[Perhaps it might be easy not to trust in the word, honesty when it's been months since their last proper conversation as him and her, Rip Hunter and Peggy Carter with memories untwisted by any outside force. Still, he believes it--or perhaps he wants to believe it. Perhaps Rip simply wants the unvarnished truth from someone, and Peggy has proven herself neither blunt nor short on opinion in the past.
And when she does confess her answer, gives nod to the comfortable and worn slippers on his feet? Well. It's a little too ridiculous to be anything but true.]
My slippers. [He repeats with a touch of amusement in his voice, and even on his lips if one judges the line of his mouth just so. Like Peggy he pulls his drink near, the bottle set on the table for when each glass is inevitably emptied. Rip leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he too considers the rather ordinary footwear that on him, stands unexpected.
Of all things. Honestly.]
Let's be glad I'd rather not pad around with cold feet, then. [And as if he's somehow made a fantastic toast, Rip raises his glass--not near enough for a clink, but simply as a signal before he takes his first sip.
What comes after is more telling. After all, she's given him an offer. A promise of an out, if he wants to take it.
Rip finds that he doesn't.]
The first time I received this bottle of whiskey, it was a gift from Rob Roy MacGregor. [A touch of a trivia from the man she doesn't know from Adam--an unexpected thing, and distant enough to be harmless, he thinks.]
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And when she does confess her answer, gives nod to the comfortable and worn slippers on his feet? Well. It's a little too ridiculous to be anything but true.]
My slippers. [He repeats with a touch of amusement in his voice, and even on his lips if one judges the line of his mouth just so. Like Peggy he pulls his drink near, the bottle set on the table for when each glass is inevitably emptied. Rip leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he too considers the rather ordinary footwear that on him, stands unexpected.
Of all things. Honestly.]
Let's be glad I'd rather not pad around with cold feet, then. [And as if he's somehow made a fantastic toast, Rip raises his glass--not near enough for a clink, but simply as a signal before he takes his first sip.
What comes after is more telling. After all, she's given him an offer. A promise of an out, if he wants to take it.
Rip finds that he doesn't.]
The first time I received this bottle of whiskey, it was a gift from Rob Roy MacGregor. [A touch of a trivia from the man she doesn't know from Adam--an unexpected thing, and distant enough to be harmless, he thinks.]