[He'd known it been something of a risk to opt for that particular cake--but Rip had felt daring in those moments when constructing the ideas for his cake. Besides, how much of a proper go would he really had made if he didn't craft something she would enjoy? So he hearkens back on memories shared, when she'd brought him those very treats during his own nightmarish event, when he'd asked after the tarts later, as Peggy acted odd enough to warrant his concern.
And some hours after he's made his anonymous delivery, Rip gets a message. He could guess at it's meaning--but doing so in any way would reveal the answer she's really after: the source of the cake's creation. So instead he deliberates mere moments before sending back his reply.]
Wouldn't we need to decide just what of yours and mine we'd be sharing first?
[ there's a safety net in these texted conversations that doesn't exist in person: she can sit back, she can stare at the words, she can eat another bite of almond-and-cherry cake while she also deliberates. it's not that it's a safety net she needs; often, the dizzying speed at which they reply and retort at one another while face to face is an utter delight.
but it's sunday morning. and sundays are for rest. and maybe, just maybe, she's looking forward to a lazy version of their usual back and forth. ]
True enough.
[ ... ]
How about...favourite bars? Or middle names. Or maybe shoe sizes. Take your pick.
[ she can suffer a few rounds of this if it gets her what she wants. ]
[He knows better than to expect that Peggy's given up this early on, even if she means to take the roundabout way. Still, for the moment, this path suits Rip rather nicely; he merely needs to watch for her attempts to back him into that metaphorical corner, where her trap lies in wait.
And there are far worse ways to spend his Sundays besides.]
Fifth floor assuming we're limiting ourselves to Wonderland, Jon, and nines. You?
4th floor. Elizabeth. 8 in heels, but a 6.5 in boots.
[ the latter only came in men's sizes, in her experience, so the distinction has always been an important one when dealing with requisitions. an explanation she easily assumes he doesn't need, just like how she assumes he doesn't need it explained why she might actively avoid a bar that's not conveniently on her own floor. ]
What about if we don't limit ourselves to Wonderland -- have you still got a favourite then?
[ how exciting, really, to allow her curiosity off the leash. plainly and openly. ]
[ it's such a frank response. and it's not as though she's unused to getting frank responses from him, but most of them come when there is skin pressed to skin and lips moving near ears. altogether different to be sitting with a plate of cake balanced on one knee and her fingers tap-tap-tapping at the device, leaving only words between them.
but it's rather easy, at least, to imagine him coat and revolver and all. she smiles. ]
Sawdust on the floor, ragtime, and card games liable to turn into shootouts?
[ oh! that reminds her. peggy had sincerely meant to describe her own favourite drinking spot outside of wonderland -- the now destroyed whip and fiddle -- but suddenly a new question looms on the horizon. ]
[Perhaps from novels or radio dramas, designed to romanticize the era gone by. Still, her description remains on point all the same. Right down to the promise of a shootout, and really, Rip wouldn't have to stretch his thoughts too much to conjure up memories of gunsmoke.
Yet it would seem he should aim in another direction. The beat of her question is obvious enough--but to stay on theme, Rip thinks it requires him to remain rather purposely obtuse.]
I'm a bit out of practice, but I could probably manage something with the right sheet music. [Playing ragtime rather than poker, although this round he'll relent a touch more easily.
Best not to remind her that she originally called to ask after the cake.]
Unless you meant cards--although truth be told, I'm rather rusty at that as well.
Conscripted, is it? That doesn't sound nefarious at all.
[But it's just as well. Rip's quite happy to undersell himself given that he already suspects his conscription might have little to do with any potential skills he's got.]
One really doesn't spend much time in the Old West without picking up a game or two.
Someone saw fit to challenge me to a hand or three. I, quite naturally, suggested that poker wasn't much fun with only two players. Your name was floated as a potential third.
Not by me, mind.
[ the implication is right there beneath the surface: i go out of my way to keep your name off my lips. ]
[The implication is indeed there--don't blame me for dragging you into this--and yet after a moment of deliberation, Rip taps out what he suspects is an unexpected reply.]
You realize I wouldn't have been upset if it had been you.
[It's not the same as advertising their relationship, as it is; rather, it's Rip's moment to confess that perhaps they don't need to so actively keep it secret. That it might not be so terrible a thing if people realized there was some association between them, however unclarified it still remains.
But that's also rather off topic, isn't it? So he continues quickly.]
I'm not thinking it's Jane. [Who does, in fact, already know more about Peggy and Rip than likely anyone else present.] And while under normal circumstances Ray is quite happy to push his luck, his current persona leaves me doubtful.
Human, or animal? [And just what are their lives, that that is a viable question?]
[ there is no time given to her to consider and unpuzzle his rather open statement: he wouldn't have been upset, he says, and it hits her like the same bag of bricks she'd felt in the moment where he'd described himself as glad to hear she'd told someone else.
no, there's no time for it because she's next caught up in how oddly endearing it is that he should 'show his work,' so to speak, in reasoning out who the unnamed someone might be. it's not something he needs to do -- but then again, when did rip hunter ever use three words with her when he could use seven? ]
I'm afraid we're not playing Twenty Questions. But I might tell you who it was if you complete the exchange as it was initially proposed. [ i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. ] April 9th.
[ -- so, monday. with the singing and the succulent and the everything else. fancy that. ]
[She refuses him one answer but offers another, and tied with it a question of true trust. She knows his history; she knows the truth of his name, that when he called himself "Jon" before, he had not meant as Rip Hunter but as Michael Jon Carter—and that they two are the only ones in this world to carry that secret. From early on the Time Masters had taught them to hide the core truths of their identities, that revealing their lineage to an enemy could send that person traveling back in time to attack their ancestors, ahead to slaughter their progeny.
There had been a reason why the Omega protocol had been carried out by one person, and one alone.
It's no small thing. Even without the year attached, Peggy must know this. And equally, Rip suspects he could quit the game without too much ill-will sparked from it, should he decide to keep one secret more. But here's the rub: she hadn't hidden hers. Beyond that, she sought shelter in his room on the day, disguised her intentions with the gifting of a plant—one Rip sees in that very moment, as he looks over on the shelf.
Don't you dare let it die, she'd said. Peggy's orders.]
June 17 [In the end, it's an easier answer to provide than all his training would lead him to believe—but only because he knows what she's truly asked after.
[ june seventeenth! but that's so soon. what is it about the human condition, she wonders, that leads one to believe a given date is more likely to be months away. or, most likely, already passed? perhaps it's pessimism that makes her assume so.
but no. june is just around the corner, so to speak, and that makes this intel all the more precious for having learned it now. not that she tells him so -- choosing instead to honour the agreement in full: ]
It was Rocket. He remains undaunted by certain cautionary tales he's been told about me.
[ ah yes. this bird is finally coming home to roost. ]
[It's just like her to keep her reaction hidden, secreted away from him, and all the more easily thanks to the phones at that. Yet all the same, Rip expects that at some point come two months in the future, he'll find himself gifted with some measure of treat, cake or otherwise—and it's not so terrible a thing.
Miranda used to do it for him. Jonas too, when he was old enough to scribble a card out in crayon.
But the conversation moves swiftly forward, bless Peggy. She confesses the name of her co-conspirator, and with an unseen smirk, Rip rather quickly taps out his reply.]
He'll have no one but himself to blame for what happens then.
[Though the clever might note that Rip doesn't specify whether such retribution would come from Peggy's side of things, or his own.]
I believe that puts me in your debt now, by the terms of the original deal. [She's already told him her birthday as trade for his; even if she somehow doesn't see it that way, Rip doubts Peggy won't seize the advantage all the same.] And what information are you after in exchange?
[Well that's a touch out of left field, isn't it? Yet the flaw is obvious; apparently Peggy's keen to ask this particular question, or caught up in the spirit of the conversation. Either way, Rip's answer is immediate, to the letter, and designed to point out the fatal mistake Peggy's now made.]
Tsk, tsk, Miss Carter. There's a price to be paid first.
[Yes, he types it all out, two 'tsks' and a proper name. He expects there will be a scowl on her end when she sees it—one that deepens given that he doesn't add anything else for a beat after.
[ oh for the love of! tsks and all! he's perfectly correct in his prediction -- peggy sits, chewing on a bite of cake, with her mouth bowed into a frown. she can't decide whether she's more annoyed by how her blitz failed her or by his chiding tone.
what doesn't annoy her -- not one bit -- is his question. surprising, maybe, except this whole conversation turns upon their ability to ask and answer in relative freedom.
the fork hangs from between her teeth while she taps out a fresh reply. ]
I chanced upon someone singing and playing a guitar. And I, inquiring further, thought I might like to hear more.
[ and he will be her means of discovery, she decides. peggy knows she could probably go to the library and uncover the sound for herself -- but she rather prefers the idea of drawing upon rip as the resource-rich connection that he is. a whole person full of experiences and preferences and personality.
besides, his musical curation thus far hasn't steered her a step wrong. ]
[She's only got herself to blame, right along with her earlier comment about Twenty Questions. But it's not a point that needs to be made in the end; Peggy confesses where she'd received her introduction, and even before she sends the message Rip has gone to the closet to conjure a record or two.
The thought that she might lie to him, somehow hide the truth, never even occurs to him.]
You're rather in luck then. I'm quite familiar with the group. [Enough so that he has to struggle to decide just which of their LPs to pull. It only seems fitting to start with the first, and ultimately he decides on the Let it Be as the last, with Hey Jude to help cover some of the span.] You'll have a few options for when you come by next.
[ it doesn't for a moment occur to her that maybe, just maybe, this group is somehow bigger than simply any other group. that they might in any way be iconic. revolutionary, even, by some standards. to her, it's just another something she didn't already know.
but it certainly is rather nice to feel no push-back on this request. not that peggy had been expecting it -- rather, she'd got a good enough lay of the land since rip's return to recognize another important pillar of this slow-built trust between them. some future-spoilers can be encouraged because she can be relied upon to draw a line for herself -- even if that line is, sometimes, well in advance of where he'd suggest she draw it.
what's important, maybe, is that there's a line at all. ]
[It's the Legends' influence and it's the still undefined thing that exists between him and Peggy, but the choice to introduce her to a broader spectrum of music remains an easy one. And more, it's something of a selfish thing--he rather enjoys being part of her association, of taking the journey with her in discovering new ways in which notes and melodies might connect, build upon one another and create something beyond her imagining. It's been a cornerstone of their association near from the start, and so much more importantly, one that they have made theirs, in spite of Wonderland's interference.
Small victories, perhaps, but important ones. Ones Rip needs.
She asks knowing exactly whose turn it would be, but admitting as much would be too easy on her, even then. She'll get her records, but as he's said: there's a price to be paid.]
I think we're even at the moment. [A pause, seemingly while he considers.] Perhaps it's a good point to stop then, while neither of us is quite ahead.
[Before Peggy finds opportunity to wind the conversation back around to what she first called for, the truth behind a cake made in abstract image of her, right down to it's flavors.]
I think you're only frightened about what I might ask next.
[ he says they're even. are they?
there's nothing that feels even about this. sitting here with one knee bent and another forkful of cake in her mouth. it's good. better than good, really, and she doesn't quite know how to tell him so. had he been here in the room he would have every reason to see it: the relish behind her eyes and the way she chases crumbs with the edge of her finger.
but he's not here. there is only her and the cake and this device. she can't say thank you and she can't ask another question and she can't describe to him how much this cake, bizarrely spectacular though it is, tastes like home. ]
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And some hours after he's made his anonymous delivery, Rip gets a message. He could guess at it's meaning--but doing so in any way would reveal the answer she's really after: the source of the cake's creation. So instead he deliberates mere moments before sending back his reply.]
Wouldn't we need to decide just what of yours and mine we'd be sharing first?
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but it's sunday morning. and sundays are for rest. and maybe, just maybe, she's looking forward to a lazy version of their usual back and forth. ]
True enough.
[ ... ]
How about...favourite bars? Or middle names. Or maybe shoe sizes. Take your pick.
[ she can suffer a few rounds of this if it gets her what she wants. ]
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And there are far worse ways to spend his Sundays besides.]
Fifth floor assuming we're limiting ourselves to Wonderland, Jon, and nines. You?
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[ the latter only came in men's sizes, in her experience, so the distinction has always been an important one when dealing with requisitions. an explanation she easily assumes he doesn't need, just like how she assumes he doesn't need it explained why she might actively avoid a bar that's not conveniently on her own floor. ]
What about if we don't limit ourselves to Wonderland -- have you still got a favourite then?
[ how exciting, really, to allow her curiosity off the leash. plainly and openly. ]
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[Along with what era he's residing in, of course. The choices become a bit more broad when neither location nor time serve to limit them.]
Although I'll confess, I've something of a penchant for an old-fashioned American saloon.
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but it's rather easy, at least, to imagine him coat and revolver and all. she smiles. ]
Sawdust on the floor, ragtime, and card games liable to turn into shootouts?
[ oh! that reminds her. peggy had sincerely meant to describe her own favourite drinking spot outside of wonderland -- the now destroyed whip and fiddle -- but suddenly a new question looms on the horizon. ]
Do you play?
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[Perhaps from novels or radio dramas, designed to romanticize the era gone by. Still, her description remains on point all the same. Right down to the promise of a shootout, and really, Rip wouldn't have to stretch his thoughts too much to conjure up memories of gunsmoke.
Yet it would seem he should aim in another direction. The beat of her question is obvious enough--but to stay on theme, Rip thinks it requires him to remain rather purposely obtuse.]
I'm a bit out of practice, but I could probably manage something with the right sheet music. [Playing ragtime rather than poker, although this round he'll relent a touch more easily.
Best not to remind her that she originally called to ask after the cake.]
Unless you meant cards--although truth be told, I'm rather rusty at that as well.
1/2
2/2
[ with a piano, that is. ]
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[But it's just as well. Rip's quite happy to undersell himself given that he already suspects his conscription might have little to do with any potential skills he's got.]
One really doesn't spend much time in the Old West without picking up a game or two.
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Not by me, mind.
[ the implication is right there beneath the surface: i go out of my way to keep your name off my lips. ]
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You realize I wouldn't have been upset if it had been you.
[It's not the same as advertising their relationship, as it is; rather, it's Rip's moment to confess that perhaps they don't need to so actively keep it secret. That it might not be so terrible a thing if people realized there was some association between them, however unclarified it still remains.
But that's also rather off topic, isn't it? So he continues quickly.]
I'm not thinking it's Jane. [Who does, in fact, already know more about Peggy and Rip than likely anyone else present.] And while under normal circumstances Ray is quite happy to push his luck, his current persona leaves me doubtful.
Human, or animal? [And just what are their lives, that that is a viable question?]
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no, there's no time for it because she's next caught up in how oddly endearing it is that he should 'show his work,' so to speak, in reasoning out who the unnamed someone might be. it's not something he needs to do -- but then again, when did rip hunter ever use three words with her when he could use seven? ]
I'm afraid we're not playing Twenty Questions. But I might tell you who it was if you complete the exchange as it was initially proposed. [ i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. ] April 9th.
[ -- so, monday. with the singing and the succulent and the everything else. fancy that. ]
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There had been a reason why the Omega protocol had been carried out by one person, and one alone.
It's no small thing. Even without the year attached, Peggy must know this. And equally, Rip suspects he could quit the game without too much ill-will sparked from it, should he decide to keep one secret more. But here's the rub: she hadn't hidden hers. Beyond that, she sought shelter in his room on the day, disguised her intentions with the gifting of a plant—one Rip sees in that very moment, as he looks over on the shelf.
Don't you dare let it die, she'd said. Peggy's orders.]
June 17 [In the end, it's an easier answer to provide than all his training would lead him to believe—but only because he knows what she's truly asked after.
I'm trusting you; can you trust me too?
To which he answers yes.]
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but no. june is just around the corner, so to speak, and that makes this intel all the more precious for having learned it now. not that she tells him so -- choosing instead to honour the agreement in full: ]
It was Rocket. He remains undaunted by certain cautionary tales he's been told about me.
[ ah yes. this bird is finally coming home to roost. ]
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Miranda used to do it for him. Jonas too, when he was old enough to scribble a card out in crayon.
But the conversation moves swiftly forward, bless Peggy. She confesses the name of her co-conspirator, and with an unseen smirk, Rip rather quickly taps out his reply.]
He'll have no one but himself to blame for what happens then.
[Though the clever might note that Rip doesn't specify whether such retribution would come from Peggy's side of things, or his own.]
I believe that puts me in your debt now, by the terms of the original deal. [She's already told him her birthday as trade for his; even if she somehow doesn't see it that way, Rip doubts Peggy won't seize the advantage all the same.] And what information are you after in exchange?
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Have you ever heard of the Beatles?
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I've heard of them, yes.
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[ technically, by rules that neither of them agreed to aloud, it's meant to be his turn to level a question. not hers to pepper him with follow-ups. ]
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[Yes, he types it all out, two 'tsks' and a proper name. He expects there will be a scowl on her end when she sees it—one that deepens given that he doesn't add anything else for a beat after.
Until:]
Why the sudden interest in them?
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what doesn't annoy her -- not one bit -- is his question. surprising, maybe, except this whole conversation turns upon their ability to ask and answer in relative freedom.
the fork hangs from between her teeth while she taps out a fresh reply. ]
I chanced upon someone singing and playing a guitar. And I, inquiring further, thought I might like to hear more.
[ and he will be her means of discovery, she decides. peggy knows she could probably go to the library and uncover the sound for herself -- but she rather prefers the idea of drawing upon rip as the resource-rich connection that he is. a whole person full of experiences and preferences and personality.
besides, his musical curation thus far hasn't steered her a step wrong. ]
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The thought that she might lie to him, somehow hide the truth, never even occurs to him.]
You're rather in luck then. I'm quite familiar with the group. [Enough so that he has to struggle to decide just which of their LPs to pull. It only seems fitting to start with the first, and ultimately he decides on the Let it Be as the last, with Hey Jude to help cover some of the span.] You'll have a few options for when you come by next.
[On Wednesday, one would presume.]
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but it certainly is rather nice to feel no push-back on this request. not that peggy had been expecting it -- rather, she'd got a good enough lay of the land since rip's return to recognize another important pillar of this slow-built trust between them. some future-spoilers can be encouraged because she can be relied upon to draw a line for herself -- even if that line is, sometimes, well in advance of where he'd suggest she draw it.
what's important, maybe, is that there's a line at all. ]
Cheers. [ ... ] Is it your turn or mine?
[ she knows damn well whose turn it is. ]
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Small victories, perhaps, but important ones. Ones Rip needs.
She asks knowing exactly whose turn it would be, but admitting as much would be too easy on her, even then. She'll get her records, but as he's said: there's a price to be paid.]
I think we're even at the moment. [A pause, seemingly while he considers.] Perhaps it's a good point to stop then, while neither of us is quite ahead.
[Before Peggy finds opportunity to wind the conversation back around to what she first called for, the truth behind a cake made in abstract image of her, right down to it's flavors.]
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[ he says they're even. are they?
there's nothing that feels even about this. sitting here with one knee bent and another forkful of cake in her mouth. it's good. better than good, really, and she doesn't quite know how to tell him so. had he been here in the room he would have every reason to see it: the relish behind her eyes and the way she chases crumbs with the edge of her finger.
but he's not here. there is only her and the cake and this device. she can't say thank you and she can't ask another question and she can't describe to him how much this cake, bizarrely spectacular though it is, tastes like home. ]
See you Wednesday, Rip.
[ if not sooner. ]