[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. ]
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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. ]