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IC Inbox - Entranceway
Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.
Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.
Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.
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Particularly when she makes her remark about black tea. Rip spares her a glance and a frown over his shoulder, but makes no comment aloud once she relents.
About more than one matter, it would seem; he's prepping that little knob of ginger when she confesses that her outward appearance is helped by prior experience. Punishment details and military inspections, and in spite of the rolling waves of nausea and aching pain flowing steadily through his body, Rip finds himself willing to grin.]
And how many punishment details did you have to endure before you mastered the art of hiding it?
[ It's a momentary distraction, he knows—but as pleasant a topic as they're likely to find while the tea brews. Certainly they can at least wait until they each have a cuppa before they strike at the heart of the matter.]
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her headache has kept her clumsy. and if she reaches for her ppk, now, then it's only to provide herself with a distraction from that clumsiness. ]
He'd have us scrub the floor of a nearby air raid shelter with our toothbrushes.
[ something about how if the recruits were so keen to chunder, he would happily supply them with a more expedited means of turning their stomachs. the very memory -- dragging her straight back to those early days before she'd left for active duty -- puts a green tinge into her expression.
maybe, if she watched closely enough, she would have witnessed just what sort of tisane or tincture he's preparing across the room. but her depth perception is unreliable at best, and she's far better served by sliding her gun back into its holster. ]
Did your Time Masters hold inspection parades? Or were they not that sort of organization?
[ paramilitary. that's what she's asking. ]
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[The fragrance of the ginger helps; the promise of a hot drink moreso, and the familiarity of the scent eases Rip's agonies a fraction just as Peggy's recollections worsen hers. Fortunately while he prefers the traditional way of heating the water, of a long and careful steeping process, in this instance Rip is willing to forgo in favor of early twenty-first century convenience. The next best thing to having a cup replicated and ready, when a throbbing head and a queasy stomach don't allow for much patience.]
Yes and no, I suppose. They were adamant about the fact that they were not raising an army, though we were uniformed and trained in ways akin to a military academy. [Not so informal as a college, and each with their own ranks to earn as they mastered concepts and theory, practical challenges and hands-on training.
There is a rather keen difference, however, at the very center of things. He's noticed it every time he's spoken to a soldier.]
They also didn't seek to inspire the same sort of comradery many armies do. [He turns to face her fully now, leaned back against the edge of the table. Even electric kettles need time to do their work, however reduced in length.] The more attachments a Time Master has, the more compromised they might potentially become when faced with some manner of impossible decision. Not to mention the liabilities involved in having people they care for in the first place.
[What any of them might do should someone they loved be threatened, or killed.]
We were meant to be—removed from humanity. And that included any bonds with our fellow Time Masters that might prove detrimental when it came to the protection of time.
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but then peggy carter went to war in earnest. it was active and it was consuming, and there was hardly any energy leftover for attachments of any sort. there were exceptions, of course -- the howling commandos chief among them. peggy would never hesitate to call those men her dear friends. but after the war...? well. being a spy during wartime and being one afterward were two very different beasts. the former required her to lie to the king's enemies; the latter required her to lie to would-be friends. it was a self-imposed isolation already dissected and displayed by her shadow-self, and one she's not keen to revist this morning.
and so it's fortunate that rip isn't talking about the soe or the ssr. he's talking about his own experiences serving as a time master. more accurately (although neither of them say the word), he's talking about his family. rip's attachments. and it's an unwarranted reaction, yes, but peggy suffers an extra roil of guilt at the thought.
oh, this is all such an inconvenient turn of events. inconvenient enough to remind peggy that they will need to talk about it, and soon. if only to put the inconvenience to rest.
rip turns back around. peggy straightens her spine and sits primly once more, this time folding her hands uselessly in her lap. so your solution is to remove yourself from the people you wish to protect? her mouth twitches down into a frown, and she stops herself from parroting another man's words. how ridiculous that she should only begin to see the true wisdom in them now that she's far far away from mister edwin jarvis. ]
I'm starting to see from whence the arrogance comes.
[ she pipes up, and if she winces it's only because of her thundering headache and little to do with any ill feelings surrounding the accusation. she'd called him as much, last night while they were both drunk, and it seems she believes the word still applies. this time, however, it's not hurled like a weapon. she's not trying to outfox anyone.
merely trying to make it through the morning without getting sick all over his sofa. ]
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He never thought there would be anyone else other than Miranda, in that regard. And there still isn't, technically—but the overlap remains.
She straightens when he turns, apparently insistent on maintaining that façade whenever he might see. Airs, he knows instantly, be they to protect herself or out of trained-in instinct, and he huffs out a soft breath as she once more sights his arrogance. For all the same reasons, no doubt.]
By that estimation, I came by it honestly. [Because it is a brand of arrogance to be sure; self-reliance and surety and all the other things required to be able to make the choices he has to. There's a soft ding as the kettle finishes its work—soft and high and just as sharp as a needle jabbed into Rip's temple, and once more he winces before he turns back to pour tea into a pair of mugs.
One for him. One for Peggy Carter.
And not for the first time, he thinks that she and Miranda would've wound up thick as thieves, had time and their universes allowed it.]
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and peggy is left questioning whether she'd like to offer him a second run at the gauntlet. she bites the inside of her lip, but otherwise doesn't so much as flinch when the electric kettle sounds off. hearing it reminds her of the rather impressive model she's got back in her room -- a gift, or a requisition, or a something from agent fitz. she finds herself quietly enamored with the idea of an electric kettle, and it's one of the few 'modern' conveniences that hasn't drawn out her haughtiness.
he pours the mugs and she raises a hand, crooking her finger as if to suggest he should bring them both back to this side of the room. there it is again: imperiousness in every line, although it's not her room and it's not her mug, and it's not her labour what went into the tea. ]
Still. [ she charges into the very heart of the conversation, almost too impatient and too hungover to beat around its bushes. she isn't the only one in the room to have dabbled with insubordination. ] Although they expected you to forswear such attachments, you didn't. I can't decide if that makes you more or less arrogant.
[ peggy doesn't ask a question. there's no question that needs to be asked, really. just a gap in the discussion that he's free to fill or ignore as he sees fit. ]
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He crosses the room, holds out one cup to Peggy and ensures she's taken good hold of it before he sits on the couch again. Beside her again, in nearly the same spot he'd had before, both this morning upon rising, and last night when they came crashing down together.
They are no longer talking of the Time Masters. Volumes are spoken in the unsaid, and as Rip takes that first glorious sip of tea, he recognizes this divergence of path. Still—his answer is delayed as the warmth of heated ginger and lemon spreads through his chest, not at all unlike the alcohol that they had both indulged and overindulged in the night prior. For a moment he's pulled away from his own thoughts to savor the comfort of that sweet relief.
Only a moment, however. Peggy is still waiting—and though he could avoid the gambit, he'd earlier told himself that once they each had tea in hand, this topic would be broached.]
Certainly at some point it became more, given that we were both training to be Time Masters when things began. [He looks down at his mug, now cupped in both hands.] We snuck about and expected we were too clever to be caught, right up until the moment that we were.
[Bold as brass they'd been, exchanging heated kisses in the hallway. Rip could make the excuse of youth, perhaps, could tell Peggy how he and Miranda made all the same promises, that this was merely an affair, a fun little fling, there would be no harm in it.
And then he suddenly found himself ready to give up everything for her.]
Although I expect much the same could be said for you. [He glances up at Peggy, if only just enough to catch her eyes, the look on her face.] A war is hardly the ideal backdrop for any affair. The risk of losing those closest to you remains ever-present.
[Just as it does in Wonderland.]
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she smells ginger and she smells lemon. somehow, the honey escapes her notice. and although it won't when she takes a sip, that sip is still delayed. it's as if peggy is denying herself that first rallying mouthful. it's just as well, because when rip tries to paint her with the same careless brush she's quick to frown and shake her head.
no, peggy thinks, much the same can't be said for her. there had been no sneaking about, no risks of being caught. maybe she and steve had fallen irrevocably in love, but when she risks discipline for his sake it'd only been to support his foray into austria after what was left of the 107th. a professional gamble, she still tries to tell herself, and not a personal one.
maybe she should turn, twist, try to face rip while they speak. but she doesn't. peggy suspects she's been flexible enough. it's time to be a little more unyielding. ]
It wasn't like that. [ she reminds him, although she knows how hollow it sounds given details come to light during the last event. ] We had our priorities. Both of us. And those priorities always took precedent.
[ right to the end. ]
There was nothing to catch us for. Regardless of the gossip that followed -- [ peggy feels a little nerve-wracked during this particular confession. she doesn't want to say it, but she thinks it's important to mention in light of the current circumstances. she doesn't want to live a public life with public affairs and public affections. she'd as good as done that already with a dead man, and the gossip had frayed her.
she nearly tells him so, too, except that she takes this momentary pause to drink her tea. she expected to miss the rich bitter bite of black tea, but what surprises her is the sickly-thick addition of honey to the mixture. it cuts through the gingery heat and the lemony brightness. it turns her stomach all over again.
her expression is something to behold! pinched and unhappy both. ] Christ, that's vile. It's like you're trying to make the hangover worse.
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He knows better. How many times must she have been hurt, and how deep must her regrets run, for the shadow to have spoken of them aloud, after all?
And indeed, perhaps the shadow's words linger on Peggy's mind as well; perceptions might not be what one would expect Peggy to fear, but it's there all the same. And why wouldn't they be? Steve Rogers, Captain America, had no doubt been idolized for all he did and sacrificed. In an era like the one Peggy comes from, where a woman is seen not for her own quality but rather that of her man, she likely suffered endless headaches for it.
But secrecy is something he can manage, if that is part of her terms. He means to tell her as much—but ah, then comes the moment when Peggy discovers his little addition to the brew.]
I wonder how many barracks you would've had to scrub if your Major caught you pulling that face. [Vile! Honestly. Rip takes another drink of his own, by all appearances quite enjoying the flavor.] The honey is meant to help right along with the lemon and the ginger. And for someone who enjoys a pastry as much as you do, I can't help but wonder why you're so against having a touch of something sweet in your tea.
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peggy leans back, hugging the cup, and she defers another drink. for the time being, at least. she eyes him. even now, under the light of morning, it's impossible not to shake some of the sweeter memories from before they'd both fallen asleep.]
I prefer -- I want -- my tea a certain way. [ she retorts, knowing full well that, by the other side of the coin, she would take every opportunity to deride him for his tea-related choices. she settles comfortably into this particular hypocrisy -- and why shouldn't she? it provides cover against every other criticism and difficult question she might have to answer for in the following minutes. ] And there's no sin in knowing what you want.
[ once again, she doesn't ask a question. but this time there absolutely is an answer she's trying to hunt out of him. ]
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And so she would—unless Rip was the one making it, he decides then. He expects no less the same from her in the end.
He can feel her eyes on him once Peggy sits back, appraising as she decides just which step comes next in this clumsy little dance of theirs. They never stray so far from the center, however. A twist, a turn, and what sounds like a conversation over entirely British conundrums has a new depth of meaning. There's no sin,, she states, and the sentiment is easy enough to agree with.]
Not at all. [But there's a time and a place for subtlety. Neither of them may want to talk about this in blunt terms, but it's a conversation that must be had. Otherwise they'd both would likely be driven mad by the questions and the curiosities—and frankly, Rip isn't keen on spending another Wednesday evening wondering just where Peggy has vanished off to.]
Which begs the question of what you do want. [Of each of them, Rip understands, but there's a certain benefit in not being the first one to answer. Peggy wears aloofness like a shield, and Rip separates himself, quietly ponders, questions. The first one to wish for something the other won't have is the first one to wind up with a bruised heart—regardless of what pretty lies they tell themselves, or things they refuse to name.
And Peggy isn't the only one wary of that pain.
He clasps his cup tighter. The burn of hot tea isn't at all unwelcome just then.]
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work. that's a decent avenue with which to begin. ]
It'll make for a far quicker conversation if I tell you what I don't want.
[ and peggy takes another (rough) gulp of tea before reaching forward. she snags her notes off the coffee table, where they'd been sitting since last night. her mug is exchanged for the book. it only takes her a moment to flip through and see what sort of progress he's made through her codes and ciphers. ]
For one, I rather enjoy working alongside you. [ it's not easy for her to say it, but his perspectives and his strengths settle well alongside hers. professionally speaking, they're compatible. and peggy finds him far more palatable to work with than many of her colleagues at the ssr back home. ] And what I don't want to do, Mister Hunter, is jeopardize that work. Or distract from it.
[ priorities and precedence. last night, with him and whiskey as her witnesses, she'd admitted his importance to her. but that doesn't change the fact that they're both stuck somewhere they shouldn't be -- and making this place more palatable won't do either of them any favours. ]
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Fitting, then, that Peggy latches on to work first. A matter of priorities, as she had said, and Rip shows little reaction when she picks up her notebook. He's taken care to not write on the pages themselves; rather there's all manner of inserts and adhesive notes, a key written out where he's solved her cypher and made a quick reference for himself tucked between the pages. All that's left is to finish going through it, but—point to what Peggy has said—Rip has been taken his time with the thing, picking it up and putting it down as one might expect a person to do with a hobby rather than a matter of work.
But they do have all manner of time to fill here. After nearly a year, Rip understands the value of having a project; he's been less keen on ending this one so quickly. Maybe moreso now, if Peggy decides she'd take the work and dump off everything else.
She isn't wrong, however. Regardless of anything more to come (or to be avoided), the effort to return to their respective worlds should come first.] I enjoy working with you as well, Miss Carter. [Echoed because even this much of an admission causes Peggy to falter in her expression, and certainly she deserves to know that their thoughts run mutual in this regard.]
And I agree with your sentiment. We both must keep our eyes on the prize, as they say. [The pleasures that might be found in Wonderland are at best momentary indulgences, distractions from the dangers and the hardships those trapped within this world are forced to suffer.
However pleasant those diversions truly are.
He almost continues on, to point out that diversions can take on many forms—but he's put the onus on Peggy, and she's shouldered it admirably thus far. It would be unfair of Rip to let some manner of impatience show just then, so he swallows his words with a touch of tea, waits for her to be ready for whatever part she deems suitable to come next.]
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the understanding shows in her face when she looks at him -- chin low but eyes flicked upward to steal only a glance, to catch him as he takes another swallow of lemon-ginger-honey. it's easy to believe his rejoinder -- that he enjoys working with her as well -- when she can see that enjoyment in every annotation.
it's tragic, yes, but the truth is that peggy's rarely known collaboration like this. she's only ever been a unique asset to a unit (as it had been with the howlies) or she's been an ill-fitting one in an agency of mostly-buffoons who refused her her acknowledgement. is it no wonder she cherishes this partnership, now? no wonder that she hesitates to see it evolve? ]
It's a fine platitude -- [ eyes on the prize! ] -- except it doesn't account for when those eyes start to wander.
[ and when it comes to eyes, she speaks of hers as much as she does his. it would be easy to blame him, to castigate him, to do what she did last night and accuse rip of being somehow inappropriate in the face this change on the horizon. but the truth is that she's met him here like an equal partner.
last night, she kissed him first. ]
I don't want to be sweethearts.
[ peggy sticks to these guns: the shorter list, the don't wants above the wants. in the end, this point rings similar to rip's earlier protest over not being some schoolboy head-over-heels. the assumption might not be there, but she feels it's important to dash it all the same. ]
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She called it the shorter variant, but now Rip suspects it's likely the easier one too. Her form of avoidance, to partner with his earlier ducking of the question by asking it.]
That's a fair way to wander, you realize. [Sweethearts, a word that sounds every bit as saccharine as she accuses his tea of being. For Rip, Ray and Sarah could qualify as sweethearts. A pair who are consumed with each other, who have decided to live and breathe and build a life together, however long it might last.
He'd had similar desires once. But when viewed through such a lens now, Rip finds it a touch easier to nod in agreement—not because he's adverse to the idea.
Rather, he simply understands the manner of person he is.]
Likely it's for the best; I've never been much good when it comes to playing the romantic anyway. [Oh, he's had his moments along the way; little surprises cooked up for Miranda, things he knew would make her smile. But far more often it had been her leaving him the reminders of home and family and love, her the one to steal his breath away. There's already so much pain to come with their inevitable parting; better to not add disappointment to that list too.]
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it would have been easier if he'd overlooked that fact. there was always the possibility that he would have argued, laughed, or reacted with indignation. had any of those happened, peggy knows, she would have stood up and walked out.
but he entertains the negotiation. so she stays, despite how her head swims. maybe peggy should drink some of tea, get some more fluid into her system, hold her verdict hostage for a bit of toast. but no, they're in the mud of it now, and she intends to see the discussion through to its end. ]
-- I also don't want you consulting Tony Stark on my whereabouts. Or my well-being. Or my...anything, for that matter. [ the two are free to talk, of course, but she'd rather not be the subject of that talking. ] It's twice now I've argued with him because of you. I won't suffer it a third time.
[ this might seem like a non-sequitur. except for peggy, it's anything but. she'd made a fuss over 'sweethearts', but last night tony had sent her a message that rather annoyingly referred to rip as her 'boyfriend,' and it's that same temperamental refusal to embrace those labels that makes her raise this new point. ]
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Oi, now; I can't be held responsible for whatever fit that man sees fit to throw. [What he'd mentioned last night remains true today; Rip's got no idea what he's done that's apparently offended Tony so greatly, that a call of concern now apparently warrants an argument--a second one, at that.]
I've spoken to the man all of three times sum total, and two of those saw him throwing vitriol when I'd just barely said hello. [He places the cup on the table, forgoing more of the tea in favor of leaning back against the sofa. He rolls his head back against the cushion, though an inconveniently placed seam digs uncomfortably at the back of his skull.] While I will readily admit I can be a "dick" at times, I've done nothing to warrant it with him.
[No, that is entirely Tony's irrational behavior, and should sit on his shoulders. But a moment later Rip sighs; he can at least abide some of what she has thrown out.]
Give me your room number and I shouldn't have reason to call him again. [Even if Peggy seeks to avoid Rip, he can at least ensure her possessions remain in tact, and by extension, that she remains tethered to Wonderland.] You do realize I only contacted him last night because I was concerned, don't you? That hardly puts me in the wrong here.
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...only it comes with a price, doesn't it? peggy rolls her eyes, yes, and shakes her head throughout the initial indignant tirade. but it's always indicative of something when she a particular argument not worth the rising. just as it's not her responsibility to defend rip to tony, it's equally not hers to defend tony to rip. she's no wealthow; she's no peace-weaver. ]
I'd buy it, perhaps, if you'd waited a day before you let your concern get the better of you. [ oh, yes, they'd found a rather equitable compromise last night in a twist and tangle on the sofa -- but that doesn't mean she's absolved him for his overeager concern. ] But a handful of hours, Good god, man. Be honest. Were you motivated by concern alone?
[ he'd asked for her wants, and she'd offered him the opposite. now it's her turn to stick him with a question intended to shed a little more light on this knot of threads between them. perhaps it's not as forthright as asking him what he wants, but she suspects it'll have much the same effect.
and after getting his hackles up. oh, peggy looks almost smug as she sits back and awaits his answer. ]
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We were less than 48 hours out from an event with an element that might have seen someone killed, we reside in a universe which brings people to and from their home dimensions with hardly any measure of predictability, and the last time I saw you, it was when your shadow laid bare your vulnerabilities to such a degree that you wished me to leave you alone so I wouldn't hear whatever you decided to confess to it.
[Three reasons; three possibilities.] I've no idea if or how many times you might have died here already, and I got no answer when I attempted to contact you directly myself. And you are as stubborn as you are strong, Miss Carter. Without fail, you have shown up on my doorstep every Wednesday, no matter what each of us has been through.
[No matter what he has been through. Rip draws in a breath, lets it out as a sigh. Though it seems so obvious now what the difference had been, in those hours last night?
Rip's thoughts ran another way.]
So either you couldn't come, or you chose not to. I needed to ascertain which it was so I would know how to proceed.
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even so, she disagrees. there's too much of a contradiction in the position -- they can't proceed like this, behaving as though being sent home could ever be a cause for serious concern. because here's what she thinks happened: upon realizing that peggy wasn't coming, rip had wanted to explain her absence away by unforeseen circumstances. her assumption, however cold, is that he'd proceeded hastily because he didn't want to entertain the possibility that she might have stood him up. that she might have willfully ignored his messages.
she slides to the edge of her seat. he'd named his price for this list-item, and peggy hadn't paid it yet. but by now she decides she'd drawn adequate blood to offset the cost. riled him up a little, let him suffer his headache a little more, prompt him to explain himself in detail and then respond to the whole lot with only two words: ]
Five fifteen.
[ there. next-bloody-time he can some and knock on her door himself. spare the both of them a great deal of confusion. ]
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The fact that he'd still had whiskey out when she stopped by, so many hours after she'd been expected?
Yet in the end Peggy gives; deceptively, perhaps, relenting in one direction so Rip might not notice her retreating in the other. If so, job well done for her. He commits the number to memory, and though he already suspects he won't be welcome as a surprise visitor, it's comforting to know he can at least put any future concerns to ease without summoning the aid of others.]
Five fifteen. [Repeated and then laid to rest, at least in Rip's mind. He raises his head again; the seam's gotten the better of him, and while he rubs at the errant spot, he glances back towards her.]
Anything more on your list of undesirables? [He won't jinx it by speaking the thought aloud, but so far it's been easy enough to accommodate.
Mentions of Tony Stark aside.]
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peggy picks back up her mug. the contents are lukewarm, now, but she makes a go of drinking them all the same. somehow it's worse for a lack of heat, and she doesn't hide her distaste after she swallows.
there's more, yet, to talk about. she still needs to approach the question of what items, if any, sit waiting on his list. but for now she crinkles her nose in acknowledgement of his question. ]
I don't suppose you'd be willing to consider a clean shave?
[ because rip hunter is the first man she's ever kissed with such a beard on his chin. and while she might have enjoyed kissing him rather a lot, she finds herself still undecided about the whiskers. ]
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Besides, considering the time that Peggy's from? He doubts she could leave anything in that cup without feeling some twinge of wrongness about it. Never mind that Wonderland would seem to be the land of plenty; mend and make do, always.
It's part of her stubbornness that Rip rather appreciates, even beyond moments such as this which see him take advantage of it.
Oh, but her question--and it is a question, rather than a non-negotiable demand--brings quite a different brand of mischievous thought into his head. There's really only one reason why she'd be asking after his beard now, and Rip puts on a show of considering it, despite knowing his answer immediately.
It affords him a few seconds to pick up his mug once more.]
...I dare say you'll get used to it, Miss Carter.
[Cheers; Rip drains the final bit of his tea.]