[ 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
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. ]