[ she picks that word out of the rest -- stretching her voice around it with a soft incredulity that betrays every last one of those cold and logical thoughts she'd had a moment prior. maybe she's a touch shaken that he's owned it aloud; maybe she's made uncomfortable by even the suggestion of such sentimentality.
it is selfish. and it's a selfishness that peggy herself hasn't yet felt. not properly. even when steve left, the twisting complications surrounding her relationship with him had not let her access anything honest about her reaction. even now, she tells herself that the only reason she'd want him back is to spare him the indignity of a future that doesn't deserve him. it's not a pretty position to hold. so she's kept it to herself.
peggy adjusts the sheet around her body. had this been a few weeks ago, she might have felt at a disadvantage without her clothes or her underpinnings. but, since this all kicked off, it's become remarkably easy to be naked or near-naked in his company. after sex, the rush has always been to leave -- not to get dressed again. those were two very different defense mechanisms, and peggy's only been guilty of the former.
she shakes her head, too, and tries to remind herself it's not her job to slap him on his wrist for feeding his hope in the wrong direction. he is, after all, a person all on his own and free to allocate his feelings as poorly as he'd like. ]
I didn't realize you were so -- [ close? is that the word she should use when talking about what amounts (to peggy) as just as many zeroes and ones as tony stark's f.r.i.d.a.y.
peggy clears her throat and tries again. ] What's so odd about it?
[ it's not like they talk to each other about who else is important to them, or why, or for how long. and that unfamiliarity shows in the way her voice catches -- uncertain -- over the question. ]
no subject
[ she picks that word out of the rest -- stretching her voice around it with a soft incredulity that betrays every last one of those cold and logical thoughts she'd had a moment prior. maybe she's a touch shaken that he's owned it aloud; maybe she's made uncomfortable by even the suggestion of such sentimentality.
it is selfish. and it's a selfishness that peggy herself hasn't yet felt. not properly. even when steve left, the twisting complications surrounding her relationship with him had not let her access anything honest about her reaction. even now, she tells herself that the only reason she'd want him back is to spare him the indignity of a future that doesn't deserve him. it's not a pretty position to hold. so she's kept it to herself.
peggy adjusts the sheet around her body. had this been a few weeks ago, she might have felt at a disadvantage without her clothes or her underpinnings. but, since this all kicked off, it's become remarkably easy to be naked or near-naked in his company. after sex, the rush has always been to leave -- not to get dressed again. those were two very different defense mechanisms, and peggy's only been guilty of the former.
she shakes her head, too, and tries to remind herself it's not her job to slap him on his wrist for feeding his hope in the wrong direction. he is, after all, a person all on his own and free to allocate his feelings as poorly as he'd like. ]
I didn't realize you were so -- [ close? is that the word she should use when talking about what amounts (to peggy) as just as many zeroes and ones as tony stark's f.r.i.d.a.y.
peggy clears her throat and tries again. ] What's so odd about it?
[ it's not like they talk to each other about who else is important to them, or why, or for how long. and that unfamiliarity shows in the way her voice catches -- uncertain -- over the question. ]