[ yes, yes, a hundred times yes. but peggy clears her throat -- she nabs a fry and chews it fake-idly while she watches him and his slightly widened. ]
No. [ peg chases the answer with a drink of water. ] Frankly, I'm over it. But the point still stands: there's not a lot of hard science to the way you talk about it, now. You're still letting your emotions get the better of you.
[He ought to accept that. She isn't asking him to try anything unreasonable. Professional detachment. It's what the job is. And yet, that doesn't stop the sudden flood of emotion that follows rebelliously after he's been told to put it away.]
The people who got the worst of it were my friends, Peggy. My friends were hurt and killed because I prioritized hard science over all of them telling me to slow down and think twice. This isn't some list of anonymous casualties. Every one of them mattered.
[ her resolve flickers only briefly -- only enough to realize that if she can say this to anyone then she can say this to fitz. the use of her christian name, it's diminutive form at that, rakes over her like an alarm. it tugs at her heart in exactly the same way she'd intended for it to do yesterday when she'd used rip's name. but peg doesn't know whether fitz's slip is intentional or otherwise.
her whisper is harsh, self-protective: ] For Heaven's sake, man, who do you think wrote the official report after we lost radio contact with Captain Rogers? Who do you think submitted that he must indeed have been killed in action? No list of casualties is ever anonymous. Whether they are our friends or otherwise. But the lists must be written all the same.
[None of this is intentional for Fitz. They shouldn't even be talking about this. How did they get here?
He ought to show compassion at her sudden vulnerability when she reminds him that the lists must be written. Isn't that what Father would've wanted him to do? Isn't that what all the people who do well for themselves manage?
He's not good at managing. He sinks back quietly instead, blinking back telltale water from his eyes. No. He is not going to cry in front of Peggy Carter. If there was ever a line, that is the line.]
[ on another day, peggy might have retreated. she might have more capably read the landscape of their conversation -- she might have taken some of those fabled interrogation skills she'd displayed just a glimpse of, yesterday, and used them to see how too far she's been pushing him. but she is tired. and she is worn thin trying to behave like a leader when all she'd ever really aspired to was field agent, soldier, fighter. and there is a concern in the back of her thoughts getting less and less quiet as time passes, telling her that she simply can't comprehend this level of loss and guilt and self-flagellation. to her, it's like an alien language.
so she sees him sink back. she sees water gather in his eyes. she witnesses his silence and instead of stopping, instead of processing what these signals mean and acting on that instinctive intelligence, peggy pushes forward. damn the consequences. ]
The lists are never merely lists. There's no looking at a file, at a butcher's bill, and forgetting that these are real lives. Real deaths. [ steve taught her that. once upon a time, she truly did try to keep herself more detached than invested. sometimes, when she's not at her best, that old habit rears its head.
it would be easier to think back on the casualty lists and not feel a sick sense of ownership for those numbers. after all, once enigma was broken it was only ever a case of picking and choosing which decoded german messages they should act on -- just enough to win the war as quick as possible, but never enough to tip their hand to the enemy. oh yes you can be damned sure they did their math on that one. not peggy, perhaps, but the intel certainly filtered through her. ]
Keeping the hard numbers out of your focus won't spare anyone. Least of all yourself. Not in the long run.
[She's telling him to swallow it back, to move forward, to be a man. He's supposed to be a professional, a capable agent. He should have gotten them all out of here years ago.
It'll be two years in a week, and the only real thing he's done is get people murdered.
He still can't bring himself to reply to her, can't possibly trust what sounds he'll make when he tries. A tear brazenly drops down one cheek, and his only movement is to wipe it away with an aggressive scrub, furious at it for betraying his weakness.]
[ it isn't so odd, really, to see a man cry. for the same reason peggy claims an atrocious familiarity to casualty lists, she could say the same for tears -- quiet ones and big old sobbing ones alike. lots of people cry in a war: civilians by the roadside, widows back home, the girls in the nursing pinafores just trying to hold themselves together while they also try to hold together the guts and building blocks of soldiers on stretchers. but the lads cried too -- for their mothers, for their sweethearts, for their own lives. for the bombs and the snack-crack of rifle shots and the cold oppressive impatience.
she wonders, sometimes, whether daniel sousa cried when he lost his leg.
but here she is watching leo fitz stave off his tears as best he can while they sit across from one another, club sandwich and burger between them and a while diner surrounding. it's awkward. she clears her throat -- and feels some of the fire dampen in her belly.
peggy isn't a soft touch. far bloody from it. but she's also not the sort of person who kicks a man when he's down just to prove a point. still, she can't quite bring herself to rise to any graceful supportive heights. she doesn't offer him words or a kind touch, but instead reaches for a napkin -- creasing it in her grip before she reaches across the table so he might take it. ]
[She moves to hand him a napkin and his cheeks burn from the humiliation of it. Imagine that. Peggy Carter offering to dry his tears because he can't hold himself together alone. It's atrocious. Unprofessional. There's no crying in front of Peggy Carter!!!
He pushes her hand away, swallowing thickly.]
Understood, ma'am.
[Hopefully that's what she wants to hear. Hopefully that'll make this moment end.]
[ -- she had cried the morning she had learned that the winter soldier assassinated howard stark. outside, sitting by the fountain, she'd wept ugly quiet tears. and tony, showing tenderness, had pulled out a handkerchief pushed it into her hands. the moment had trailed her ever since. god, that same event was the one that resulted in fitz hugging her.
she can't exactly hug him now, can she? not when she's the one who has done the damage. and certainly not with a table in the way. but she does catch his wrist and presses the napkin into his palm. her grip lingers there on his hand a moment too long -- suggestive of something kind and something unspoken -- before she leans back on the booth's bench.
peggy folds her hands in her lap. ]
It would appear I've taken things a step too far.
[ she betrays a hesitation. where did she go wrong? agents back in the ssr, herself included, both rightfully and unrightfully get bottled all the time. for everything from misfiled paperwork to letting a suspect slip through their grip. surely, she hasn't said anything harsher than dooley (or phillips, for that matter!) had said to her. ]
[ She's holding his hand. Because she thinks he's weak? Is it an apology for committing some invisible offense? She's trying to offer comfort, but he shouldn't need comfort. He's behaving like a child. ]
No, ma'am. You oughtn't filter yourself. I need to be reminded of these things sometimes.
[ if he wants to be treated as one of hers, he'll have to expect her style of leadership from time to time. She's said nothing untoward.
He sniffs, and he hopes she doesn't think it's pathetic.]
[ that's just it: by peggy's measure, that was her filtering herself. her half of the conversation mightn't have been kindly delivered, but nor was it calculated to hurt him how he's obviously been hurt. with a twitch of a frown, she goes over everything she said -- was it the comparison to her own experience, maybe? was this one of those times when she shouldn't have volunteered something of her own heart?
or maybe she simply hadn't volunteered enough. peggy clears her throat, drops her gaze, and wishes she were further along in her meal. the part of her that grew up through rationing can't abide leaving the rest of the food untouched on the plate. no, she'll have to finish it. then she can leave.
she fishes up another fry. ]
We all do. [ need to be reminded. ] It was Rogers who always reminded me.
[ real lives. real deaths. no matter how the numbers were written down. ]
[Fitz has a different relationship with food. It's a source of joy, of peace. It seems much less interesting now. It seems strange that she can simply go back to eating as if nothing had happened. Is she trying to make him feel unjudged? To follow up with a mention of the Captain?
He pushes back from the table and stands suddenly.]
Ma'am, if you've covered the required intelligence from yesterday's incident, perhaps it's best if I returned to work.
[ now she's the one feeling chagrined. tetherless -- trying hard and failing to figure out where she'd gone so wrong mixing work with personal relationships. chasing both doesn't always unfold so well.
her cheeks puff. she looks at what remains on his plate and swallows the knee-jerk chiding that he should leave so much behind. at the very least, he should pack it up to go... ]
Take care. [ still, polite, ill-at-ease. maybe she should protest more and distance less, but she can't quite bring herself to argue with the solution fitz presents her with: run away and stop acknowledging it. ] Work hard.
[ and once he's gone, she pulls his plate over to her side of the table. nothing should go to waste. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
No. [ peg chases the answer with a drink of water. ] Frankly, I'm over it. But the point still stands: there's not a lot of hard science to the way you talk about it, now. You're still letting your emotions get the better of you.
no subject
The people who got the worst of it were my friends, Peggy. My friends were hurt and killed because I prioritized hard science over all of them telling me to slow down and think twice. This isn't some list of anonymous casualties. Every one of them mattered.
no subject
[ her resolve flickers only briefly -- only enough to realize that if she can say this to anyone then she can say this to fitz. the use of her christian name, it's diminutive form at that, rakes over her like an alarm. it tugs at her heart in exactly the same way she'd intended for it to do yesterday when she'd used rip's name. but peg doesn't know whether fitz's slip is intentional or otherwise.
her whisper is harsh, self-protective: ] For Heaven's sake, man, who do you think wrote the official report after we lost radio contact with Captain Rogers? Who do you think submitted that he must indeed have been killed in action? No list of casualties is ever anonymous. Whether they are our friends or otherwise. But the lists must be written all the same.
no subject
He ought to show compassion at her sudden vulnerability when she reminds him that the lists must be written. Isn't that what Father would've wanted him to do? Isn't that what all the people who do well for themselves manage?
He's not good at managing. He sinks back quietly instead, blinking back telltale water from his eyes. No. He is not going to cry in front of Peggy Carter. If there was ever a line, that is the line.]
no subject
so she sees him sink back. she sees water gather in his eyes. she witnesses his silence and instead of stopping, instead of processing what these signals mean and acting on that instinctive intelligence, peggy pushes forward. damn the consequences. ]
The lists are never merely lists. There's no looking at a file, at a butcher's bill, and forgetting that these are real lives. Real deaths. [ steve taught her that. once upon a time, she truly did try to keep herself more detached than invested. sometimes, when she's not at her best, that old habit rears its head.
it would be easier to think back on the casualty lists and not feel a sick sense of ownership for those numbers. after all, once enigma was broken it was only ever a case of picking and choosing which decoded german messages they should act on -- just enough to win the war as quick as possible, but never enough to tip their hand to the enemy. oh yes you can be damned sure they did their math on that one. not peggy, perhaps, but the intel certainly filtered through her. ]
Keeping the hard numbers out of your focus won't spare anyone. Least of all yourself. Not in the long run.
no subject
It'll be two years in a week, and the only real thing he's done is get people murdered.
He still can't bring himself to reply to her, can't possibly trust what sounds he'll make when he tries. A tear brazenly drops down one cheek, and his only movement is to wipe it away with an aggressive scrub, furious at it for betraying his weakness.]
no subject
she wonders, sometimes, whether daniel sousa cried when he lost his leg.
but here she is watching leo fitz stave off his tears as best he can while they sit across from one another, club sandwich and burger between them and a while diner surrounding. it's awkward. she clears her throat -- and feels some of the fire dampen in her belly.
peggy isn't a soft touch. far bloody from it. but she's also not the sort of person who kicks a man when he's down just to prove a point. still, she can't quite bring herself to rise to any graceful supportive heights. she doesn't offer him words or a kind touch, but instead reaches for a napkin -- creasing it in her grip before she reaches across the table so he might take it. ]
no subject
He pushes her hand away, swallowing thickly.]
Understood, ma'am.
[Hopefully that's what she wants to hear. Hopefully that'll make this moment end.]
no subject
she can't exactly hug him now, can she? not when she's the one who has done the damage. and certainly not with a table in the way. but she does catch his wrist and presses the napkin into his palm. her grip lingers there on his hand a moment too long -- suggestive of something kind and something unspoken -- before she leans back on the booth's bench.
peggy folds her hands in her lap. ]
It would appear I've taken things a step too far.
[ she betrays a hesitation. where did she go wrong? agents back in the ssr, herself included, both rightfully and unrightfully get bottled all the time. for everything from misfiled paperwork to letting a suspect slip through their grip. surely, she hasn't said anything harsher than dooley (or phillips, for that matter!) had said to her. ]
no subject
No, ma'am. You oughtn't filter yourself. I need to be reminded of these things sometimes.
[ if he wants to be treated as one of hers, he'll have to expect her style of leadership from time to time. She's said nothing untoward.
He sniffs, and he hopes she doesn't think it's pathetic.]
no subject
or maybe she simply hadn't volunteered enough. peggy clears her throat, drops her gaze, and wishes she were further along in her meal. the part of her that grew up through rationing can't abide leaving the rest of the food untouched on the plate. no, she'll have to finish it. then she can leave.
she fishes up another fry. ]
We all do. [ need to be reminded. ] It was Rogers who always reminded me.
[ real lives. real deaths. no matter how the numbers were written down. ]
no subject
He pushes back from the table and stands suddenly.]
Ma'am, if you've covered the required intelligence from yesterday's incident, perhaps it's best if I returned to work.
no subject
[ now she's the one feeling chagrined. tetherless -- trying hard and failing to figure out where she'd gone so wrong mixing work with personal relationships. chasing both doesn't always unfold so well.
her cheeks puff. she looks at what remains on his plate and swallows the knee-jerk chiding that he should leave so much behind. at the very least, he should pack it up to go... ]
Take care. [ still, polite, ill-at-ease. maybe she should protest more and distance less, but she can't quite bring herself to argue with the solution fitz presents her with: run away and stop acknowledging it. ] Work hard.
[ and once he's gone, she pulls his plate over to her side of the table. nothing should go to waste. ]