nysalogs | semi-closed.

[ The trip back to Olympia is a little more difficult than Steve expects, but he's got zero plans on sticking around Wyver any longer than he has to. It takes some finagling, and maybe one unconscious guardsman, but eventually he manages to smuggle himself onto a leaving cargo vehicle headed to Olympia.

The actual admittance through the gate nearly gets him into trouble but by some miracle - maybe an Olympian guard recognizing him for who he is, or (more likely) some deity having mercy on him - Steve makes it into the city in the wee hours of the morning. He looks a little worse for wear, Cap costume dirty and blood-soaked, but at least he's still in one piece.

He'd seen a lot. He'd learned a fair amount. He got to see some of his friends who'd moved to Wyver, and he's made a few new allies along the way.

Still, home has never felt quite as much like home until now.

The quiet street is almost too peaceful, as though the riots had been something of a bad dream - but he can still see the effects of the mayhem on the broken brickwork and the trampled plants in the neighbours' gardens. Some of the curtains in nearby houses are torn, their windows shattered; some of the houses appear to lie empty of occupants while the repairs are arranged.

The little house he shares with Peggy remains mostly untouched. There's a little bit of scuffed up stonework and the small patch of grass in the front looks more brown than green now, but at least everything still stands. At this point, it's more than he can ask for.

He unlocks the door and pushes it open, expecting Peggy to be asleep. He's going for a quiet sneak-in with every intention on hanging up his shield and flopping onto the couch so as not to disturb her.

As always, things don't exactly go according to plan. ]

[ No, she isn't asleep. She'd slept for nearly twelve hours straight some days ago out of sheer exhaustion but she hasn't allowed herself the same luxury since — there's work to be done, she might argue. And maybe that's the better answer. But the truth is, at this early hour, there is no work: she's just in too much pain to rest too deeply. That, and she's trying her level best not to worry herself sick over Steve's absence. He's been away for longer stints during the war and in often equally dangerous territory, but he almost always had the Commandos with him and she almost always held onto the intel that drove that mission forward.

Here? None of their boys. And the intel she has is limited to Olympian circles. She hasn't got nearly enough on Wyver and the rational part of her knows that nothing is better than the firsthand account of someone she trusts so Steve travelling south and returning with news would be a boon to them both. But God, even during the war she never fancied herself the sort of woman who'd wait at home for the soldier to return from the front. And yet, here she is.

When Steve walks through their door, Peggy is just stepping out of their bedroom to see about some breakfast. She pauses in the doorway, clad in her nightgown and a robe with her hair unpinned and uncurled, and her heart beats twice as fast and so damn hard, she thinks he could probably hear her from across the room. ]

Steve.

[ His name is a breath more than anything else. He looks like a mess and she knows she doesn't look any better — the ugly bruise on her cheekbone is healing into a mottled blue-green-yellow, her face and neck (and arms, hands) are covered in cuts, her knuckles look like she's gone rounds with a brick wall. She can't even breathe or move without being in mild agony but she sure as hell crosses quickly to meet him in the centre of their small living room, cupping his dirty face with her wrecked hands, studying him, checking over for injuries.

And then her voice sharpens and she releases him, jaw tight. ]

You were gone the better part of a week and you didn't think to tell me you were on your way back?

Peggy.

[ The moment Steve sees Peggy come out of the bedroom, he's awash with relief. The adrenaline he'd been running on gives in to exhaustion so that the only thing keep him on his feet right now is her hands on his face. ]

I'm sorry. I wanted to get back here as quickly as I could. [ Time was of the essence, and a lit screen in the darkness of a cargo truck seemed suspicious. It's still a weak excuse as it is, though, and he knows it.

Still. While she studies him, Steve takes the time to study her in return. He lifts a hand to thumb the bruise on her cheek with the barest of touches. He moves to touch the line of her jaw and her neck where there are more cuts and more bruises. There's a tiredness in her eyes that's very likely reflected in his own.

But god. He's glad to be back. He's glad that she's here. ] You look like you've been taking on the entire world.

With you in the south, someone had to.

[ It's an easy quip to make. It could almost sound like a reprimand except that her lips twitch in the barest trace of a smile; because she isn't angry, not really. It's a frustration that burns bright and fast and gives way to relief — so she accepts his explanation and knows better than to lecture him on never doing that again. She's not that sort of woman. They're not that sort of couple. He knows what she's capable of and vice versa, there's no room for holding the other back.

Peggy leans into his palm, warm and calloused and familiar, and her eyes flutter shut with a silent exhale. ]

I'm all right. [ She savours that point of contact before opening her eyes again to look at him. ] I'm glad you are, too. The things I heard about what was happening in Wyver...

[ Hearing the words, I'm all right, feels like a balm. Almost like they're words imbued with a kind of magic. His heart feels lighter but it's pounding too.

He's missed her.

Steve exhales and his shoulders relax just a fraction, enough anyway that he forgets all sense of propriety and leans in to kiss her. It's not a rough kiss by any means, but it's heartfelt. ]

[ As is always the case, kissing Steve Rogers brings the world to a halt for a few glorious moments. Whatever troubles are at their door, they go quiet, and she leans up and into the kiss like she's been starved for it. It's a lot of things, of course — the worry, the exhaustion, the relief. His hand is already on her cheek and her own rests against his chest and curls against the tarnished star at the centre of it; that ridiculous uniform that marks him as a target in this foreign world along with his shield.

But it's Steve, and she loves the man more than the symbol — and right now she doesn't give a damn about duty. She wants him and the reassurance that he's here, home, safe with her. The kiss may have started sweet but she deepens it now, her free arm wrapping around his waist. ]

[ It's all the encouragement Steve needs anyway, and after so many days and nights away from here, away from Olympia, away from Peggy most of all - it's goddamned good to be back here. It is like coming home, even though the place itself couldn't be further away from the familiarities of Earth. Because it's Peggy that Steve comes home to.

He presses into her, hands moving to wrap around her too, pull her in a little closer while his mouth never leaves hers. There's a part of him that remembers the cuts and bruises on her skin, but he won't pull away until she tells him to. ]

[ She's certainly not about to ask him to stop, that's the last thing on her mind. She melts into his kiss, the warmth of him, swaying easily into his embrace. But despite the care in how he's holding her, the way he wraps around her and draws her close is suddenly too much — her battered ribs protest with an angry flash of pain and she breaks the kiss with a gasp (which doesn't help either, bloody hell).

Peggy squeezes her eyes shut against the vicious throbbing in her side and almost shakes her head to either brush off the pain or his worry before it starts, her hand drifting up from his chest to cradle his face, a reassurance. She leans in again to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, but it's restrained, distracted. ]

Peggy -

[ The moment's passed, and in its stead comes the worry and concern. He can see the way she holds herself, the way she tries to pass the pain off like it's nothing, but he's seen plenty of battle scrapes - and he's experienced his fair share, too. (That's the thing about extra durable skin: you can take more of it, but god does it ever hurt.) ]

Hey. [ He reaches out to take her hand in his, holding it. His voice is gentle. ] I'm sorry. [ Not for kissing her, no, but for causing her any kind of pain in the process. ] You should be in bed.

[ Damn. ]

I'm fine — [ It comes out higher than her usual fare, she clears her throat and her voice steadies. ] Fine. I just need a moment.

[ She doesn't want to lie back in that blasted bed. She's been off her feet enough, managed heading back out to survey the damage in the city, and it's not too terrible so long as she's careful. But apparently being caught up in Steve's arms is just a little too much activity first thing in the morning and more's the bloody pity.

She draws in a slow, careful breath, fingers tangling with his hand and bringing it to her lips to kiss as she exhales. The pain abates, a slow burn. ]

Right as rain.

[ Steve lightly rubs her arm with his free hand. There may be an expression of disbelief in his face if she looks close enough, but mostly he watches her with a dumb adoring look on his face. Even in her most stubborn moments, she's incredible.

Peggy might not want to lie back in their bed, but Steve's ready to have a very long, very comfortable sleep. Even supersoldiers need their rest.

Of course he's not going anywhere for the moment. ]

All right. [ If she's fine, she's fine ... ] Tell me what happened here while I was in Wyver.

[ AKA how did you get so banged up, Peggy Carter? ]

More of the same.

[ She lets his touch ground her; it's a point to focus on, to draw her attention to him and the conversation at hand rather than how much she feels like one massive bruise. Her own fault, really — not that she was careless, but between the mist affecting both her and the people she fought with, the way she threw herself into all of it like it was the war all over again... Old habits.

Or maybe she missed being in the thick of it, a little. She'd told Dum Dum back in '46 that she'd had enough of the front, but maybe that wasn't entirely true. ]

Looting both in the streets and at the Palace — which some saw fit to set ablaze. Claire set up an aid station which you were here for, but she's still running that as far as I'm aware. [ She shoots him a look. ] And because I know you'll ask: yes, I've been seen to. Not by her, she's busy enough as it is, but John came by. Now let's get you cleaned up and to bed.

[ She wants to ask about Wyver. Jim Kirk had told her a little and none of it was reassuring. But that can wait. ]

[ Well, it's not the most detailed explanation of what happened, but it sounds about right. He'd been in Olympia for a good deal of the rioting and looting; he was sent to the palace for a time to keep looters from exiting with the empress' effects in hand, and to put out any fires - literally.

He hadn't seen Claire since he left for Wyver a week-and-a-bit ago, but he remembers that they'd left each other on ... not the best of terms. He should rectify that. He'll head down to the aid station tomorrow and see that she's all right.

Peggy prompts him to move, allowing a glance down at the state of his uniform and how grimy he feels in general. ]

John's all right? [ he asks, on his way to the bathroom. He starts to unclasp his shield holster before pulling off his jacket. ]

As far as I'm aware.

[ She follows him, if only to help him out of his uniform. A few months ago, there may have been some residual modesty about the whole thing, that perhaps it was too intimate for what they were in the beginnings of. But they share a bed, they've exchanged heated kisses in the dark with her evening gown rumpled by his hands; this, in the grand scheme of things, is minor.

She still moves with care, but as they stand in the doorway of their bathroom and let the shower run hot, she works on peeling back the tough leather, more body armour than what he wore in the forties. It's caked with grime and what she surmises to be dried blood. Christ. ]

I hope that isn't yours, [ she mutters lowly as pieces are set aside, baring his skin to her. Peggy skims a hand over his torso, checking for injuries. ] Tell me what happened.

[ Steve shrugs out of the armour as Peggy helps him to remove the pieces, one by one, but he pauses when she skims her hand over his skin. He feels the edges of him prickle with something like want but neither of them are in a fit state for anything, and he's dirty and grimy, besides.

He covers her hand with his, lets it lie flat over his torso. ]

Nothing unsurprising. [ It's an unhelpful answer, of course. ] Wyver is in just about as much chaos as here. I thought I'd find some answers but I'm not really sure I know any more than I did before going.

[ One day, they'll find just the right time for themselves. It isn't now but she knows that doesn't mean anything for them — they're here and have each other. That's more than enough. ]

Then I suppose it's my turn to cultivate some contacts in the south. [ It's softly said and absent-minded. A taste of the spy she is without going into detail of how much she's already done. ] But if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk business just now. You must be exhausted.

You're right. Business can wait till the morning.

[ He's curious about these contacts of hers though. He never asks her what it is she does, or who with, but that doesn't mean he isn't curious.

Right now, however, he just wants to wash all this grime off of him and crawl into bed, holding Peggy until he falls asleep.

Right now that sounds like the most blissful idea. ]

[ After a shower, a decent night's sleep and the strongest cup of black coffee known to mankind, Steve heads out the next morning with every intention on visiting Claire Fraser at the Sanctuary. He's hoping to check in on her and maybe offer up an apology for the brutish way he'd acted during the riots that first day. He doesn't remember everything that happened and he doesn't remember everything he'd said, but he remembers the uncharacteristic anger, the frustration that clouded much of his judgment.

Whatever had happened, whatever that was, Steve is (thankfully) feeling a lot more like himself again. There's still a hell of a lot to do in the clean-up, and there's a lot to prepare for, but he could do with a couple days to take a breather and check on his friends.

He's got a second cup of coffee for Claire in-hand, a kind of peace offering. Unfortunately, it isn't Claire he sees when he enters the Sanctuary grounds - but an old ... colleague, instead.

And here Steve naively hoped he could avoid seeing him for an indefinite amount of time. Either way, this isn't how he imagined spending his morning. ]

[There weren't a lot of people willing to guard the clinic for long hours, and certainly fewer who wanted to stand around cleaning instruments, restocking cloth, gauze and whatever alcohol that they could find. Hell, at one point, he had even managed to go in search of wood to use for a fire, but what could a guy really do? He hated being bored and there was no way he was taking sides in this mess.

Rumlow spent most of his time at the clinic, except for those moments he stepped aside for a meal, a shower and a change of clothing. He was used to putting in long hours, so this didn't bother him. He was helping people, even if it was just pulling slivers, suturing wounds and pinning some poor soul down for a bone to be reset.

Today there was a little boy no older than eight, lost from parents and covered in dirt and blood. He sat down across from the boy who looked frightened and miserable. What did he know about kids? Enough.]

Alright champ, show me your fists, okay? [He balled his hands up in an act of show 'n tell and then raised them above his head, punching towards the roof.] You gotta show me these skills of yours, so I know exactly why I need to be impressed. [Reluctantly, the boy imitated him, and in that moment, he dropped his hands to lift the kid's shirt to investigate the state of bruising and scrapes.

He issued a whistle of being impressed.] Wow, look at these! I'd hate to see the other guy. You showed him the ropes, did you? [Clearly not understanding the reference, the boy nodded slowly.] Beating up the bad guys all by yourself. Sly like a little fox. Okay, you're going to be sore but the best thing you need is something warm to eat and some sleep.

[He tugged the kid's shirt down again and held up his open hands.] Lay a good punch on me right here. [A shy smile and then a punch to his open palms. He issued a little yelp and withdrew his hands, rubbing them together.] You, my little fighter, are going to be a hero again real soon. [A broader smile this time.] Okay, off you go with that nice lady, and she'll get you fed.

[He ushered the little boy away with a ruffle to oily hair and sat back to crack his spine. He turned his attention to see who needed assistance next and instead found his gaze find Steve Rogers holding two cups of coffee, and he raised his eyebrows.]

Howdy, Cap. [Like there wasn't unspoken anger buried in him. Like the scars around his eyes didn't mean he knew exactly who had dropped the Triskelion on his head.]

[ The scene is ... well, it's something. Before the HYDRA take-over, and before a hell of a lot of things, honestly, Steve would have been ... endeared by the scene. Convinced by it, even.

But now - well, all he can think is, I wonder what that bastard's got up his sleeve and This is all an act - but for what purpose? and he can already feel the memories of betrayal and anger building up within him.

He won't cause a scene here, he's decided. He's caused enough trouble with Claire as it is.

The grip on his coffees does tighten but he manages to find his calm. ]

Rumlow. [ Steve's voice is even. ] That's still your name, right?

[ He doesn't see the creepy mask anyway. ]

[It was a shame that such a previously good relationship had to sour the way that it had; he had honestly liked Steve. The guy was better than those old dusty comics he had read as a kid, and they had worked well together.

He hadn't agreed with the order to kick the shit out of Steve, but it had been an order from on high. He was a soldier first, and no one in HYDRA said 'no' to Pierce. It hadn't been personal, and he hadn't decided if anything was personal right now. It was still startling to realize all that he had lost.

He rose from where he had been sitting, dusting his hands on the back of his pants casually. He had the same old swagger as he approached slow and easy, like he expected Steve to throw coffee in his face at any moment.

His smirk was lopsided, full of previous confidence.]

You really want me to answer that question? The spy game does require codenames and the like after all. [He gestured at the coffee.] That's sweet, you shouldn't have. Brings us right back to how we started, doesn't it?

[ Steve resists the temptation to spitefully (and childishly) tell him that this coffee isn't for him - or, like the other man expects, to chuck it in his face. He keeps his feet rooted to the spot, hands still holding the cups with no intentions on passing one along. ]

What are you doing here?

[ Steve asks instead.

Talking about the present is a better distraction to picking out memories from the past, memories that will undoubtedly make Steve want to speak with his fists - and Claire doesn't need that. ]

[There was no expectation that Steve would actually give him the coffee, as it was clearly intended for someone else. He was interested on who this somebody was, as that alone would give him an idea of who Steve was currently allied with. All the same, appearances were important when in public.]

Here in Olympia or here in the clinic? To the first, I woke up out of a space pod and ushered to a city. To the second, I'm helping and this seemed like a good place to do that. Not all heroes have to punch things. [Remember Alexander Pierce? He resorted to open hand slaps and gun violence. No punching generally necessary from him.]

Did you single-handedly stop all the rioters, put down enemy factions and generally save the day? [He raised an eyebrow.] Nice beard, by the way. That your incognito look?

[ Oh, there are so many things Steve could say and do if he had total freedom. And, possibly, wasn't occupied with two cups of coffee in his hands.

But he remembers the way he'd acted only a couple of weeks ago, and he doesn't want to let his temper get the best of him again, so he swallows his anger and shakes his head. ]

Didn't take you for much of a helper. [ Especially when it came to ruffling little kids' hair, and instilling them with a kind of hope and confidence in themselves.

He shrugs, ignoring the comment about his beard, which has grown in quite nicely over the course of the last few months thankyouverymuch. ] Just doing my part in keeping the peace and protecting innocent people from harm. If that means stopping rioters and putting down enemy factions, then sure. We can call it saving the day.

[ He didn't, though. Save the day, that is. This is bigger than him; its bigger than any of them. ]

Can you really say you knew me? It could have been all smoke and mirrors. Maybe I'm the best helper that ever helped in a helpful place like this.

[It hadn't been smoke and mirrors for all of it. Steve was one of those men who was easy to like, especially to a group of hardened men and women like STRIKE. He was cool, calm, efficient and more interestingly, he had been distant at first. Like getting close might get the guy burned. Seventy years in the ice would do that, he expected.

Rumlow had put in considerable effort to work his way closer to Steve. At first, it had been an act, but Steve was... a good guy, the kind of guy a kid might have spent time hiding under their beds reading worn out comics smarting from the tanning to their ass. Hoping for something better. Steve Rogers had been hope, but reality always set in and there was only room for action.

He grinned, setting his hands on his hips all casual.]

You know, I'd believe that. You still walk around like the world will turn under your heel, and the best thing you could do it make the world a safer place. [A pause.] I feel the swell of patriotism just standing in your proximity; I feel like I should salute.

Well, don't do it on my account.

[ Steve shakes his head.

Honestly, it'd probably be better not to show any kind of patriotism at all, certainly not in his presence and not in the presence of any Olympian or Wyver locals. The refugees only made matters worse during the riots, embedding doubt and fear into in an ages-old feud between the two cities. Not that he'd speak of it to Rumlow.

It's hard enough to stick around in the guy's presence. There's something unsettling about his congeniality, that easy-going attitude, the banter. Steve had been fooled by it once, back when STRIKE and SHIELD were allies; he has no intentions in allowing himself to get sucked into it again.

He studies the other man.

What are you up to, Rumlow? ]

I take it you know Claire.

Well, you aren't my commanding officer anymore, so I'll hold myself together.

[He could tell that Steve wanted nothing polite to do with him, that he would always be the enemy regardless of the history that they had. It had been a very notion that he had struggled with when he was a younger man. What would he do if the world knew what he had become?

Steve's complete disbelief in him wasn't unexpected, but it smarted. He hadn't wanted it to be personal; it was just orders way back there. He had a job to do, just as Steve had the job to stop them.

He shrugged at the question; in that way, he had nothing to hide.]

She's barked at me a few times, so I guess that means I know her. I guard the place and help where I can. Want to pitch in?

Edited 2018-03-18 05:53 (UTC)

Appreciate that.

[ Said flatly.

Yeah. It's hard not to take things a little personally when you and your guys gang up on a man in a tiny tin-box of a space, with all intents and purposes to subdue him like an animal. Those magnetic cuffs ... those electric tasers ...

And that's just the tip of that old murdery iceberg.

Steve remains expressionless, just standing there with his two cups of coffee. It worries him that Claire's got any kind of dealings with Rumlow, and he'll warn her about him but that's the best he can do on that front. Everything else after that ... well, the decision would be up to her. He knows better than to demand something of her the way he knows better than to demand anything of Peggy. ]

Maybe another time. [ It's still hard to believe Rumlow is here to help anyone, but he's not here to start a fight. ] Is she in now?

I knew you would. You seem to resent taking my command position away from me, but you know, I don't? You were good to work with, even if the opposite isn't true.

[He'd call it, since Steve was giving off 'I hate you' vibes all over the place, and it was one of the big reasons that he moved in as he did. There was only one way that he dealt with people that entered his space all high and mighty to him and that was to push back in their space.

He had done it as a kid; he had done it as a teenager; he had done it as an adult. It all worked out in the end. The other person always left sooner than later.

He gestured to the back of the clinic where most of the most important supplies were being housed. There was no point hiding the information.]

She's back there sorting out what supplies we're going to need; I'll make a run. [He watched Steve and grinned.] Don't slander my name too much to her, okay? If Winter gets a second chance, don't see why I can't either.

[ Steve hums a noncommittal sound, but let's be real here - what Rumlow's just said is exactly how he feels. It's not quite an 'I hate you' vibe so much as a 'Thanks for betraying me and the entire country, you jackass - I'm not going to forgive you for that' kind of vibe ... which, in retrospect probably feels like a very indistinguishable vibe.

So, okay. ]

Winter.

[ Steve snorts. ]

I've known him all my life. I know the kind of guy he is. But you? You, I don't know.

[ Don't worry, though. Much as he'd like to, he won't go 'slandering' him to Claire. A warning, sure, but the rest he leaves up to her. ]

[Rumlow knew that the Winter Soldier was likely more dangerous territory than even the subject of HYDRA. The whole best friends and failing to go searching for a body thing was likely to sting. He knew how that went; he hated leaving the death behind, even if they always went back for them eventually.

He raised his eyebrows at Steve and then smiled knowingly.]

Do you really? [Guess that's why Winter was serving drinks alone.] You never minded the facets of my personality I did show. We were a good team.

[Now he was just picking, seeing what Steve would do. He was a man who needled, even if it was usually to be told what the problem was from his team. He'd done it to Steve a few times with limited success.]

[ Yeah, sure. Fair enough. When they had worked together, Rogers and Rumlow did make a good team.

But that was before he revealed his intentions, followed the orders of a guy who had every intention to bring SHIELD down and turn the world into something cruel and ugly.

His tone is even when he replies. ]

Turns out, it's the ones you didn't show that I should've paid more attention to.

[Rumlow was well aware of the out come of Insight. He had a personal hand in sending the helicarriers up, and he would have done the exact same thing if he had to do it over again. He had believed in the potency of Insight, believed that it would be righting more wrongs than it was committing.

They had been informed on the second pass around, their names would be removed from Insight and they would be expected to take their own bullets. He had made peace with that, had already planned where he would be when Insight wiped his very existence off the map.]

I gave you no reason to suspect there was anything under the surface. That doesn't mean I never valued our working relationship. A part of me hoped the Heads would leave you be until maybe the second go around like me.

semi-closed.

riots + ~3 days; returning home from wyver. peggy carter.

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wow that icon

i knowwww im sorry my smooch icons are such trash

they are NOT

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+ ~4 days later. at the sanctuary. brock rumlow.

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i hate u and i hate this tag CRIES

smooches noisily

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semi-closed.

riots + ~3 days; returning home from wyver. peggy carter.

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wow that icon

i knowwww im sorry my smooch icons are such trash

they are NOT

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+ ~4 days later. at the sanctuary. brock rumlow.

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i hate u and i hate this tag CRIES

*smooches noisily*

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smooches noisily