[ a step on the stair. a puff of wind as the door opens -- as the world shrinks down to exist only within these four walls, because all the professionalism in the world can't keep her from dismissing everything outside. everything that isn't him. his shape has stayed familiar: wide, obvious shoulders and the sort of posture that takes its roots in a man's conviction. little or big, he's always caught her eye. as though grace was knit into his demeanor, if not always his bones.
-- and if the beard catches her by surprise then she says nothing of it. not yet. as changes go, it's a fascinating one. but peggy keeps her focus lasered on other details. like how her attention flickers over his shoulder, confirming he's alone, before she takes a good wide step in his direction. she leaves a chasm between their bodies. it doesn't make one whit of difference how sorely she wants to grab at him, his hands, lay fingertips on him. they were pragmatic during the war; they can be pragmatic now.
(even as a hundred mortar shells shaped out of missed opportunities fall, burst, bomb up her heart.)
peggy folds her hands together. she stands there, before him, with as much belonging and composure as she once did in the war bunker. ]
That's right. [ something in the corner of her mouth twitches. her lips press together as she swallows her smile. ] Might I suggest taking a seat?
[ his safe house, his mission, his world. but in barnstorms peggy carter and she's already fixing to take the reins. she wants to control how she breaks the explanation to him -- get him seated, get him near, get him understanding that she's real and she's here and she's on his side. ]
no subject
-- and if the beard catches her by surprise then she says nothing of it. not yet. as changes go, it's a fascinating one. but peggy keeps her focus lasered on other details. like how her attention flickers over his shoulder, confirming he's alone, before she takes a good wide step in his direction. she leaves a chasm between their bodies. it doesn't make one whit of difference how sorely she wants to grab at him, his hands, lay fingertips on him. they were pragmatic during the war; they can be pragmatic now.
(even as a hundred mortar shells shaped out of missed opportunities fall, burst, bomb up her heart.)
peggy folds her hands together. she stands there, before him, with as much belonging and composure as she once did in the war bunker. ]
That's right. [ something in the corner of her mouth twitches. her lips press together as she swallows her smile. ] Might I suggest taking a seat?
[ his safe house, his mission, his world. but in barnstorms peggy carter and she's already fixing to take the reins. she wants to control how she breaks the explanation to him -- get him seated, get him near, get him understanding that she's real and she's here and she's on his side. ]