[Perhaps it has been a fiction, but a story they've only been able to write with each other, at least so far as Rip is concerned. The tale of a man able to relax in a chair, to sip whiskey and share tales of the odd and the strange and the impossible, and laugh when such stories are offered up in return. A fiction of contentment and peace, but only on Wednesdays. Only, and certainly it's true that they've seen each other on times outside that one designated day.
He's seen more than her façade; he's sure of it. As sure as he is that Peggy's gotten a glimpse past his—more than, when he thinks to the day she found him outside this room, when he found her shooting not at targets, but at her own heartache on July 4th.
She stands, and by instinct Rip leans forward just that touch to meet her at her level. For better or for worse, because it gives Peggy a damn fine view when his eyes widen at her words, the return of confession that she finds him important too. Something unspoken can be known but still somehow unreal; this, now, is given shape and weight by the cadence of her words, and Rip presses his mouth into a tight line, takes in one breath and then another.
Peggy can craft her lies well—but she isn't cruel enough to lie about this.
He swipes a hand across his lips, fingers outstretched, slow as they drag over his mouth. She goes on, insists on her logic, calls out to his with two simple words and yes, oh yes—
Rip does remember well just what they mean.]
Liability reasons. [He repeats them softly, his head dropping down, sagging as once more hands return to his hips. Some other Rip Hunter, some other Peggy Carter, who had met and kissed and maybe even fallen in love with the possibilities of each other. But she's right; that's not who they are, and Rip lets out a soft huff before he turns his head to look at her once more.]
I'm not some schoolboy gone head over heels, you realize. [God, what is he even saying? She's right, she's right, he knows she's right, and yet he still argues all the same. It's not just the desire to be contrary anymore; Rip knows it at his core. No, it's something more profound and more selfish all at once, and he could kick himself when he figures it out, just what he's fighting for then. After all, it's hardly fitting of a Time Master to be so moved for such a reason as not wanting to lose someone they care for.
He's never been meant to have such attachments.]
Where we are is a tragedy waiting to happen. [In time and place, in circumstances that exist only between them and as part of the world they've been forced to live in. Rip takes a step closer, as if he might somehow need to. As if in the quiet and dim of the room, she might not be able to hear him somehow.] I warned you when we met that there were nothing but bad barters in this world, and no doubt you know it just as well.
Yet even so.
[Even so.]
There's no ending this without regrets, regardless of what we choose.
[A knowledge shared between them. This path only promises agony at it's end, be it here in this room, or when the inevitable future comes. He reaches up then, brushes a lock of Peggy's hair back if she lets him, despite knowing damn well that he shouldn't.
He shouldn't. They shouldn't.]
Are you so sure that these are the regrets you wish to carry?
no subject
He's seen more than her façade; he's sure of it. As sure as he is that Peggy's gotten a glimpse past his—more than, when he thinks to the day she found him outside this room, when he found her shooting not at targets, but at her own heartache on July 4th.
She stands, and by instinct Rip leans forward just that touch to meet her at her level. For better or for worse, because it gives Peggy a damn fine view when his eyes widen at her words, the return of confession that she finds him important too. Something unspoken can be known but still somehow unreal; this, now, is given shape and weight by the cadence of her words, and Rip presses his mouth into a tight line, takes in one breath and then another.
Peggy can craft her lies well—but she isn't cruel enough to lie about this.
He swipes a hand across his lips, fingers outstretched, slow as they drag over his mouth. She goes on, insists on her logic, calls out to his with two simple words and yes, oh yes—
Rip does remember well just what they mean.]
Liability reasons. [He repeats them softly, his head dropping down, sagging as once more hands return to his hips. Some other Rip Hunter, some other Peggy Carter, who had met and kissed and maybe even fallen in love with the possibilities of each other. But she's right; that's not who they are, and Rip lets out a soft huff before he turns his head to look at her once more.]
I'm not some schoolboy gone head over heels, you realize. [God, what is he even saying? She's right, she's right, he knows she's right, and yet he still argues all the same. It's not just the desire to be contrary anymore; Rip knows it at his core. No, it's something more profound and more selfish all at once, and he could kick himself when he figures it out, just what he's fighting for then. After all, it's hardly fitting of a Time Master to be so moved for such a reason as not wanting to lose someone they care for.
He's never been meant to have such attachments.]
Where we are is a tragedy waiting to happen. [In time and place, in circumstances that exist only between them and as part of the world they've been forced to live in. Rip takes a step closer, as if he might somehow need to. As if in the quiet and dim of the room, she might not be able to hear him somehow.] I warned you when we met that there were nothing but bad barters in this world, and no doubt you know it just as well.
Yet even so.
[Even so.]
There's no ending this without regrets, regardless of what we choose.
[A knowledge shared between them. This path only promises agony at it's end, be it here in this room, or when the inevitable future comes. He reaches up then, brushes a lock of Peggy's hair back if she lets him, despite knowing damn well that he shouldn't.
He shouldn't. They shouldn't.]
Are you so sure that these are the regrets you wish to carry?