[ People these days are always worried about appearing overeager, as if texting someone twice in a row or calling less than three days after meeting can make or break a relationship. Maybe that was always the case; sometimes Steve falls into the same trap that others have of romanticizing the past, even though he was actually there.
He can't say that he wouldn't worry about coming on strong if this was any other girl and he was trying to make a good first impression. But Peggy Carter isn't any other girl and he's made her wait long enough already. So he's in motion before she's even sent her answer. In the time it takes for her to respond, Steve has already made it down several flights of stairs and out onto the street, and he's sitting on his bike with the engine running when she tells him which direction to take.
He's familiar with enough of Eudio's traffic laws to know that he's breaking a good few in his hurry, but he doesn't intend to slow unless he's pulled over. The streets are quiet except for the rumble of his engine, here and then gone as he speeds by. As soon as he parks, he's on his feet again, knowing that if he stops for even a moment he'll lose his nerve and pull back to regroup, as if there's any way he could prepare for this.
Steve remains in constant motion until the moment he knocks at her door, and by the time the flare of panic sets in it's too late for second thoughts. ]
[ She should've known he would be fast. Just underestimated how fast. Or maybe she forgot. She goes to wash her face and is still in the process of drying it when she hears the knock. Rose, who had followed her, rubbing against her ankles in an effort to comfort, turns to look in the direction of the door the same way Peggy does.
She mutters 'bloody hell' under her breath. She really did forget how fast he could be. But they are in the same city, after all.
She fans her face as she goes to the door, hoping it won't be so obvious she had been crying. Reaching for the doorknob, she pauses to take in and let out a breath. She opens it and her eyes start burning again when she sees him there. Here, alive, standing right in front of her. Damn.
[ Steve takes a step forward before he can stop himself, so that seconds later he's almost surprised to find that the distance between them has shrunk. He has to fight off the desire to close the space entirely. His heart pounds as if this were a fight to the death rather than a struggle to maintain even an illusion of composure. His rapid pulse drowns out all other sound and when Peggy speaks he barely hears it. He's wished so many times to rewind time and erase the decades that came between them, but now he'd give anything to go back just a few seconds and not miss the sound of her voice.
It's become habit to hang onto every word, committing every detail of their visits to memory, knowing that each one could be the last. The habit persists even now; he can't help his eyes scanning her quickly to take in as much as he can. He wants to memorize how she looks right now in this moment, so his last impression of her face won't come from the same old photograph featured next to every article ever written about Peggy Carter — including, most recently, her obituary.
In a way, they’ve been on borrowed time since the moment they met, he just didn’t realize until it was too late. And now he can’t shake the thought that losing her again is an inevitability. Not that it matters; he’d suffer the loss again and again for the chance to see her. And he’ll have to — he can’t stay in Eudio, even though it’s suddenly become all he wants in the world. He has a responsibility to clean up the mess he made in another universe, but until then, he doesn’t want to think about it. ]
Peggy...
[ It doesn’t seem fair that a single word could give him away so completely, but the pain his voice betrays comes as a surprise even to Steve. His throat feels tight and he’s tense all over from the effort not to reach out, but isn’t crying. He didn’t cry before the funeral, or during (though it was a close call), or even after. He doesn’t know that he could stop and he didn’t come here to lay that all on her. ]
I'm sorry, [ he sniffs, forcing a smile. ] I didn't think I'd ever see you — [ again ] — here.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
no subject
[ She sends them the address. The same flat she's been in since she arrived over a year ago. The same one that once belonged to Howard and Jarvis. ]
no subject
He can't say that he wouldn't worry about coming on strong if this was any other girl and he was trying to make a good first impression. But Peggy Carter isn't any other girl and he's made her wait long enough already. So he's in motion before she's even sent her answer. In the time it takes for her to respond, Steve has already made it down several flights of stairs and out onto the street, and he's sitting on his bike with the engine running when she tells him which direction to take.
He's familiar with enough of Eudio's traffic laws to know that he's breaking a good few in his hurry, but he doesn't intend to slow unless he's pulled over. The streets are quiet except for the rumble of his engine, here and then gone as he speeds by. As soon as he parks, he's on his feet again, knowing that if he stops for even a moment he'll lose his nerve and pull back to regroup, as if there's any way he could prepare for this.
Steve remains in constant motion until the moment he knocks at her door, and by the time the flare of panic sets in it's too late for second thoughts. ]
no subject
She mutters 'bloody hell' under her breath. She really did forget how fast he could be. But they are in the same city, after all.
She fans her face as she goes to the door, hoping it won't be so obvious she had been crying. Reaching for the doorknob, she pauses to take in and let out a breath. She opens it and her eyes start burning again when she sees him there. Here, alive, standing right in front of her. Damn.
But she forces a smile and nod, ]
Yes. I do believe that is you, Captain Rogers.
no subject
It's become habit to hang onto every word, committing every detail of their visits to memory, knowing that each one could be the last. The habit persists even now; he can't help his eyes scanning her quickly to take in as much as he can. He wants to memorize how she looks right now in this moment, so his last impression of her face won't come from the same old photograph featured next to every article ever written about Peggy Carter — including, most recently, her obituary.
In a way, they’ve been on borrowed time since the moment they met, he just didn’t realize until it was too late. And now he can’t shake the thought that losing her again is an inevitability. Not that it matters; he’d suffer the loss again and again for the chance to see her. And he’ll have to — he can’t stay in Eudio, even though it’s suddenly become all he wants in the world. He has a responsibility to clean up the mess he made in another universe, but until then, he doesn’t want to think about it. ]
Peggy...
[ It doesn’t seem fair that a single word could give him away so completely, but the pain his voice betrays comes as a surprise even to Steve. His throat feels tight and he’s tense all over from the effort not to reach out, but isn’t crying. He didn’t cry before the funeral, or during (though it was a close call), or even after. He doesn’t know that he could stop and he didn’t come here to lay that all on her. ]
I'm sorry, [ he sniffs, forcing a smile. ] I didn't think I'd ever see you — [ again ] — here.