IC Inbox - Entranceway

[directed]

Obviously I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll--listen to it. Eventually.

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[directed]

[It is indeed a limit pushed, but wrapped up in the sweetness of the kiss? Rip does not consider that those same limits can never be redrawn in quite the same fashion once they've been broken—certainly not so much as he likely should. Too lost is he in taking his measures from her lips, the slow and sweet kiss they share a fine continuation of unspoken thoughts, that if there is some measure to steal back from the robber baron ruling this land, he might well find it with her. Certainly he might lose himself to the press of her body as she shifts so much closer, allows him the opportunity to slip his hand down to her hip and tug her nearer still.

He might, except she asks a question of her own then. A fair one, in light of each selfish stroke Rip has painted the evening with.]

Never alms. [Never pity, because Rip does not seek charity from Peggy Carter. He refuses to let such a thing taint what they've found, to have it all become some matter of obligation somehow, that which needs must rather than what might be mutually enjoyed.

His forehead rests against hers. Rip shifts his gaze between each of her eyes, too close to look at her properly.]

A loan I can repay. [But isn't it a horrid promise to make! That he would make good on whatever debt he incurs, unless this world sees fit to send him away? The words catch in his throat then; he cannot make such a vow with any manner of honesty.

They both know this.

They both have suffered too much loss not to know.

And yet. And yet.]

Plus, I expect you'll keep after me until I do. [So he would stay, and so would she, until whatever they now barter for had been settled. It's a silly dream, a tragedy waiting to be written—a bad barter of the highest order. Yet somewhere between the ache of absence and the warm press of his skin to hers, Rip finds himself saying the words all the same.

His gaze turns downward; perhaps he should have picked pity after all. It would be fitting for the fool he's suddenly become.]

[mucked]

[ the kiss was nice, the kiss was good, the kiss could have turned the whole conversation around if it could have only stayed a kiss. and nothing more. peggy is left rudderless in its wake -- buffeted by inclement emotions and what she suspects (what she hopes) is merely rip's misplaced grief. if she could trust her own emotions to remain unconditional, she might have managed to swallow that unsettled feeling. she might have managed to stay and see him through his loneliness, like she did once before.

it wasn't personal, back then, but it certainly is now. peggy has built up her indifference to people departing as a kind of bulwark to her sanity -- something she's made no secret of, especially with rip. it's bad enough she lets herself look forward to next wednesday, and the next, and the next after that. she'd rather make her plans beyond a week, but here he is hinting at a longer timeline.

maybe it's her fault. maybe she should never have twisted the conversation down that particular corkscrew. a loan, indeed. peggy doesn't frown -- doesn't flinch -- but she doesn't go chasing his gaze either.

and when she speaks her voice is cool and careful. ]

I expect I will, yes. [ she agrees because it's easier. and she shuffles backwards, too, because it's easier. it's a slow and languid motion, no different from any other instance where she's slipped out of his bed and left him alone while she got dressed. she could have argued; she could have pointed out his mistake; she could have laughed. as callous as her flight seems on the surface, the truth is that she wouldn't be fleeing at all if she thought for a moment she had a leg to stand on in refuting his foolishness.

her evasion might actually be more revealing than her temper. she buttons her blouse and clips her stockings as though nothing's changed. if she works very very hard at it, nothing has. ]

[directed]

[He knows it's a mistake before the words even leave his mouth, and yet he speaks them all the same. Can it be any surprise, then, when Peggy gives answer and pulls away. Never mind the certainty offered in her words; actions have always mattered far more to her, and though her course is a gentle one Rip knows it's meaning all the same.

He does not blame her for it. He cannot. And equally, he makes no effort to stop her when she abandons her place of rest in favor of chasing down stray clothing, of perching herself on the edge of the bed while she rearranges the buttons on her blouse and the clips on her garters, and all the other pieces Rip sees undone each time she wanders into his room.

He stands in violation of their agreement. Not sweethearts she'd said from the start, and here he's gone letting sentiment carry him away.

He watches her back while she dresses, props himself up on an elbow to do so. This mistake is his; to compound it by taking apart the full meaning of her choice now would be greater folly than he can afford to entertain. Even so, part of him can't help but piece it together, to know by observation alone what it means when she withdraws. He's seen it before, of course. During the event that led to their consummation when she asked him to leave, the Wednesday that followed when she hadn't shown up at his door like so many weeks before.

If she doesn't show up this time, could he even bring himself to chase her?

Her temper would be easier to bear in so many ways. Instead, Rip merely leans over the edge of the bed, fishes up her knickers from where they'd landed, holds them out for her to take.

All of this, in silence.]