her way through the problem.
"Tony," she manages, not sure what she's going to say, but knowing that she needs to give him some form of support. She lets Liv comfort him, on her knees in front of him to lock in her eye contact and ensure that he sees her. "Listen to Liv, darling," she coaxes. "You heard her. Count to five, simply in and out."
Perhaps, if they had more time, it would have been fine, only, then something shifts. Peggy can hear something, and she's forced to take her eyes off of Tony when she hears her own voice, pleading. No, she thinks, setting her jaw firmly and steeling herself, expecting to open her eyes and see her pleading with Steve as he goes down on the Valkyrie. And yet, it's not that. Horror flashes in her eyes and she's not sure she can apologize to Tony, but she knows what's happening now.
She hears it, hears herself say, "I loved him too," and the grief of losing Steve here again hits her. She exhales, shaky, but doesn't open her eyes. She knows this story has a happy ending for Howard, for herself, but it doesn't feel like a victory that had come without being bruised and battered for it.
How lucky for her that her past self gives her the advice she needs, that they must move on. As much as she doesn't want to, she knows it's true. They have to move on, not just in this, but with Tony's. If not, wherever they are, whatever trap this is, it's only going to get worse.
And then, it's over. Mr. Jarvis promises to bring Howard home, the way they couldn't with Steve, and suddenly, it becomes apparent that they're not back in a moment, but rather, in a place.
"Tony," Peggy says, latching onto the immediate problem at hand. She wipes at her cheeks and eyes, pushing away her sadness to fixate on the issue. "Are you all right?"
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Peggy's had to hear the man she loves go down on a plane and she still recalls the jagged edge of the grief that went along with it. It was as if being stabbed with it, and then someone began to pull it back, inch by inch, and the ache was all the worse the whole time. Grief is an uncomfortable and foreign thing to Peggy. She'd much rather find the person who's done this and fight them to solve her answer, punching her way through the problem.
"Tony," she manages, not sure what she's going to say, but knowing that she needs to give him some form of support. She lets Liv comfort him, on her knees in front of him to lock in her eye contact and ensure that he sees her. "Listen to Liv, darling," she coaxes. "You heard her. Count to five, simply in and out."
Perhaps, if they had more time, it would have been fine, only, then something shifts. Peggy can hear something, and she's forced to take her eyes off of Tony when she hears her own voice, pleading. No, she thinks, setting her jaw firmly and steeling herself, expecting to open her eyes and see her pleading with Steve as he goes down on the Valkyrie. And yet, it's not that. Horror flashes in her eyes and she's not sure she can apologize to Tony, but she knows what's happening now.
She still recalls how this moment had been the one where she'd had to let go and finally admit that Steve was dead. She'd nearly lost Howard, nearly had to kill him, and she lets herself feel it, closing her eyes to the video, cheeks stained with her tears as she slumps back on her heels.
She hears it, hears herself say, "I loved him too," and the grief of losing Steve here again hits her. She exhales, shaky, but doesn't open her eyes. She knows this story has a happy ending for Howard, for herself, but it doesn't feel like a victory that had come without being bruised and battered for it.
How lucky for her that her past self gives her the advice she needs, that they must move on. As much as she doesn't want to, she knows it's true. They have to move on, not just in this, but with Tony's. If not, wherever they are, whatever trap this is, it's only going to get worse.
And then, it's over. Mr. Jarvis promises to bring Howard home, the way they couldn't with Steve, and suddenly, it becomes apparent that they're not back in a moment, but rather, in a place.
"Tony," Peggy says, latching onto the immediate problem at hand. She wipes at her cheeks and eyes, pushing away her sadness to fixate on the issue. "Are you all right?"