[Well, she would hardly be the first to punch him in the jaw should she go that route; hell, she wouldn't even be the first woman. But where she holds back her fists and whatever answers she might have about Tony Stark and his disdain of Rip, Peggy shoots loose and free with all she does spit out at him next. His words come back, twisted into something crude and archaic, and it would seem that Peggy's decided to lump Rip in with so many other men she has no doubt encountered during her time.
It has him rising to his feet, suddenly, smoothly--smoothly outside of a single wobble, at least, one quickly recovered from as he snaps right back at her, leaning forward as the heat of the moment carries him onward.]
Rather obvious, was it? Because my first thought was perhaps that something else had happened to you during the event, or that maybe bloody Wonderland had sent you back to 1947.
[He'd been worried. Worried that some shadow had offed her, worried that this damn unpredictable world had sent her off--
Worried for her.
Worried that someone else he's come to care for would just be gone from his life.
And perhaps it might still be so. She wants to be left alone, suddenly sees fit to see Rip as less a person and more a generic man, complete with idiotic chauvinism guiding his thoughts. It's a sting to be sure, a sign once again of this distance she's suddenly decided to put between them.
But why? It's the one thing he can't figure out.]
Certain behaviors don't change, but yours suddenly have. [He motions towards her with one hand, the other coming to rest on his hip. They don't mirror each other, but damn if it isn't close, with anger and frustration showing in both their eyes.] You were the one who showed up at my door, Miss Carter. I never asked you here, not once, but there you were, every Wednesday without fail, until tonight.
[He's come to count on it, and perhaps that's more his fault than hers. It hardly makes it any less true, however. Hardly makes the sting of it all any less.]
So no, I'm not obligated to your time or your company, but I bloody well think I deserve an explanation as to why you've suddenly decided I don't warrant either!
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It has him rising to his feet, suddenly, smoothly--smoothly outside of a single wobble, at least, one quickly recovered from as he snaps right back at her, leaning forward as the heat of the moment carries him onward.]
Rather obvious, was it? Because my first thought was perhaps that something else had happened to you during the event, or that maybe bloody Wonderland had sent you back to 1947.
[He'd been worried. Worried that some shadow had offed her, worried that this damn unpredictable world had sent her off--
Worried for her.
Worried that someone else he's come to care for would just be gone from his life.
And perhaps it might still be so. She wants to be left alone, suddenly sees fit to see Rip as less a person and more a generic man, complete with idiotic chauvinism guiding his thoughts. It's a sting to be sure, a sign once again of this distance she's suddenly decided to put between them.
But why? It's the one thing he can't figure out.]
Certain behaviors don't change, but yours suddenly have. [He motions towards her with one hand, the other coming to rest on his hip. They don't mirror each other, but damn if it isn't close, with anger and frustration showing in both their eyes.] You were the one who showed up at my door, Miss Carter. I never asked you here, not once, but there you were, every Wednesday without fail, until tonight.
[He's come to count on it, and perhaps that's more his fault than hers. It hardly makes it any less true, however. Hardly makes the sting of it all any less.]
So no, I'm not obligated to your time or your company, but I bloody well think I deserve an explanation as to why you've suddenly decided I don't warrant either!