It's the only thing that can so aptly describe the state of the station β cold as ever (colder for having been under the ice, although Peggy can't tell if the chill is in her bones rather than the air) and eerily silent save for the chirpy assistant that has replaced the Natha. It takes time for her memories to slot fully into place, for the now to meld with the then, weeks and days and a whole year spent planetside crashing together in one big headache. It's a mess to sift through, a cacophony of emotions at war β the relief that she was pulled from Los Angeles after saving the world and can now remember it; the slowly dawning horror that she left Steve Rogers behind when she swore she wouldn't.
Steve. God, Steve. How long has it been? Three days? Three months?
She doesn't know and she has no way of contacting him from Thesa. Her communications device had been left in their apartment (is it still their apartment? What if he's moved? Moved on? Gone back to sleep?). One thing is clear: she must get home. Because Olympia is her home now, there is nowhere else. It's only when Peggy slides off the bed in the infirmary that she realises with a wince that her stint in stasis was not without incident. But later. That can be dealt with later. The overly eager creature informs her that transportation to Nadril is in working order and she goes without another moment to lose.
It's a dizzying journey to the planet. Another excruciatingly long wait as she takes the train. When she disembarks at Olympia, she's greeted by β ghosts. Christ. She knew the city she left behind was a graveyard in the wake of the dragon's rampage but seeing it so clearly, hearing it, feeling it... She doesn't think she'll ever be warm again between stasis and this. Unless something else had happened. Something to trigger this, another disaster. Something worse. They whisper as she hurries past, ignoring them in the underground, in the lamplit streets leading to her home. And then finally, finally she finds the familiar in the nightmare and reaches for her pocket only to realise, belatedly, she no longer has a key. ]
For God's sake.
[ It's more an exhale, exasperated and self-deprecating. Just as well. She can't know for certain who lives here. So Peggy takes a breath to try and steady her pounding heart, sweeps her uncurled hair back over her shoulders β and knocks on her own door. ]
[ The lights had been off for the most part, all except for the lamp in the bedroom Steve had once shared with Peggy. He'd been reading.
Things have been a little chaotic in town since the refugees' arrival back into the familiar streets, and there is still plenty of rebuilding left to do. But the Carter-Rogers residence looks nearly complete. In the past few weeks, Steve had been working at double, sometimes triple, the pace to get it finished - not for any real reason other than the fact that the hard, manual labour gave him something to do. It was a fair distraction from the aching emptiness in his chest; dramatic, sure, but not untrue.
Bucky is out tonight, likely at work, or out simply because being around Steve these days isn't exactly a picnic. He's been keeping to himself a little more than he'd ever done before, but at least Claire keeps an eye on him, makes sure he's fed and watered.
When he hears the knock on the door, his assumption is that Bucky might have left his key behind or maybe its one of the ghosts come to ask him for help again - and certainly, when he flicks the light on in the living room and opens the door, he's pretty goddamned sure it's a ghost he's seeing right now.
[ The smile that flickers across her face is a little sheepish and she tries to inject a little humour into her voice. ]
No, just me.
[ But the humour is short-lived. The expression he wears sends a spike of unease through her heart; more than that, there's an aching sadness as she takes in the rest of him β tired in a way she's rarely seen, an emptiness that sits bone-deep, and the way he's looking at her, as if he can't believe his eyes. Her stomach goes cold as she scrambles to remember when she last saw him, how they left things, how much time has passed. The season hasn't changed, so it can't have been too long, surely?
But he's looking at her as though it's been more than a few days. Christ. She can't even bring herself to ask. ]
Oh, my darling, [ she says more softly, brows knitting as she reaches out to cup his face with a gentle hand. ] I'm so sorry.
[ Steve's hand falls away from the doorknob and he steps forward, leans into Peggy's touch despite everything else. Her hand is warm, and more than that, it isn't the intangible apparition he'd (worst case scenario) expected it to be, which could only mean - ]
You came back.
[ The realization ignites something in him, calls him to action so that his next move is to pull her into his arms for a hug. ]
[ You came back, he says, like it was her choice to go in the first place. Of course he doesn't mean it like that, he knows she would never walk away from him if she had any say, but the words sit like lead in her stomach even as he draws her into his embrace. Tennessee Williams wrote that time is the longest distance between two places and she can feel the yawning stretch of it between the two of them, even if it hardly feels like a day since she last saw him.
That's the odd thing. The most disorienting. A little nap, blink once and twice, and suddenly the weeks have flown by. Even with her new memories, no more than two weeks' worth at most, it doesn't feel like too long at all β already, they're fading into the background, part of her past as much as anything else. Except this. Except him. ]
It's all right, I'm all right, [ she whispers into the crook of his neck. ] I didn't mean to keep you.
[ As if she'd only gone out for an errand and missed dinner. That's what it feels like, but she can't reconcile it. How many dinners has she missed? She closes her eyes and kisses his jaw, hands curling into the back of his shirt. ]
[ A lot had happened here, enough time passing that the sting of her absence is marked in nearly everything that touches Steve's life here on El Nysa. In the last year, the two of them really did build this life together, forced him to stop waiting to make a move when any number of things could happen at any time. (Dragons, kidnappings, civil wars notwithstanding.)
He'd never thought that something would happen, short-lived (thank god) as it was, but it's a reminder to him that no one is safe from the possibility, not even someone granted a second chance with their right partner.
He's got a lot of questions for her and a few things he could probably fill her in on too, but none of it really matters at this very moment. That can wait.
Tilting his head, he leans in to kiss her properly. A kind of kiss hello. ]
[ They've been through more than most and still managed to come out of it relatively unscathed. It's a testament to how much luck is on their side and to their tenacity. Somewhere out there, days or weeks from now, is a comment about the irony or poetry of their time spent on ice. But not for a long while.
He kisses her and somehow, even though she hadn't felt the missing time, the aching relief in it makes her eyes burn with tears. She hates that she's been the cause of this anguish but is comforted in knowing she can try to soothe it a little, now that they're together again. Her lips are soft and lingering on his and she doesn't break away first; there's a catharsis in how tender this reunion is and she won't let that be short-lived. ]
[ Steve kisses her again, just as tenderly, just as heartfelt before he pulls away and leans back to push the door open. He's not sure of her exact circumstances or how long it had been since she woke up in the stasis room, but the journey from Thesa to here is always a long and exhausting one. (He would know; he'd taken it with Claire not too long ago to check for himself what she reported.)
His hand finds hers, fingers lacing, and he leads her into their familiar-but-different home, closing the door behind them. Half of their place looks exactly as it was before the dragon attacked Olympia (with maybe a fresh coat of paint), but the other side is bigger now, expanded into the lot that had once belonged to their neighbours (who are now happily living across town, away from the strange refugees). There is still the detail work to be done, but the structure is solid, and the apartment feels complete. Even more so now that Peggy is back.
The light in the bedroom is still on, Steve's book open to the page he'd left off, resting spine up over the bed. ]
Welcome home, Peggy. [ There's a pause before he exhales: ] Jesus, I've missed you.
[ Their apartment had been in shambles when she was last here. The debris cleared away, the bare beginnings of rebuilding and expanding into the place next door. They'd been planning the layout, happy to have space for Bucky and a little more. To walk into their home and find it very nearly complete is a shock, one that flickers across her face and the way her step falters even as she lets him lead her into their bedroom. Peggy looks over her shoulder towards the dimly lit living room one last time before turning her attention back to Steve, studying him in the warm lamplight.
God, he looks wrung through. She takes his hand in both of hers and squeezes gently, brows knitting. She can't say the same, but maybe she can; every day since she lost him in the war, she missed him. But now that he brings it up in such a plain way, she knows she has to ask, nearly dreading the answer. ]
[Thankfully, the clinic's been cleared of any haunts due to Claire's diligence when this all began. She ran quite a few ghostly errands. It figures, since a few people did end up passing away there, or remains brought about at one time or another.
The only ghost there might be lingering about is one named Jesse Pinkman, but when Claire steps in and calls for him, he's (conveniently) out. Good. She'd rather some privacy with her friend. Please ignore the blue sleeping bag and giant glass bong in plain sight. They're not hers.
In fact, she hardly has time to register that they're there before she hears someone approach the door. Before Peggy has a chance to open it, Claire beats her to it, and hardly a heartbeat passes before she's pulling her friend into a strong embrace.]
[ She opts to ride over, knowing her poor horse has likely missed her rider just as much as being out and about. Peggy is keeping her return fairly quiet for now, wanting to take her time to reunite with those closest to her β and Claire is very near the top of that list. They've known each other for over a year now, they were in the first wave of refugees and crash-landed together. She's a fixture in Peggy's life, this is important.
She also knows the other woman well enough to know she's in for a hug the second that door opens. She practically braces for it and still lets out a sound that is half-surprise, half-laughed (a little groan in there at the point of contact, she's fairly sore). ]
Hello. [ Warm, pleased. ] It's good to see you too.
[Claire will just chalk up any sounds of discomfort to the sheer intensity of her hug.
It had been terrible, losing Sansa, Jon, and Peggy. Sansa and Jon had become her children, giving her the family she longed for, but the loss of a friend hurt in a different way. She might collect surrogate children left and right, but she can count on one hand the number of friends she has. It had left her feeling awfully alone. It was a grief she could share with Steve, of course, and it helped, but writing Peggy off as another loved one in stasis was one of the worst things to happen in this place. And that's including the torture and the rotting dragon.
So, it's good to be able to squeeze her and hear her voice. It gives her some hope that Sansa and Jon might wake up again (Robb did, after all, though with no memory of his time here before), but she'll break her heart with those thoughts later.]
God, it's feels like it's been years.
[With considerable effort, she pulls back to take a good look at Peggy, as if checking to see if it has indeed been years.]
[ She chuckles, resting a hand on the other woman's shoulder. She knows what she's looking for and she's quick to put those thoughts to rest. ]
Not years, just a week or two. It's all starting to blur together, to be honest. [ Like a vivid dream after you wake up. The hard line between what she remembered before stasis and now is beginning to blend into one history with no beginning or end. ] You've still got me beat on that count, Mrs Fraser.
[ It certainly is jarring β the proof of which may become evident soon. Peggy does as she's told, settling on one of the beds while taking a surreptitious look around the space. She's really quite proud of her friend for setting this all up in the wake of the disaster and the broken trust with the Sanctuary, but she's also not in the least bit surprised. Claire Fraser is a headstrong woman who knows what's best for those she cares about and will do what she must to ensure their safety and well-being.
They're cut from the same cloth, in that regard. She smiles, sitting back on the heels of her palms as she teases, ]
Do I get a lolly while we do this, or do I have to wait until after?
[Claire's about to step over when Peggy's question, even if it's a joke, has her pausing.]
I can do better. One moment.
[Assuming Jesse hasn't managed to pick the lock to the back room. Keys jangle in Claire's pocket as she fishes them out, finding the proper key as she heads to the door. A moment later and Claire's stepping out with a bottle of wine.
Why does she have wine in her clinic? For moments like these.
(More like for moments like the aftermath of the dragon.)
It's not to share, on a normal day, and so Claire lacks proper glasses but she doubts Peggy will mind.]
How's this for a lolly?
[She waves the bottle with a smile as she returns.]
I'd say it's a welcome sight, although I'm more of a whisky girl, myself. [ And she has absolutely no qualms about drinking straight from the bottle. She's done it often enough. But that's war for you. ] I thought I came here for tea. Not that I'm complaining.
[ But they should wait until after. Peggy is in a blouse and high-waisted trousers, her usual fare on most days, which will be convenient when it comes to the (mostly healed) injury through the left side of her abdomen. There's a pause as she waits for Claire to prepare, and then, ]
Have you given any thought as to how stasis can alter a person's physicality?
[ Bucky waits until Steve is out, because he's honestly not trying to give Steve a hard time about any of this. Timing had been on their side, at least, and he'd been here when Peggy hadn't. Steve can't be left unsupervised, but Bucky's not the one dumb enough to tell Steve that. It's not like Steve isn't capable or anything, more that he makes stupid choices when the chips are down and Bucky's not planning to let him do that anymore. He has a feeling Peggy's already been on that mission.
So he waits until she's in the living room to bring her what is probably a terrible cup of tea. Hopefully it's the thought that counts, because he knows she has standards. ]
If he tries to tell you he didn't miss you, he's full of shit.
[ She's scrolling through the network, trying to catch up on what she's missed. Most of it isn't relevant to her, gossip or inquiries more than any real news, but it helps to keep an eye on things and take the temperature of the refugee community. It's part of her job β either as a spy or a member of the Guard, but likely both. Put names to faces when she can and vice versa.
But Bucky Barnes isn't a stranger and he can tell her about shades of Steve that neither she nor Claire are privy to. She looks up as he joins her, smiling at the offered cup of tea. Terrible or not, tea is tea, and always welcome. ]
I quite agree, [ she laughs, putting her device aside. ] Or I'd wonder if he was feeling under the weather. I'm delightful.
[ He settles into his own seat, slouching a little, but there's still a tense line to his shoulders that rarely goes away. There are moments when he loses himself enough that the tension disappears, but they're few and far between. ]
I would've slapped some sense into him. Don't you worry.
[ Not that he expects he'll ever have to. Not about that, anyway. ]
[ She exhales rather loudly, tipping her head back to look up at the ceiling. If it were anyone else asking, she'd gloss over it easily enough; but Bucky has known her for the length of the war and it wasn't all bright, blazing glory. There were hard days and many of them. Being here β it's not always comparable, but the past few months have been a trial. And she's got good friends who went back into stasis, same as her, but never woke back up.
How is she settling back in? What a bloody loaded question. ]
I think, [ she begins after a moment, ] if there's anyone who can understand what it feels like to lose time while asleep, it's you and Steve. [ She looks back over to him, lips quirked in a wry smile. ] But I've been here a year so that makes it a little easier. I think the better question is how are you settling in?
Oh, uh--[ He really does not like talking about himself, at least not in any real way. Definitely not like this. It's been a rough couple of months. Between Steve telling him that his family could wake up without warning, that Howard could wake up without warning and the realization that at any moment he or Steve could wind up back asleep just like Peggy had felt like successive buckets of cold water. He'd been worried Peggy wouldn't wake up again or that she'd be missing memories the way Bucky is and maybe they're not as close to each other as they are to Steve, but Bucky doesn't exactly have a lot of people he trusts in this world and she's on that very short list. ]
I don't know. I'm still looking for a job, but I can't exactly advertise most of my skill set.
[ And most of his skills are deadly, which isn't something he wants to do anymore, either. ]
I find that little white lies of omission can get you rather far in this place.
[ She takes a sip of her tea and savours the warmth of it, closing her eyes briefly before settling more comfortably into her corner of the sofa. It's hard to muck up her afternoon cuppa when she stopped taking it with milk and sugar during the war β rationing and old habits, of course. ]
Obviously I haven't divulged even a fraction of what I'm capable of here, especially not with the Guard. But that didn't stop them from taking me on. [ She gestures at him with her cup in lieu of a pointed finger. ] Show the commander you're a good shot and that may be enough. It was for me. All anyone out there knows is that my brother was the soldier who taught me a thing or two.
I was a good shot before. Calling me a good shot now is like saying water's a little moist.
[ Not that he's really all that cocky about it. Half of that is habit of slipping on that Bucky-shaped mask and half of it is just the truth. He doesn't miss often and even now, when he hates the idea of having to fire it at another person, a gun feels like an extension of himself. Those aren't skills a man just loses. Killing is the thing he's best at, maybe the only thing he's even all that good at anymore, but it's also the last thing he wants to do.
He's still everything HYDRA made him into, even if he's also Bucky Barnes. ]
If that's all I need--[ He shrugs. ]
How do you like it? They treat you right there? Don't ask too much of you?
[ She shoots him a look, amusement settling in her eyes rather than a smile. ]
Mind your cheek, sergeant. I can still give you a run for your money.
[ Old, familiar wartime banter. Peggy Carter is a damn good shot but she knows he's better than her β by a hair, she'd say, out of habit more than bruised ego. (She doesn't care about that sort of thing.) But to his question, she draws in a slow and thoughtful breath before letting it out silently, offering him a one-shouldered shrug before elaborating. ]
Ask too little of me, if I'm being honest. But I prefer it and it pays well enough. I do good work, keep my head down where they can see, and stick it into other people's business where they can't. [ #spy ] I don't mind telling you I don't trust the woman in command β she's the right hand of the empress and neither have been entirely forthcoming during a crisis.
I've done my fair share of missions on their behalf and have since they took me on. [ But she finds her own work elsewhere, none of it entirely above board. But that's her secret to keep for now, so: ] But mostly? I go on patrol.
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return | steve rogers
It's the only thing that can so aptly describe the state of the station β cold as ever (colder for having been under the ice, although Peggy can't tell if the chill is in her bones rather than the air) and eerily silent save for the chirpy assistant that has replaced the Natha. It takes time for her memories to slot fully into place, for the now to meld with the then, weeks and days and a whole year spent planetside crashing together in one big headache. It's a mess to sift through, a cacophony of emotions at war β the relief that she was pulled from Los Angeles after saving the world and can now remember it; the slowly dawning horror that she left Steve Rogers behind when she swore she wouldn't.
Steve. God, Steve. How long has it been? Three days? Three months?
She doesn't know and she has no way of contacting him from Thesa. Her communications device had been left in their apartment (is it still their apartment? What if he's moved? Moved on? Gone back to sleep?). One thing is clear: she must get home. Because Olympia is her home now, there is nowhere else. It's only when Peggy slides off the bed in the infirmary that she realises with a wince that her stint in stasis was not without incident. But later. That can be dealt with later. The overly eager creature informs her that transportation to Nadril is in working order and she goes without another moment to lose.
It's a dizzying journey to the planet. Another excruciatingly long wait as she takes the train. When she disembarks at Olympia, she's greeted by β ghosts. Christ. She knew the city she left behind was a graveyard in the wake of the dragon's rampage but seeing it so clearly, hearing it, feeling it... She doesn't think she'll ever be warm again between stasis and this. Unless something else had happened. Something to trigger this, another disaster. Something worse. They whisper as she hurries past, ignoring them in the underground, in the lamplit streets leading to her home. And then finally, finally she finds the familiar in the nightmare and reaches for her pocket only to realise, belatedly, she no longer has a key. ]
For God's sake.
[ It's more an exhale, exasperated and self-deprecating. Just as well. She can't know for certain who lives here. So Peggy takes a breath to try and steady her pounding heart, sweeps her uncurled hair back over her shoulders β and knocks on her own door. ]
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Things have been a little chaotic in town since the refugees' arrival back into the familiar streets, and there is still plenty of rebuilding left to do. But the Carter-Rogers residence looks nearly complete. In the past few weeks, Steve had been working at double, sometimes triple, the pace to get it finished - not for any real reason other than the fact that the hard, manual labour gave him something to do. It was a fair distraction from the aching emptiness in his chest; dramatic, sure, but not untrue.
Bucky is out tonight, likely at work, or out simply because being around Steve these days isn't exactly a picnic. He's been keeping to himself a little more than he'd ever done before, but at least Claire keeps an eye on him, makes sure he's fed and watered.
When he hears the knock on the door, his assumption is that Bucky might have left his key behind or maybe its one of the ghosts come to ask him for help again - and certainly, when he flicks the light on in the living room and opens the door, he's pretty goddamned sure it's a ghost he's seeing right now.
He can feel his fingers go cold. ]
Oh, god.
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No, just me.
[ But the humour is short-lived. The expression he wears sends a spike of unease through her heart; more than that, there's an aching sadness as she takes in the rest of him β tired in a way she's rarely seen, an emptiness that sits bone-deep, and the way he's looking at her, as if he can't believe his eyes. Her stomach goes cold as she scrambles to remember when she last saw him, how they left things, how much time has passed. The season hasn't changed, so it can't have been too long, surely?
But he's looking at her as though it's been more than a few days. Christ. She can't even bring herself to ask. ]
Oh, my darling, [ she says more softly, brows knitting as she reaches out to cup his face with a gentle hand. ] I'm so sorry.
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You came back.
[ The realization ignites something in him, calls him to action so that his next move is to pull her into his arms for a hug. ]
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That's the odd thing. The most disorienting. A little nap, blink once and twice, and suddenly the weeks have flown by. Even with her new memories, no more than two weeks' worth at most, it doesn't feel like too long at all β already, they're fading into the background, part of her past as much as anything else. Except this. Except him. ]
It's all right, I'm all right, [ she whispers into the crook of his neck. ] I didn't mean to keep you.
[ As if she'd only gone out for an errand and missed dinner. That's what it feels like, but she can't reconcile it. How many dinners has she missed? She closes her eyes and kisses his jaw, hands curling into the back of his shirt. ]
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He'd never thought that something would happen, short-lived (thank god) as it was, but it's a reminder to him that no one is safe from the possibility, not even someone granted a second chance with their right partner.
He's got a lot of questions for her and a few things he could probably fill her in on too, but none of it really matters at this very moment. That can wait.
Tilting his head, he leans in to kiss her properly. A kind of kiss hello. ]
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He kisses her and somehow, even though she hadn't felt the missing time, the aching relief in it makes her eyes burn with tears. She hates that she's been the cause of this anguish but is comforted in knowing she can try to soothe it a little, now that they're together again. Her lips are soft and lingering on his and she doesn't break away first; there's a catharsis in how tender this reunion is and she won't let that be short-lived. ]
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His hand finds hers, fingers lacing, and he leads her into their familiar-but-different home, closing the door behind them. Half of their place looks exactly as it was before the dragon attacked Olympia (with maybe a fresh coat of paint), but the other side is bigger now, expanded into the lot that had once belonged to their neighbours (who are now happily living across town, away from the strange refugees). There is still the detail work to be done, but the structure is solid, and the apartment feels complete. Even more so now that Peggy is back.
The light in the bedroom is still on, Steve's book open to the page he'd left off, resting spine up over the bed. ]
Welcome home, Peggy. [ There's a pause before he exhales: ] Jesus, I've missed you.
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God, he looks wrung through. She takes his hand in both of hers and squeezes gently, brows knitting. She can't say the same, but maybe she can; every day since she lost him in the war, she missed him. But now that he brings it up in such a plain way, she knows she has to ask, nearly dreading the answer. ]
How long have I been asleep?
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sorry this took me a million years
and me <3
and me again weeps
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The only ghost there might be lingering about is one named Jesse Pinkman, but when Claire steps in and calls for him, he's (conveniently) out. Good. She'd rather some privacy with her friend. Please ignore the blue sleeping bag and giant glass bong in plain sight. They're not hers.
In fact, she hardly has time to register that they're there before she hears someone approach the door. Before Peggy has a chance to open it, Claire beats her to it, and hardly a heartbeat passes before she's pulling her friend into a strong embrace.]
Welcome back.
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She also knows the other woman well enough to know she's in for a hug the second that door opens. She practically braces for it and still lets out a sound that is half-surprise, half-laughed (a little groan in there at the point of contact, she's fairly sore). ]
Hello. [ Warm, pleased. ] It's good to see you too.
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It had been terrible, losing Sansa, Jon, and Peggy. Sansa and Jon had become her children, giving her the family she longed for, but the loss of a friend hurt in a different way. She might collect surrogate children left and right, but she can count on one hand the number of friends she has. It had left her feeling awfully alone. It was a grief she could share with Steve, of course, and it helped, but writing Peggy off as another loved one in stasis was one of the worst things to happen in this place. And that's including the torture and the rotting dragon.
So, it's good to be able to squeeze her and hear her voice. It gives her some hope that Sansa and Jon might wake up again (Robb did, after all, though with no memory of his time here before), but she'll break her heart with those thoughts later.]
God, it's feels like it's been years.
[With considerable effort, she pulls back to take a good look at Peggy, as if checking to see if it has indeed been years.]
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Not years, just a week or two. It's all starting to blur together, to be honest. [ Like a vivid dream after you wake up. The hard line between what she remembered before stasis and now is beginning to blend into one history with no beginning or end. ] You've still got me beat on that count, Mrs Fraser.
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[No matter what amount of time passes, she imagines it's the same sort of jarring.]
Here, have a seat on one of the beds and I'll give you a quick check up.
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They're cut from the same cloth, in that regard. She smiles, sitting back on the heels of her palms as she teases, ]
Do I get a lolly while we do this, or do I have to wait until after?
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I can do better. One moment.
[Assuming Jesse hasn't managed to pick the lock to the back room. Keys jangle in Claire's pocket as she fishes them out, finding the proper key as she heads to the door. A moment later and Claire's stepping out with a bottle of wine.
Why does she have wine in her clinic? For moments like these.
(More like for moments like the aftermath of the dragon.)
It's not to share, on a normal day, and so Claire lacks proper glasses but she doubts Peggy will mind.]
How's this for a lolly?
[She waves the bottle with a smile as she returns.]
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I'd say it's a welcome sight, although I'm more of a whisky girl, myself. [ And she has absolutely no qualms about drinking straight from the bottle. She's done it often enough. But that's war for you. ] I thought I came here for tea. Not that I'm complaining.
[ But they should wait until after. Peggy is in a blouse and high-waisted trousers, her usual fare on most days, which will be convenient when it comes to the (mostly healed) injury through the left side of her abdomen. There's a pause as she waits for Claire to prepare, and then, ]
Have you given any thought as to how stasis can alter a person's physicality?
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So he waits until she's in the living room to bring her what is probably a terrible cup of tea. Hopefully it's the thought that counts, because he knows she has standards. ]
If he tries to tell you he didn't miss you, he's full of shit.
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But Bucky Barnes isn't a stranger and he can tell her about shades of Steve that neither she nor Claire are privy to. She looks up as he joins her, smiling at the offered cup of tea. Terrible or not, tea is tea, and always welcome. ]
I quite agree, [ she laughs, putting her device aside. ] Or I'd wonder if he was feeling under the weather. I'm delightful.
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I would've slapped some sense into him. Don't you worry.
[ Not that he expects he'll ever have to. Not about that, anyway. ]
How are you settling back in?
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How is she settling back in? What a bloody loaded question. ]
I think, [ she begins after a moment, ] if there's anyone who can understand what it feels like to lose time while asleep, it's you and Steve. [ She looks back over to him, lips quirked in a wry smile. ] But I've been here a year so that makes it a little easier. I think the better question is how are you settling in?
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I don't know. I'm still looking for a job, but I can't exactly advertise most of my skill set.
[ And most of his skills are deadly, which isn't something he wants to do anymore, either. ]
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[ She takes a sip of her tea and savours the warmth of it, closing her eyes briefly before settling more comfortably into her corner of the sofa. It's hard to muck up her afternoon cuppa when she stopped taking it with milk and sugar during the war β rationing and old habits, of course. ]
Obviously I haven't divulged even a fraction of what I'm capable of here, especially not with the Guard. But that didn't stop them from taking me on. [ She gestures at him with her cup in lieu of a pointed finger. ] Show the commander you're a good shot and that may be enough. It was for me. All anyone out there knows is that my brother was the soldier who taught me a thing or two.
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[ Not that he's really all that cocky about it. Half of that is habit of slipping on that Bucky-shaped mask and half of it is just the truth. He doesn't miss often and even now, when he hates the idea of having to fire it at another person, a gun feels like an extension of himself. Those aren't skills a man just loses. Killing is the thing he's best at, maybe the only thing he's even all that good at anymore, but it's also the last thing he wants to do.
He's still everything HYDRA made him into, even if he's also Bucky Barnes. ]
If that's all I need--[ He shrugs. ]
How do you like it? They treat you right there? Don't ask too much of you?
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Mind your cheek, sergeant. I can still give you a run for your money.
[ Old, familiar wartime banter. Peggy Carter is a damn good shot but she knows he's better than her β by a hair, she'd say, out of habit more than bruised ego. (She doesn't care about that sort of thing.) But to his question, she draws in a slow and thoughtful breath before letting it out silently, offering him a one-shouldered shrug before elaborating. ]
Ask too little of me, if I'm being honest. But I prefer it and it pays well enough. I do good work, keep my head down where they can see, and stick it into other people's business where they can't. [ #spy ] I don't mind telling you I don't trust the woman in command β she's the right hand of the empress and neither have been entirely forthcoming during a crisis.
I've done my fair share of missions on their behalf and have since they took me on. [ But she finds her own work elsewhere, none of it entirely above board. But that's her secret to keep for now, so: ] But mostly? I go on patrol.
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