nysalogs | the sky was made of amethyst ( & open )

[ She would have been married to a nice, respectable British officer, had his children, attend luncheons, be a proper lady. The life she lead — and continues to lead — feels more like her truest self, even if it isn't always easy. She wouldn't change it for the world, especially now that she gets to have her cake and eat it too on account of Steve being back from the dead.

Speaking of — ]

Meaning what? [ She knows she's spoken of Steve in the past with Jim, mostly in passing. But she has no reason to believe he's aware of the details of their relationship. ] I mean, I suppose. [ Is that a smile? It's helpless, and just a hint, but it's there. ] Haven't we all?

[ Jim grins, his smile crinkling up the corners of his eyes. ] I got a 'hey baby we're out of shampoo' phone call meant for you, a couple weeks back.

[ And he'd answered in kind, tormenting his accidental domestic friend - politely ignoring the Promise I won't get kidnapped again portion of it (also not mentioning that now, either) - until he'd introduced himself.

Anyway Steve Rogers probably didn't say hey baby but, whatever. ]

[ Blame the whiskey, but there's no denying the hint of colour that washes across Peggy's cheeks at that little jab. It's easy, for a moment, to let the sweeter and simpler memories fill the space between the words; a slip of the finger on a keyboard, maybe, and Steve calls Jim instead of her. So innocuous. ]

Oh, is that all?

[ But then there's that cold touch of reality that brushes up against the warmth because more recently, Steve learned that she hasn't been entirely honest with him. (For good reason, but the fact remains.) Their relationship will survive that particular hurdle, she knows. It's still hard. But her smile doesn't flicker. ]

How positively scandalous. I imagine hearing about the shopping was especially titillating.

Edited 2018-06-19 21:12 (UTC)

[ He's pleased to be right, even more so to see her reaction, subtle as it might be. It's clear as day that Jim is happy to know she's got that-- in whatever capacity it might exist. He's not a romantic, personally, and he knows he'll never be anyone's dedicated partner, but it's just really nice to know his friends have that joy and support. ]

I got an offer of coffee out of it, but it didn't sound very enthusiastic. [ Embarrassed, more likely, which Jim is well aware he exacerbated with his teasing. Oh well. ]

[ She looks over at him and laughs softly, not embarrassed but immensely touched that he seems so pleased. It's sweet. ]

I'm sure Steve — Captain Rogers, [ she amends automatically, ] meant every word. I imagine he was just a little flustered.

[ Peggy reaches up to fiddle with her pearl earring, an absentminded gesture, but perhaps a little bit of a tell, too. She's a private enough person without her job coming into the picture, and the nature of what she has with Steve is wonderfully intimate. When they're together, it's impossible to miss. It's no secret. But even so. ]

Yes, you could say I've got a bit of the quiet life here, which I never... [ She thought that life went into the Arctic with Steve. ] Well. It isn't perfect; we're both part of the Royal Guard so you can imagine what that must be like. But we've been luckier than most and I don't let myself forget that.

[ D'aw, she's cute. Jim resolves not to poke her too much further about it, because they're both private people in a way, but a little alcohol and fondness for his friend makes it feel alright for a few minutes. ]

I was gentle, [ he assures her, half-laughing. ]

I'm glad, and -- [ a slightly apologetic salute with the empty glass. ] Sorry for prying, if it came off that way.

[ Her smile softens with amusement and she lowers her hand, fingers fluttering a little at him in lieu of a shake of her head. ]

Not at all. I did say you could ask; I just never specified after what. [ And specifics matter to a woman like her. ] We speak enough about work as it is; we may as well know a little more about each other beyond that.

[ Peggy eyes his empty glass and her own then reaches over to pour them both a splash more of whiskey, a hint of mischief in the way her eyes crinkle at the corners. ]

So... what about you, Captain Kirk?

Edited 2018-06-21 08:22 (UTC)

[ He grins at the refill. They may have different domestic objectives, but she's not wrong; they're the same sort of person, beneath. ]

Ah, I'm married to the 'Fleet, [ Jim says with a shrug. It doesn't sound like prevarication - he is what he is, and that's someone unsuited to romantic commitment, for a laundry list of reasons. ] There are fraternization rules given my rank, anyway.

[ Largely unenforced 'common sense' ones that no one would begrudge Captain Kirk flouting in the face of his isolated position, but it's a helpful wall to put off dealing with his reluctance to open himself up to real intimacy. (What would he do with Bones, besides ruin what they have? What would he do with Eurydice, who trusts him with her daughter, but finds herself in trouble every time they're in proximity? No. He's grateful for what he has, and doesn't need more.) ]

I've heard that answer before. Given it, too.

[ "What about you, Peggy, you got a guy?" I'm afraid I'm married to my work at the moment. It had been true for so long. And during the war, she and Steve never risked anything more intimate than a few shared glances and maybe a discreet hand-hold under a table — they were both in the military and on the front lines under such tenuous circumstances, to start. They couldn't risk giving the brass any reason to tell them to pack up and go home.

But then Steve proved his mettle as Captain America, a symbol too value to lose. Morale was never higher than when Cap was on the field. And Peggy? She had to work twice as hard for ever so slightly different reasons. Being a woman counted against a lot. After the war, she couldn't even let herself mourn Steve's death in public; she'd have been labelled soft. Captain America's old flame, his piece on the side, any other cruel remark that would sully her reputation and his memory. ]

You wear a uniform and the rules change. [ He asked her once if she was a soldier and she'd said no; but most people here know or at least assume that she served in some capacity, which is enough. And then: ] God, [ she half-laughs, shaking her head as she looks across at him. ] Not three seconds and we've managed to bring it back to work. But go on, tell me about this medical officer best friend of yours. There's got to me more to him than a sour disposition.

[ She speaks with too much familiarity to be as removed as she claims, but they've established - sort of - that she's got things she isn't saying, and Jim's not asking. He'll play along, and doesn't mind doing so. ]

Oh, you know. Run of the mill medical genius with the whole alphabet after his name. [ This is easier with alcohol. Jim tells himself it's fine, that his position means he was isolated already, and he's not at all lonely or heartsick here on El Nysa. No different than being at home. ] We enlisted on the same shuttle and he wasn't ever quite cranky enough to shake me.

[ Her wearing a uniform isn't a secret, Jim, gosh!! And neither is her Captain Rogers now. ]

I'm not sure what could shake you, to be honest. [ Not entirely true and not a bad thing, either. She's sure they're alike in having little patience for certain attitudes (less so than than ineptitudes). ] And what name precedes that alphabet? You neglected to mention. Or am I to guess?

[ She lifts her glass, adding before taking a sip, ]

Rather daunting after a few more of these.

[ Except she can still drink most of her colleagues under the table and arm wrestle with the last men standing right above them. ]

I mean, you could guess, [ he says, ] but it'd probably take a while to land at 'Leonard Horatio McCoy.'

[ Great middle names club, Jim and Bones are founder and president, thanks. ]

Nobody calls him anything but McCoy or 'Bones', though. Except Spock, sometimes, which is weird. [ A beat. ] I mean, his dad probably calls him Leonard, but he'd probably be weirded out if anyone else did.

'Bones' sounds like a nickname that ought to be earned. [ She pauses, then exhales in something of a laugh. ] Or perhaps it isn't. A good friend of mine goes by 'Dum Dum' Dugan, I think I'm the only one who's ever called him Timothy. But only when he deserved it.

[ Then there's Frenchie (Dernier), Happy Sam, Junior, the list goes on. She misses the Commandos fiercely, it's a brotherly sort of camaraderie she only ever finds a taste of here. Sometimes with Eggsy, sometimes with Jim; John, when he was still awake.

She doesn't miss the war but aspects of it, like nights spent around a campfire with her boys? She does miss that. ]

Horatio, though — I can appreciate a good Shakespearean reference. Are you hiding any clever middle names, Captain?

He's an old sawbones, [ Jim says, doing a hand motion that, in his slightly tipsy state, perhaps suggests some kind of old timey surgery. ('Old timey', stitches from 2015, whatever.) Mimicking his friend's accent and mugging All I got left is my bones is a bit too personal-- but he considers it, smiling to himself both at that and 'Dum Dum', which is clearly top notch.

AND THEN. ]

James Tiberius Kirk. [ Smoothest of the smooth, it's well clear that authoritative full name use has no shaming effect on him. This is A Brand. ] After both grandfathers. My mom wanted it the other way around, but there was an intervention.

Tiberius. Well, isn't that grand. [ Very grand coming from a Ms Margaret Elizabeth Carter. ] Some of the finest men in my life are named James. [ Falsworth, Morita, Barnes. ] The war was hell, but the people I met during it are irreplaceable.

[ And perhaps the same can be said of El Nysa, especially now that things are getting dark. She lifts her glass and leans over to touch it lightly against the rim of his in something of a toast, her smile a little more comfortable and easy now that the whiskey's settling in and so is she, in the conversation. ]

Congratulations, you're in excellent company.

It is. [ Grand. It's all pretty excellent in his not so humble opinion, and privately, he's happy to be able to say things like there was an intervention so easily. Peggy will have no idea how much of a struggle those things were in his early years, how much he resented knowledge of final moments purely because of how much Winona resented them-- and that's fine. Good, even. Wounds heal.

Jim laughs at the little toast. ] Thank you, [ he says gravely. ] I think the pool is populated enough with this very generic name to make any mass judgment, but I'll talk it anyway.

[ They've all known too many final moments to want to delve into them at all. Not that she suspected anything in what he's said to her just now. ]

It's a name that's lasted centuries, [ she points out with a smile; literally points out, at him, with the hand holding her glass. ] There must be a reason for it. [ And she finishes off the bit of liquor left in said glass before putting it down. She really ought to leave it at that, she can already feel a tingling in her extremeties. ] But in the sake of fairness, my mother named me Margaret.

I'd wondered if you were a Margaret or a Dorothy. [ Maybe Peggy and Polly are interchangeable in the 23rd century; maybe she could also be a Daisy.

Names are weird. ]

Here's to long-lived names, [ Jim laughs, pointing back at her with his own glass. ] And-- the last of this whiskey.

[ Damn they really put this bottle away. ]

If I was a Dorothy, I'd be Dottie.

[ And that's said with a curious level of distaste that doesn't quite match the innocuousness of the topic. But no one knows that a Russian assassin under the alias of Dottie Underwood tried to kill her and succeeded in killing a few others. The woman moved in next door and posed as a ballerina from Iowa and Peggy didn't realise it until much too late.

But the mood lasts all of a second and then she smiles, pushing herself away from the table. ]

Speaking of whiskey, no nightcaps for me, [ she's saying as she keeps one hand on the table as she makes to stand. ] I've imposed on your hospitality long enou—

[ Maybe it's the whiskey, but more likely it's her injury that sends Peggy's leg buckling under her sudden weight. ]

[ There's no ballet in Iowa.

Just degenerate punks who drink too much and don't only sleep with farm anim-- Oh jeez. ]

Wooa-oahhh, [ Jim says, up and beside her in the blink of an eye, alcoholic fog lifting as if it had never been there. He's got one hand on her side, the other at her elbow, catching the tail-end of that falter. Probably still unpleasant, but at least she didn't wipe out on the floor. ] Alright, checklist, did you blow any stitches, bandages, or blood clots?

[ She tightens her jaw and lets him help haul her back up to, both furious (at herself) and embarrassed. It doesn't feel like she aggravated the wound and it hadn't required stitches given the nature of how the bullet passed through; it was simply a matter of — ]

Stood up too quickly is all, [ she says on a sharp exhale, putting the rest of her weight on her steadier right leg. Peggy places a hand to the side of her left thigh to check for any blood seeping through but her trousers remain dry. Small mercies. ] I'm all right, Captain Kirk, thank you.

[ The formality is a little more stiff than the easy conversation they'd had just moments before. But she doesn't do well with this sort of thing and she hadn't meant for any of it to be a fuss. ]

Don't grit your teeth too hard at me, [ he says wryly, ] I'm still not ratting you out to the doctor cops.

[ Jim understands wanting to avoid this kind of attention. It's uncomfortable for a whole lot of reasons, least of which being physical pain. And so he maintains a completely casual attitude, like this is normal. See? No big deal, Peg Leg. ]

Did you walk out this way?

[ Tightly, ] I rode.

[ And she can mount her horse easily from the other side, although dismounting is altogether unpleasant. But that's beside the point; she knows it's ridiculous to keep dancing around the bloody subject when it's so clearly out in the open now. He's been a damn good sport about it but even she recognises when one crosses the line from stubborn into bullheaded and proud. So she takes a breath, exhales silently (not bracing herself, just... Jesus, Carter, you're standing in your own damn way again), inhales again and then: ]

Although that doesn't make being shot in the leg any less unpleasant.

[ Eyebrows. Margaret, they seem to say. ]

With a bullet?

[ Total barbarism. This is the dark ages!! Jim shakes his head. ] No wonder you're halfway on your ass. [ Friendly-like.

Well, ]

I'll put off the obvious questions considering we've been at this for hours and we're both kinda drunk. Let me walk you home, though. I'll play twenty questions with the horse.

Of course with a bullet, what else.

[ As soon as the question is out of her mouth, muttered under her breath though it may be, she realises there could be a number of what else's — an arrow, maybe, crossbow bolt, something more fantastical or advanced from the belly of the robotics labs at the Institute. Not this time. But it was still a robot.

Peggy looks like she's about to protest the offer but backtracking now is relatively useless bluster. So she presses her lips together and gives a sort of flick of the wrist in lieu of another sigh. ]

Well, all right, then. And I'll have you know Queen Mab is an excellent conversationalist; I have it on good authority.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject