[All seems well as Peggy steps inside, once more adorned in the coloring Rip has come to expect. Striking red lipstick and a distinctly forties style, and it's only Peggy's quickness in slipping off her coat that has Rip not asking if she would prefer he take it and hang it up somewhere.]
Certainly better than the last time we met here. [When silence had been the order of the day, and exhaustion weighed them both down after the hardships of the prior event. Yet somehow that had almost been easier than meeting her like this, when the joyfulness of the wedding stands out in the recent past—a highlight not often seen within Wonderland. But the movements are almost a matter of memory at this point: shutting the door behind Peggy once she's in, waiting between the entrance and the chairs while she settles herself in, takes appraisal of what he's selected for them to drink this evening.
Equally, what he's offered up for them to listen to.]
Same with you, I expect? [Unless something's happened, perhaps with her plus one or that colleague's son or someone else who holds an important place in Peggy's life. It occurs to Rip that he truly doesn't know; so much of what they discuss either revolves around the immediate or their worlds beyond this one. Less so the day to day of living here.]
[ with her jacket removed, peggy makes a quiet gesture of buttoning her sleeve cuffs and rolling them back a turn or two. it's a variety of forced casualness -- a brave attempt to fake it until she makes it. although that attempt isn't much helped when, glancing at his assembled records, she spots what's on the top of the pile.
cognizant that she might be watched, she schools away that knee-jerk desire to smile more. instead, the duty of pouring their drinks falls to rip while she approaches the turntable and its offerings. peggy shows him her back as she flips through the record sleeves. ]
You expect correctly. [ her voice lifts just loud enough to be heard. it's brassy of him, she thinks, to outright speak of the wednesday before this one. if peggy had her way, she wouldn't mention it at all. but that's what she does: she buries; avoids; strides beyond. ] Nothing to report beyond boredom. I suppose I ought to be grateful.
[ a boring life is a privilege, she once heard someone say. but what she recalls best is the look of thinly veiled disdain on her brother's face when he heard that someone say it.
either way, she's in no rush to pick the obvious record. ]
[To the record player first then, and given their conversation during the dance on Saturday, Rip expects the quiet backdrop of Elton John to fill the room in short order. Since Peggy has opted to head in that direction, Rip in turn goes for the drinks. It's with a practice eased that he pours first her glass, then his, exchanging the bottle in favor of taking both cups in hand, ready to offer Peggy one of them.
Yet it would seem she's not quite at the point of receiving it; her back is still to him, and while Rip can't see precisely which record she's looking at, her utter lack of commentary leads him to believe she's somehow got second thoughts about Elton John.
Perhaps understandable ones, given all else that man is linked to.]
It's hard to be grateful when you know it's just the calm between the storm. [Another event would happen soon enough, and they would all be scrambling once more, escaping some measure of danger, playing along with whatever lives they'd been assigned--
Reliving their worst nightmares all over again.
Rip moves to her chair, not to sit in it, but rather to lean against it's arm. It allows him a better view of Peggy, more her side than her back, and a place where she can in turn see him while they talk. Seems only natural, and he already plans to move when she decides to claim her seat anyway.
When she decides just what she wants to listen to.]
Besides, the empty hours are more a reminder that we should be doing something to try and get out of here.
[ she answers, but it's a quiet aside. if she sounds as though she's scolding anyone, then she surely must be scolding herself. peggy has got herself caught up in another mystery besides the question of how to get out of the mansion -- and it's a mystery she can't exactly share with her...friend. yes, peggy decides with a nod, let's damn well go with friend. as reluctant as she is to admit it during every subsequent instance. every friend made.
she pauses in her browsing. one well-shaped nail holding her place between record sleeves as she turns her head -- just a little, as he's been kind enough to approach and wait at a spot comfortably within her sight-line. natural, yes, but understandably deliberate. she eyes the glasses in his hands and oh, god, she's like a drink. but under the current circumstances, she's got to commit to the evening's first musical selection before she can any. ]
...Do you keep notes? [ it's question posed through formality only. peggy suspects he does -- just as she does, although she's never carried her scratchpads and notebooks this far. she devotes her mornings to them. one for wonderland; one for the 21st century.
and with work on the table (so to speak) she nearly manages to slip back in the record pile and pull the elton john album from where it's currently tilted idle against her hip, top of the pile, as she reviews the rest of the stack. but when peggy turns back to the task, her attention snags on the grey blanket folded and stored on a nearby shelf. disdainful of waste in her own right, she doesn't expect any less than rip having kept the blanket. however, there is something in how it sits out -- prepped and waiting -- that makes her reconsider cracking open the tin on those emotions and games from saturday night.
something sticks in her throat, but her expression goes unchanged. and peggy tells herself there might be time, yet, to explore sir elton john's discography. first she picks something safe and familiar, although the pressing itself is from well after her time. the name is known to her.
she follows the album in sequence: side a first, and the first song in order. the volume is kept low and unobtrusive. peggy cants the half-empty sleeve against the wall, beside the player, and turns around to face rip with all the bright cheer of a job well done.
two strides later, and peggy stands opposite to him on the other side of her chair. ]
You must. Surely. [ keep notes. ] I'd like to see them.
[It's a fair assessment, surely. Everything in this world seems designed to either torture or content them; the very room they sit in now provided by Rip's memories, the whiskey he has in hand created by thought. The Wednesday evenings he's set aside could well serve as Wonderland's weapon, should he find himself too enthralled in them, too caught up to remember, always, that neither of them is meant to be here.
That they both have roles to play in their respective histories, even if the promise of this stop-gap assures neither will have missed a moment of that time while they are here.
He watches as she continues to flip through the records. It's quite true that he's been selective not just with the first option, but all the rest. Careful as always, by habit and design, and consideration for the tastes of his guest. It helps that Rip himself enjoys music of the era, hence Edith Piaf being there at all. Many of Rip's time would not know of her work, regrettably. Not well enough to summon the record up from Wonderland's ether, certainly.
It's not a bad choice at all--but it does raise certain questions.
Only when Peggy turns towards him again, moves to stand near her chair does Rip realize he's never answered her question. Equally, he remembers that not both the glasses he has in hand are for him, and one is held out to Peggy now that it seems she's chosen the background for the evening.]
I do, yes. [Have notes. It borders on the topics they are meant to avoid on these evenings, but it's also a logical enough request. Rip's glance turns askew, and he nods more to himself as he considers showing Peggy his notebook. It's a collaboration that makes sense enough, and with drink still in hand Rip rises, moves to the desk that features central in the room, sets his cup down on the surface in favor of fishing through a drawer.]
They're a bit varied, but thorough enough, I think. [Even when Rip's mind had been altered, he'd maintained a goal of escape. There are notations on the events he's experienced, others from before his time, the missing words and how they all connect. The revelations when the mysterious objects show up, particularly about the rattle Sarah had been gifted--and if Peggy looks closely, she'll discover that Rip has started making plans for how he might use his own half, though the object itself hasn't been left out.
And of course, notes and diagrams and calculations about time. How to navigate it here, Rip's thoughts on breaking through the temporal barriers that must exist--even pictures hand-drawn of a device designed to do so. In this single notebook is every thought Rip has had about the situation that they have all found themselves in, whatever clues he's managed to pick up, hints and characters and science rooted in his own training and understanding of the way a dimension functions.
Then surely it makes sense that, even after he's crossed the gap once more, whiskey forgotten where he's left it on the desk, Rip hesitates a moment before offering the book up.]
No doubt I don't need to caution you to be careful with that. [He should replicate it, he thinks. Just in case something were to happen.] It represents nearly a year's worth of experience now.
[ trumpets and french words both writhe their way like undercurrents through rip's room. quiet enough to let themselves be heard over the music, but loud enough to crowd out the silence that might otherwise stretch between them as he hesitates before handing over his notebook.
while he'd fetched it, she'd taken a mouthful of whiskey. it begins to work its warmth through her body -- an initial bleeding edge of comfort during yet another strange wednesday. habitual, but weighty. although peggy has already promised herself that she won't drink as many cups as she did on saturday. or as many as she did the wednesday preceding it. not enough to compromise herself or her behaviours -- not enough to let these moments get muddled all over again.
and that's one part of why it's so appealing to ask after his notes. yes, it does indeed trespass into a conversation they tend not to half during their appointments. but rip is the one who invoked the notion that maybe, just maybe, they should be doing more with their time. and maybe their evenings together weren't ever meant to be included, but peggy now folds them in with determination. ]
-- And yet, Mister Hunter, your lips are moving and you're finding a way to caution me all the same. [ and she never fails to draw attention to these busybody statements of his. the ones wherein he does exactly what he states he doesn't have to do. she hears the words for what they are because she's used them herself, and so perhaps her high horse is undeserved. nevertheless, it's become a point of careful teasing -- tonight and on other nights.
peggy only takes her seat once she's claimed the book from his care. and she does at least set her glass on the table before she cracks open his notes, glancing upward with a kind of look, i'm being cautious before her fingers touch the pages. and -- hell -- there is a lot on offer. she only scans a bit of it to begin with, because under a quick glance only a few of the words leap out as immediately legible. peggy knows she wouldn't have too much trouble with a bit of effort and peace, but for now she makes do with a broad survey.
-- those diagrams catch her eye, however. alongside the calculations. there's math, here, that she's never seen before. that alone is somehow more enticing than all the rest. her attention lingers (perhaps a beat too long) before she shuffles the pages back to a very early bullet point. missing words.
she taps the thought with the edge of her fingernail, laying the notebook flat on her knee. ]
...Have you been able to figure out what you've forgotten? At the end of the last event.
[ there's no warm-up. no lob. no easy first question. as gentle and sweet as the music is and as warming as the whiskey's become, peggy has in one question stripped back the social aspect of the evening. she's set an agenda; she's dictated the tenor.
Old habit, as always. [After all, this isn't the first time she's given him metaphorical slap upon his wrist for such a thing. First it had been in regards to how she armed herself, and now this. Yet the truth is that he really doesn't think she needs such warnings--only that he cares too much not to issue them, that the importance he places upon these things won't let him rest easy without the words being uttered against the backdrop of French lyrics and instrumentals.
When she sets her glass down it reminds Rip of his own, and only when Peggy turns her gaze to the book does he move to retrieve it. Tradition might dictate he take his seat in the chair across from her, but he feels more comfortable on his feet for the moment. Free to move about, to pace quietly while she takes in his notes and his calculations. A sip of whiskey, and Rip's attentions are drawn to the melody still playing. The silence between songs, and just as the next picks up, Peggy draws his focus away from the record player, causing him to turn, for moment even look surprised.
All in favor of work--a topic he thought wouldn't truly ever be addressed in these little meetings of theirs.]
Ah, yes, actually. It was how I knew it was an event from my world. [From his own memories, because as Rip forced himself to think through all he knew, the gap became obvious.
So much like the question he knows will follow.]
The device I mentioned, possessed by the Time Masters, that was capable of seeing and manipulating time. [That they had used to manipulate him, to have Rip Hunter act as their puppet all while under the belief that he'd moved in defiance of their orders and mandates.] I can't remember what it was called, although I did know it before. No doubt if you ask Dr. Palmer or Gideon, they'll have the same gap in their memories.
[There just hadn't been an appropriate time to do so, between the event itself and the wedding so shortly after.]
[ she certainly doesn't begrudge him his desire to stay on his feet. two, three weeks ago things might have still been so nascent and new that peggy would have felt duty-bound to keep to his level. sitting together, standing together, leaning together. a way to maintain a most superficial equality. no need for it, now. not after decorum has been so thoroughly smashed to pieces -- all she needs in the aftermath is the more earnest division between business and pleasure.
(all moot, she knows, if the business itself is pleasurable -- a real risk, given how much she treats her work like her life's blood. given how she still feels a tug to turn the pages forward and pour over his diagrams once again.)
in the absence of a desk, peggy sits as prim as she can in her chair. she leans forward by a few degrees, turning back by another page as she compares his earliest notes to the explanations he'd given her on her first day in wonderland. ]
So it wasn't all that difficult to see the -- the space left behind by your missing piece. [ not a question. peggy is almost envious, because she can't figure out what's been taken from her. but how does a person even begin to take an inventory like this one?
well, rip names the solution himself: talking to other people from your own world. but there are so few of them left and even fewer who had been in wonderland during the convergence. those who do fall under both those categories are mostly the shield agents, the ones she doesn't quite know how to talk to on a good day. all in all, she's been hoping to solve that problem alone.
softly, she adds: ] I don't know which piece I'm missing.
[With drink in his right hand, Rip's left slips into his pocket; it's a practiced and easy gesture, thoughtlessly done even as he continues to walk about, circle the chairs, turn to repeat the path all over again. He's not as uncomfortable as one might think, given Rip's more solitary nature. Force of circumstance, in the end, as he'd had a great amount of time to adjust to collaborating with others in the confined space of the Waverider.
It allows him to see over her shoulder at times; to note what she's reading as she moves back and forth between the pages.]
Not in my case, no. The person I got a great deal of that information from said he relied on someone else from his world who had arrived later to figure it out. [Revealing another interesting tidbit: that the words lost were only lost among those present at the time of the event. Yet that would prove not to be the answer Peggy was seeking, precisely, when her addendum comes in quiet voice and draws Rip's gaze to her.
Of course she's missing something. There's also been an event from her world that she'd been present for.]
You can attempt to speak to those from your same universe who are here. See what they know about it. [He understands all too well how Peggy might want to learn just what gap there is in her memories. It seems an inconsequential thing, nothing more than a phrase, but not knowing the truth can drive a person mad with anxiety.] Even if they still know the term, if they speak it you won't be able to hear or recall it. That gap will give you the answer you're looking for, in a matter of speaking.
[ her head turns. she looks up, over her shoulder, to where rip is only briefly paused -- and there's a prickle of discomfort along her spine like being back at st-martin-in-the-fields and having an invigilator stand over her during exams. their gaze meets (only for a moment) and peggy reminds herself that this is anything but that.
this is meant to be teamwork. of a type.
so she hears him out. and maybe it could work if she talked it through with tony, she realizes, only he hasn't been by to see her since saturday. unusual, for him. silently she makes a mental note to seek him out on the morrow. track him down. make certain he's doing alright... ]
Of course, [ she gives voice to a hunch she's bandied about her own thoughts for weeks now, ] it might yet be a word I've never known. Could be possible.
[ she raises it like a theory, but it rings like a question. she wants support in this -- or, at least, another clever brain to check her math and make certain she's thinking with more than her nerves. ]
After all, there are so many of them I never heard before coming here. Avengers, the Winter Soldier, Iron Man, inhumans.
[ so none of those, obviously. but it speaks a little to how she's been trawling through her own mental databases -- looking for the thought-equivalent of an eye-slip.
clearing her throat, she flips pages until she finds again the one where he posits uses for the item he'd received a few events ago. ] It's all very thorough, however. Well done.
Could be, yes. [He leans forward then, looking not at Peggy but rather at the list of words he's got in a neat column all in the book.] But if what I've surmised is true, you also now can never remember the word. Your capability to know it at all has been removed. Take this instance--
[His left hand braced on the back of the chair allows him to point out "Midnight Channel" with the other, steady and careful, as he's still got his glass.]
Two words, and separately the person I spoke to remembered them both. [He glances over at Peggy; as he stands hunched over, they're nearly eye to eye.] Yet as a phrase, they could not hear it when spoken, nor read it as written--so thorough and precise is the process we somehow undergo.
[It'd be impressive if it weren't so cruel and inhumane. So much like the science behind cognitive intrusion, a process which Rip has always despised in practice, even if he can appreciate the developments that have made it possible.
Straightening up once more, Rip resumes his path, much the way that Peggy once more turns the pages. Rather than commenting on what that easy litany might suggest, he opts to focus on her compliment--largely because it seems she's more comfortable veering in such a direction.]
Thank you. I've tried to take care to document all I can. One of the largest hurdles to be overcome, I believe, is trying to find a multi-universal approach to whatever method we take to fight against Wonderland's machinations.
[The notes are there, after all, talk of magic versus science, of the three attempts he's learned of to create portals over the years, of a "Mr. Allen" and his attempt to break through time and it's end results. All efforts made based on the understanding of how such barriers work in particular worlds--but each done without some form of benefit from the other sources, so far as Rip can tell.]
[ intent and focus takes him near. near enough that she fancies she can catch the scent of recently-swallowed whiskey on his words. notes of soap, maybe, and the leather of his holster. she doesn't veer away while he leans in -- much like how she returned for their wednesday appointment despite recent developments, she knows that veering now will only draw attention the moment.
thorough and precise, rip says, and peggy nods while their eyes meet. it's good to know that the forces at work behind these stolen memories can be just that exacting. although perhaps it's the lingering hope in her that wonders whether thorough and precise might also mean that the magic, the sorcery, the science (whatever it is) is too exacting. not flexible enough to catch the loopholes. it's nothing she can test, not knowing what word or words she's missing.
but he stands up. he begins to pace his own room once again. and peggy releases a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. her attention stays split between rip's spoken words and the written ones beneath her fingertip. she's come across a particular attempt at a portal -- the one, she recognizes from its details, that happened just before she'd arrived in wonderland.
she's paused, here, tapping the point as though she's got something she'd like to say about it. only... ]
I do. [ her commentary gets derailed as she answers a question rip didn't exactly ask. ] Although they're back in my room. And not quite so lengthy as these.
[ and kept in code. nothing too cryptic -- it's more like a security blanket than it is a precaution. ]
[A floral, luxurious scent lingers about Rip even after he walks those few steps away. It's in the moments between explanations and theories that he realizes it's the fragrance of Peggy's perfume, caught no doubt when he'd stooped over to point out a phrase in the book she still holds. The same fragrance he'd caught scent of during their dance the weekend prior, even if her lipstick hadn't been that signature shade of red she wears now, and that Rip has seen her wear during almost all of their encounters.
The shade he scrubs off his crystal once she's left each Wednesday night--or Thursday morning, as the case had been that once.]
You should bring them at some point in the future regardless. A bit of collaboration could likely do some good. [Particularly since now is as good a time as any to take back up the cause. There's been little done that he's heard of since the disaster Peggy herself nearly asks about--and with the controversy caused, it's not really a surprise.
Though quite unfortunate.]
But I've interrupted you, haven't I? [He assumes from the look on her face, the way she's got her finger pressed to some unseen point on the pages. Now at last Rip takes his seat, and with it, another sip of whiskey. He's drinking less tonight, notably.
If they are to be committed to work this evening, then so be it. A little less pleasure, in exchange for a touch more productivity.]
[ collaboration. and, of course, that is the unavoidable spirit of this conversation. the one she'd kicked off just to avoid being too friendly -- and one that does well to reveal in both of them an eagerness to work, even if peggy doesn't always do well working together. collaborating.
although maybe mister jarvis would have taken offense at that assertion, given the support and help he's supplied her. daniel, too, although that thought comes with a rather funny pang. one she's quick to bury in what is only her second earnest sip of the night. as rip takes his seat, she leans forward and collects her glass for only a mouthful before returning it to the table.
she nods through his suggestion. yes, yes, she'll bring her notes -- no verbal acquiescence necessary. and maybe she should warn him that they're not plain-text and so might require a touch of extra effort, only it's his turn to shift the gears.
peggy shifts his notebook from her lap to the table between them. her nail underlines a phrase about the portal that had met its unintended end, that third attempt listed, and she tells him something she hasn't always been quick to tell anyone. ]
This, here. The catastrophe just before I arrived? I doubt Fitz was the only mind behind this portal, but I understand he may have been its main architect. [ which, from his notes, she's already gathered he knows. what might not know, however: ] Not only is he from my home universe, Mister Hunter, but he's a SHIELD agent.
[ an organization she'd alluded to plenty, but only spoke its proper name while they'd been sat outside his bedroom door and forced to tell each other the truth. ]
[There's a moment when he leans forward, glass abandoned to the table--but when that doesn't provide enough closure, he abandons his normal spot in favor of the couch just beside Peggy. Easier on them both, he decides, rather than passing the book back and forth or trying to stretch between points of interest among the pages. And it only takes a few seconds besides, allowing Rip to scoop up the notebook and refresh himself on just what she has illuminated.]
There was at least one other person named Cisco Ramon. [As came out in the open afterward, thanks to the efforts of one Georgia Mason. But far, far more interesting is when Peggy confesses her own connection to Leo Fitz; it has Rip's head shooting up, his gaze meeting hers as gears click into place.]
One of the ones who looks to you as a leadership figure, then? [Oh, but this could be useful, quite so, and there's a sudden steel in Rip's eyes as he continues on.] After the whole affair, Fitz was quite adamant that he wouldn't be conducting such an experiment again. Yet from the details released, it may have in fact been the most successful attempt at any such portal made.
[Meaning that the research and the results could prove vital in terms of any future attempts--but only if the remaining mind behind those efforts could be talked out of his self-imposed restrictions.]
[ she knows that look. not on him, perhaps, but on others: the silver flicker in the eye that lands somewhere between understanding and opportunity. ambition isn't always a vice, only usually. but if there's a ladder to climb, here, then it's meant to be one that leads them out of this place.
but, oh, the risk! when peggy asked fitz about the project and any intent to continue it, he'd been equally adamant. and she, in that moment, had passed a simple verdict: good. but that had been months ago, and the landscape has changed dramatically.
rather, her vantage point over it has.
peggy holds up a hand, a finger, a warning. this is the most she's felt like herself in a damn long time. ] Something being most successful is damned different to being, well, actually successful. Not to mention you're grading on a helluva curve. Agent Fitz is undoubtedly brilliant and I don't mean to besmirch him when I say it might be more accurate, [ she gestures at his notebook, ] to call it the least unsuccessful attempt instead.
[ two very different metrics, peggy carter thinks. edith piaf croons behind their conversation, a sentimental counterpoint to all this sudden shoptalk. ]
[A counter, immediately, and while it may well be a good one Rip still drops back against the sofa all the same. It's quite true that this little conversation has opened a door Rip has not had opportunity to peer into for far too long. Understanding of what Wonderland is, escape from it, putting an end to this horrible little dimension once and for all--
It's a place that should not exist. Of that, he is absolutely sure.]
Either way, his is the one attempt I've known of that has managed to actually breech any of the dimensional barriers in Wonderland. [Not the one leading to their own worlds, of course, but rather the barrier between the mirror realm and the one they linger in now. He holds out the notebook once more, gesturing to the words written on that same page.] And beyond that, so much of the failure was due to the manipulation of one of the researchers by a force among the mirrors. That is what set them off course before, and unleashed so much of that chaos you experienced upon your arrival.
[ once more, she takes it from him. her fingers bite (barely) into the notebook's spine. and peggy slides to the edge of her chair while she takes a better, closer look at his scribbling. it's been so long since she's last taken a drink; the glass is nearly forgotten in the rush and heat of the discussion.
she scrubs a hand across the back of her neck. feeds her fingers through her hair, head tilting while she pushes her way through a multitude of thoughts. the science is so far beyond her -- and that worries her when it comes to even talking around the periphery of this problem. peggy's clever, yes, but she knows when she's flanked by giants. there are scientists and engineers here the likes of which her peers at the ssr could only hope to emulate in shades and shadows. fitz and simmons. howard's son. ray palmer. even rip, it seems, with his diagrams and formulas -- a piece of his puzzle she'd never seen before tonight.
alongside all this energy. and peggy has to ask herself whether that faint tinge of determination isn't just a little too similar to something seen in the man she'd met by the firing range. but, of course, that man and this man are one in the same. another thought among the many. she breathes in. ]
I imagine you're near to suggesting he and I should have a chat. [ agent fitz, that is. it's hard to ignore what quality rip seized upon first and foremost: looks to you as a leadership figure. peggy's not so blind to her own machinations to think she hadn't thought of exploiting that same edge before now. although never in pursuit of another bloody portal -- and that qualm isn't exactly squashed when rip alludes to the 'manipulation' seething behind the corner of the initial attempt.
but the portal's details? maybe. theoretical frameworks. the like. she knows the value of intel like that. it's unpleasant work, but hasn't it always been?
there are lines to be drawn, of course. she won't abuse a relationship with her own people -- and fitz is decidedly that. has been since the first moment he called her ma'am. ]
[She reads, considers, and Rip in turns shifts forward in his seat, suddenly once more fueled by an energy demanding release. But unlike the hint of nerves from before, odd and unwished for, this is something far more familiar. This is hope, that deadly and dangerous thing, capable of blinding so many to truths that must always be kept in the fore, that must be seen for what they are regardless of the goals a person might be after.
But he is trained in exactly that. To measure costs, take note of their weight, and proceed with the best course of action. This avenue, when it had closed, had felt so much like a blow, particularly with Rip in no position to offer up words of encouragement or a voice to the contrary.
Now there is opportunity. He sees it; Peggy knows he does. The key is convincing her that the path is justifiable with the risks paving it.]
I am. But not if you don't believe in this possibility. [So he measures his words carefully. Peggy Carter is a smart woman, brilliant and stubborn both. She's been reluctant to take up the mantle of the founder of SHIELD; indeed, Rip himself has cautioned her to avoid it, as part of that nebulous cloud called the future of which she should not know.
She won't stand to be manipulated. If she suspects Rip might play her, even in the slightest, it will not only end this endeavor, but likely their friendship as well.
Always, always there are risks.
He's got little choice then: temper his enthusiasm. Prove he understands the danger. Be truthful in his words. He presses his hands together, not unlike a prayer, gesturing towards her in cadence with what he offers at this alter.]
I am not suggesting he build another portal straight away. But he stopped his research because of the guilt he felt. The weight of those people hurt and killed because of what happened. If anything, that will grant him wisdom towards his approach should he take up the task again--and he need not be alone. Dr. Palmer might be enlisted in the effort, or Mr. Stark.
[Both men who desire to do something, from what Rip has gleamed--although with Ray's recent marriage, his might be a harder sell.]
It's a worthy endeavor, Miss Carter. A promising beginning to what might well prove the way to end this dimension once and for all.
[ she likes rip. honest, she does. he makes her laugh, he's got good taste in scotch, and he keeps her on her toes with his mercurial answers -- by times ruthless and others sentimental. from the night she'd stepped out of his closet, arriving abruptly in wonderland, she'd found something in him that she could work with. but he's right to think that all the appeal in the world would not help rip hunter if he crossed her now. and deeply, indelibly, with utter conviction...she takes his measure and understands that she must always always always keep herself between him and leo fitz.
(and it's not just about fitz. it's about all of them -- the good bits of shield, tony, a whole rank and file of people whose presents are her future. she feels responsible for them; in moments like these, she feels protective. possessive, almost.)
while rip weighs his costs, peggy weighs hers. what does she risk by shutting him down? what does she provoke by keeping her finger out of the pie? at least, if she has a seat at the table, then maybe she can temper some of that eagerness she sees so barely-hidden behind rip's pressed hands and inside his bent frame. it's the kind of eagerness that could steamroll a person, she thinks, with enough impetus. ]
Guilt's more than wisdom. Guilt can be a useful barometer, too. [ peggy sits up and lets his notebook flop shut on her fingers. she returns it to him. just now, she doesn't need to read any more of it. ] And if his guilt tells Fitz that the gamble is too steep, then he's not your man.
[ it's not the plan she objects to, but the too-ripe potential for it to churn a person up and spit him out. ]
[There are as of yet unknown factors that would weigh more heavily on Peggy's side than Rip's; the fact, for instance, that the young scientist in question doesn't care for Rip at all. It's only chance (or destiny, as some might argue) that has aligned the three of them thus, put Peggy in each of their orbits; without that connection, Rip would likely stand no chance of inspiring Fitz to return to work on his own.
And Peggy won't either, if she doesn't have faith in the possibilities.
She takes something of a protective stance, which Rip at least realizes on some level is fair, if not ideal. He doesn't know Fitz well enough at all to say if he will need a push, or if he'll simply retreat into his self-doubt and fear. But in the end, he supposes they all might get a glimpse of the Peggy Carter who eventually founds an organization, and who inspires those who come years after to look at her with respect and awe.
Rip cannot say that it is a sight he doesn't also want to see.]
That is all I can ask. [And good still might come of it, if Fitz refuses. He might at least share his research for those who can build upon it. Rip sits back against the couch once more, lets out a breath--lets out something almost akin to a laugh, now that the deal seems to have been struck.]
It's been quite some time since there's been even this much promise of progress against this place. I'll confess, it's quite a positive, yet unexpected turn for this evening.
[ he hasn't, of course. asked. rather, rip has dashed his way around the periphery of his request -- letting peggy fall for the oldest gambit in the manual. she'd filled the details in for herself, leaping from one assumption to another. sparing him the indignity of a question, however unwittingly. if she were angry enough, she would then refuse to also spare him the next obvious question: what had he expected for the evening?
but peggy thinks she doesn't want that question answered honestly. but she doesn't want it answered dishonestly, either, when she has got herself convinced she could likely sniff out the lie. besides, the subject at hand is far more fascinating than the difficult politics of the heart -- a subject that's only grown more and more complicated the more she studies it.
best stick to these more familiar mountains and valleys. even so, she's not quite so quick as rip is to celebrate this thin edge of possibility. she shakes her head even as she admires the way in which his whole composure seems to relax.
no -- relax is the wrong word. unwind, perhaps. her attention ticks from the angle of his elbow to the rise and fall of his breath.
dourly: ] Don't let your hopes get so high.
[ admiration only takes her so far -- the rest of the way sees her slide almost naturally into the role of counter-weight to rip's exuberance. ]
[She not only spares herself the question of expectation, but also Rip. There are a few things he could provide in reply if pressed, quiet conversation and the warmth of the drink to be sure. But if she were to ask him, boldly, brazenly, just what he might have planned for the night, their first together since their dance at the wedding?
The only answer he might have been able to voice would have been Elton John.
Things takes a different turn, however. She chides him for that sudden spark of optimism, and on some level Rip understands that Peggy is right to do so. After all, this is hardly a guarantee of anything resembling escape, or even of securing the data. Still--
Still.]
I'm hardly one known for unfounded optimism, Miss Carter. [Even if the hint of a grin still plays along his lips, and there's a light in his eye that does not often nor easily shine.] I assure you, it's nothing more than celebration of a singular moment. You have my word that I will keep all hopes well checked.
[He must; Rip can remember the last time he believed a solution in view, one celebrated too soon with a drink of whiskey. His eagerness nearly led to the death of them all, a reminder now cemented as he picks up his glass for another sip.
She isn't wrong to have slapped his wrist as she has.]
[ snuffing out his gleam of optimism would have been an unenviable task. peggy finds herself grateful -- pleased, almost -- to see it persist in his eyes even after she censures him. it's not the sort of pleasure she can commit to words given the harsh stance she's already taken on his 'celebration' of a singular moment. as he calls it.
although, in peggy's ears, that rings an awful lot like rationalization.
still! it's good to see it in him: hope. she feels it's a far cry from the scattered personality she'd come across, him in his slippers, when she knocked on his door however many wednesdays ago. and watching him come to life with possibility reminds her a little of another conversation, years past, where while sitting under a tent in the rain she'd been the optimistic one. and not too long ago she'd told rip of her quiet believe that they should live in the world as it should be, could be. but that had been admitted under duress. tonight, she can choose to present only her pragmatism. ]
Well. [ her eyebrows raise and she puts on a warmer expression. peggy raises her glass in a kind of mock salute. ] Now that I have your word on the matter?
[ -- as if any of them could ever give promises about how hope and faith might tug at their hearts -- ]
I'm looking forward to us working together.
[ working. it's an important word, and it immediately defines them going forward. it's the sort of definition she'd felt had been lacking in the wake of their unexpected (albeit wonderful) dance. but this exchange of notes, this tempered promise to pursue something together...? that puts boundaries on this friendship. just-in-bloody-time. ]
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Certainly better than the last time we met here. [When silence had been the order of the day, and exhaustion weighed them both down after the hardships of the prior event. Yet somehow that had almost been easier than meeting her like this, when the joyfulness of the wedding stands out in the recent past—a highlight not often seen within Wonderland. But the movements are almost a matter of memory at this point: shutting the door behind Peggy once she's in, waiting between the entrance and the chairs while she settles herself in, takes appraisal of what he's selected for them to drink this evening.
Equally, what he's offered up for them to listen to.]
Same with you, I expect? [Unless something's happened, perhaps with her plus one or that colleague's son or someone else who holds an important place in Peggy's life. It occurs to Rip that he truly doesn't know; so much of what they discuss either revolves around the immediate or their worlds beyond this one. Less so the day to day of living here.]
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cognizant that she might be watched, she schools away that knee-jerk desire to smile more. instead, the duty of pouring their drinks falls to rip while she approaches the turntable and its offerings. peggy shows him her back as she flips through the record sleeves. ]
You expect correctly. [ her voice lifts just loud enough to be heard. it's brassy of him, she thinks, to outright speak of the wednesday before this one. if peggy had her way, she wouldn't mention it at all. but that's what she does: she buries; avoids; strides beyond. ] Nothing to report beyond boredom. I suppose I ought to be grateful.
[ a boring life is a privilege, she once heard someone say. but what she recalls best is the look of thinly veiled disdain on her brother's face when he heard that someone say it.
either way, she's in no rush to pick the obvious record. ]
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Yet it would seem she's not quite at the point of receiving it; her back is still to him, and while Rip can't see precisely which record she's looking at, her utter lack of commentary leads him to believe she's somehow got second thoughts about Elton John.
Perhaps understandable ones, given all else that man is linked to.]
It's hard to be grateful when you know it's just the calm between the storm. [Another event would happen soon enough, and they would all be scrambling once more, escaping some measure of danger, playing along with whatever lives they'd been assigned--
Reliving their worst nightmares all over again.
Rip moves to her chair, not to sit in it, but rather to lean against it's arm. It allows him a better view of Peggy, more her side than her back, and a place where she can in turn see him while they talk. Seems only natural, and he already plans to move when she decides to claim her seat anyway.
When she decides just what she wants to listen to.]
Besides, the empty hours are more a reminder that we should be doing something to try and get out of here.
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[ she answers, but it's a quiet aside. if she sounds as though she's scolding anyone, then she surely must be scolding herself. peggy has got herself caught up in another mystery besides the question of how to get out of the mansion -- and it's a mystery she can't exactly share with her...friend. yes, peggy decides with a nod, let's damn well go with friend. as reluctant as she is to admit it during every subsequent instance. every friend made.
she pauses in her browsing. one well-shaped nail holding her place between record sleeves as she turns her head -- just a little, as he's been kind enough to approach and wait at a spot comfortably within her sight-line. natural, yes, but understandably deliberate. she eyes the glasses in his hands and oh, god, she's like a drink. but under the current circumstances, she's got to commit to the evening's first musical selection before she can any. ]
...Do you keep notes? [ it's question posed through formality only. peggy suspects he does -- just as she does, although she's never carried her scratchpads and notebooks this far. she devotes her mornings to them. one for wonderland; one for the 21st century.
and with work on the table (so to speak) she nearly manages to slip back in the record pile and pull the elton john album from where it's currently tilted idle against her hip, top of the pile, as she reviews the rest of the stack. but when peggy turns back to the task, her attention snags on the grey blanket folded and stored on a nearby shelf. disdainful of waste in her own right, she doesn't expect any less than rip having kept the blanket. however, there is something in how it sits out -- prepped and waiting -- that makes her reconsider cracking open the tin on those emotions and games from saturday night.
something sticks in her throat, but her expression goes unchanged. and peggy tells herself there might be time, yet, to explore sir elton john's discography. first she picks something safe and familiar, although the pressing itself is from well after her time. the name is known to her.
she follows the album in sequence: side a first, and the first song in order. the volume is kept low and unobtrusive. peggy cants the half-empty sleeve against the wall, beside the player, and turns around to face rip with all the bright cheer of a job well done.
two strides later, and peggy stands opposite to him on the other side of her chair. ]
You must. Surely. [ keep notes. ] I'd like to see them.
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That they both have roles to play in their respective histories, even if the promise of this stop-gap assures neither will have missed a moment of that time while they are here.
He watches as she continues to flip through the records. It's quite true that he's been selective not just with the first option, but all the rest. Careful as always, by habit and design, and consideration for the tastes of his guest. It helps that Rip himself enjoys music of the era, hence Edith Piaf being there at all. Many of Rip's time would not know of her work, regrettably. Not well enough to summon the record up from Wonderland's ether, certainly.
It's not a bad choice at all--but it does raise certain questions.
Only when Peggy turns towards him again, moves to stand near her chair does Rip realize he's never answered her question. Equally, he remembers that not both the glasses he has in hand are for him, and one is held out to Peggy now that it seems she's chosen the background for the evening.]
I do, yes. [Have notes. It borders on the topics they are meant to avoid on these evenings, but it's also a logical enough request. Rip's glance turns askew, and he nods more to himself as he considers showing Peggy his notebook. It's a collaboration that makes sense enough, and with drink still in hand Rip rises, moves to the desk that features central in the room, sets his cup down on the surface in favor of fishing through a drawer.]
They're a bit varied, but thorough enough, I think. [Even when Rip's mind had been altered, he'd maintained a goal of escape. There are notations on the events he's experienced, others from before his time, the missing words and how they all connect. The revelations when the mysterious objects show up, particularly about the rattle Sarah had been gifted--and if Peggy looks closely, she'll discover that Rip has started making plans for how he might use his own half, though the object itself hasn't been left out.
And of course, notes and diagrams and calculations about time. How to navigate it here, Rip's thoughts on breaking through the temporal barriers that must exist--even pictures hand-drawn of a device designed to do so. In this single notebook is every thought Rip has had about the situation that they have all found themselves in, whatever clues he's managed to pick up, hints and characters and science rooted in his own training and understanding of the way a dimension functions.
Then surely it makes sense that, even after he's crossed the gap once more, whiskey forgotten where he's left it on the desk, Rip hesitates a moment before offering the book up.]
No doubt I don't need to caution you to be careful with that. [He should replicate it, he thinks. Just in case something were to happen.] It represents nearly a year's worth of experience now.
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while he'd fetched it, she'd taken a mouthful of whiskey. it begins to work its warmth through her body -- an initial bleeding edge of comfort during yet another strange wednesday. habitual, but weighty. although peggy has already promised herself that she won't drink as many cups as she did on saturday. or as many as she did the wednesday preceding it. not enough to compromise herself or her behaviours -- not enough to let these moments get muddled all over again.
and that's one part of why it's so appealing to ask after his notes. yes, it does indeed trespass into a conversation they tend not to half during their appointments. but rip is the one who invoked the notion that maybe, just maybe, they should be doing more with their time. and maybe their evenings together weren't ever meant to be included, but peggy now folds them in with determination. ]
-- And yet, Mister Hunter, your lips are moving and you're finding a way to caution me all the same. [ and she never fails to draw attention to these busybody statements of his. the ones wherein he does exactly what he states he doesn't have to do. she hears the words for what they are because she's used them herself, and so perhaps her high horse is undeserved. nevertheless, it's become a point of careful teasing -- tonight and on other nights.
peggy only takes her seat once she's claimed the book from his care. and she does at least set her glass on the table before she cracks open his notes, glancing upward with a kind of look, i'm being cautious before her fingers touch the pages. and -- hell -- there is a lot on offer. she only scans a bit of it to begin with, because under a quick glance only a few of the words leap out as immediately legible. peggy knows she wouldn't have too much trouble with a bit of effort and peace, but for now she makes do with a broad survey.
-- those diagrams catch her eye, however. alongside the calculations. there's math, here, that she's never seen before. that alone is somehow more enticing than all the rest. her attention lingers (perhaps a beat too long) before she shuffles the pages back to a very early bullet point. missing words.
she taps the thought with the edge of her fingernail, laying the notebook flat on her knee. ]
...Have you been able to figure out what you've forgotten? At the end of the last event.
[ there's no warm-up. no lob. no easy first question. as gentle and sweet as the music is and as warming as the whiskey's become, peggy has in one question stripped back the social aspect of the evening. she's set an agenda; she's dictated the tenor.
it is not a date. ]
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When she sets her glass down it reminds Rip of his own, and only when Peggy turns her gaze to the book does he move to retrieve it. Tradition might dictate he take his seat in the chair across from her, but he feels more comfortable on his feet for the moment. Free to move about, to pace quietly while she takes in his notes and his calculations. A sip of whiskey, and Rip's attentions are drawn to the melody still playing. The silence between songs, and just as the next picks up, Peggy draws his focus away from the record player, causing him to turn, for moment even look surprised.
All in favor of work--a topic he thought wouldn't truly ever be addressed in these little meetings of theirs.]
Ah, yes, actually. It was how I knew it was an event from my world. [From his own memories, because as Rip forced himself to think through all he knew, the gap became obvious.
So much like the question he knows will follow.]
The device I mentioned, possessed by the Time Masters, that was capable of seeing and manipulating time. [That they had used to manipulate him, to have Rip Hunter act as their puppet all while under the belief that he'd moved in defiance of their orders and mandates.] I can't remember what it was called, although I did know it before. No doubt if you ask Dr. Palmer or Gideon, they'll have the same gap in their memories.
[There just hadn't been an appropriate time to do so, between the event itself and the wedding so shortly after.]
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(all moot, she knows, if the business itself is pleasurable -- a real risk, given how much she treats her work like her life's blood. given how she still feels a tug to turn the pages forward and pour over his diagrams once again.)
in the absence of a desk, peggy sits as prim as she can in her chair. she leans forward by a few degrees, turning back by another page as she compares his earliest notes to the explanations he'd given her on her first day in wonderland. ]
So it wasn't all that difficult to see the -- the space left behind by your missing piece. [ not a question. peggy is almost envious, because she can't figure out what's been taken from her. but how does a person even begin to take an inventory like this one?
well, rip names the solution himself: talking to other people from your own world. but there are so few of them left and even fewer who had been in wonderland during the convergence. those who do fall under both those categories are mostly the shield agents, the ones she doesn't quite know how to talk to on a good day. all in all, she's been hoping to solve that problem alone.
softly, she adds: ] I don't know which piece I'm missing.
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It allows him to see over her shoulder at times; to note what she's reading as she moves back and forth between the pages.]
Not in my case, no. The person I got a great deal of that information from said he relied on someone else from his world who had arrived later to figure it out. [Revealing another interesting tidbit: that the words lost were only lost among those present at the time of the event. Yet that would prove not to be the answer Peggy was seeking, precisely, when her addendum comes in quiet voice and draws Rip's gaze to her.
Of course she's missing something. There's also been an event from her world that she'd been present for.]
You can attempt to speak to those from your same universe who are here. See what they know about it. [He understands all too well how Peggy might want to learn just what gap there is in her memories. It seems an inconsequential thing, nothing more than a phrase, but not knowing the truth can drive a person mad with anxiety.] Even if they still know the term, if they speak it you won't be able to hear or recall it. That gap will give you the answer you're looking for, in a matter of speaking.
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this is meant to be teamwork. of a type.
so she hears him out. and maybe it could work if she talked it through with tony, she realizes, only he hasn't been by to see her since saturday. unusual, for him. silently she makes a mental note to seek him out on the morrow. track him down. make certain he's doing alright... ]
Of course, [ she gives voice to a hunch she's bandied about her own thoughts for weeks now, ] it might yet be a word I've never known. Could be possible.
[ she raises it like a theory, but it rings like a question. she wants support in this -- or, at least, another clever brain to check her math and make certain she's thinking with more than her nerves. ]
After all, there are so many of them I never heard before coming here. Avengers, the Winter Soldier, Iron Man, inhumans.
[ so none of those, obviously. but it speaks a little to how she's been trawling through her own mental databases -- looking for the thought-equivalent of an eye-slip.
clearing her throat, she flips pages until she finds again the one where he posits uses for the item he'd received a few events ago. ] It's all very thorough, however. Well done.
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[His left hand braced on the back of the chair allows him to point out "Midnight Channel" with the other, steady and careful, as he's still got his glass.]
Two words, and separately the person I spoke to remembered them both. [He glances over at Peggy; as he stands hunched over, they're nearly eye to eye.] Yet as a phrase, they could not hear it when spoken, nor read it as written--so thorough and precise is the process we somehow undergo.
[It'd be impressive if it weren't so cruel and inhumane. So much like the science behind cognitive intrusion, a process which Rip has always despised in practice, even if he can appreciate the developments that have made it possible.
Straightening up once more, Rip resumes his path, much the way that Peggy once more turns the pages. Rather than commenting on what that easy litany might suggest, he opts to focus on her compliment--largely because it seems she's more comfortable veering in such a direction.]
Thank you. I've tried to take care to document all I can. One of the largest hurdles to be overcome, I believe, is trying to find a multi-universal approach to whatever method we take to fight against Wonderland's machinations.
[The notes are there, after all, talk of magic versus science, of the three attempts he's learned of to create portals over the years, of a "Mr. Allen" and his attempt to break through time and it's end results. All efforts made based on the understanding of how such barriers work in particular worlds--but each done without some form of benefit from the other sources, so far as Rip can tell.]
I assume you have a set of notes of your own.
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thorough and precise, rip says, and peggy nods while their eyes meet. it's good to know that the forces at work behind these stolen memories can be just that exacting. although perhaps it's the lingering hope in her that wonders whether thorough and precise might also mean that the magic, the sorcery, the science (whatever it is) is too exacting. not flexible enough to catch the loopholes. it's nothing she can test, not knowing what word or words she's missing.
but he stands up. he begins to pace his own room once again. and peggy releases a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. her attention stays split between rip's spoken words and the written ones beneath her fingertip. she's come across a particular attempt at a portal -- the one, she recognizes from its details, that happened just before she'd arrived in wonderland.
she's paused, here, tapping the point as though she's got something she'd like to say about it. only... ]
I do. [ her commentary gets derailed as she answers a question rip didn't exactly ask. ] Although they're back in my room. And not quite so lengthy as these.
[ and kept in code. nothing too cryptic -- it's more like a security blanket than it is a precaution. ]
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The shade he scrubs off his crystal once she's left each Wednesday night--or Thursday morning, as the case had been that once.]
You should bring them at some point in the future regardless. A bit of collaboration could likely do some good. [Particularly since now is as good a time as any to take back up the cause. There's been little done that he's heard of since the disaster Peggy herself nearly asks about--and with the controversy caused, it's not really a surprise.
Though quite unfortunate.]
But I've interrupted you, haven't I? [He assumes from the look on her face, the way she's got her finger pressed to some unseen point on the pages. Now at last Rip takes his seat, and with it, another sip of whiskey. He's drinking less tonight, notably.
If they are to be committed to work this evening, then so be it. A little less pleasure, in exchange for a touch more productivity.]
Go on.
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although maybe mister jarvis would have taken offense at that assertion, given the support and help he's supplied her. daniel, too, although that thought comes with a rather funny pang. one she's quick to bury in what is only her second earnest sip of the night. as rip takes his seat, she leans forward and collects her glass for only a mouthful before returning it to the table.
she nods through his suggestion. yes, yes, she'll bring her notes -- no verbal acquiescence necessary. and maybe she should warn him that they're not plain-text and so might require a touch of extra effort, only it's his turn to shift the gears.
peggy shifts his notebook from her lap to the table between them. her nail underlines a phrase about the portal that had met its unintended end, that third attempt listed, and she tells him something she hasn't always been quick to tell anyone. ]
This, here. The catastrophe just before I arrived? I doubt Fitz was the only mind behind this portal, but I understand he may have been its main architect. [ which, from his notes, she's already gathered he knows. what might not know, however: ] Not only is he from my home universe, Mister Hunter, but he's a SHIELD agent.
[ an organization she'd alluded to plenty, but only spoke its proper name while they'd been sat outside his bedroom door and forced to tell each other the truth. ]
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There was at least one other person named Cisco Ramon. [As came out in the open afterward, thanks to the efforts of one Georgia Mason. But far, far more interesting is when Peggy confesses her own connection to Leo Fitz; it has Rip's head shooting up, his gaze meeting hers as gears click into place.]
One of the ones who looks to you as a leadership figure, then? [Oh, but this could be useful, quite so, and there's a sudden steel in Rip's eyes as he continues on.] After the whole affair, Fitz was quite adamant that he wouldn't be conducting such an experiment again. Yet from the details released, it may have in fact been the most successful attempt at any such portal made.
[Meaning that the research and the results could prove vital in terms of any future attempts--but only if the remaining mind behind those efforts could be talked out of his self-imposed restrictions.]
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but, oh, the risk! when peggy asked fitz about the project and any intent to continue it, he'd been equally adamant. and she, in that moment, had passed a simple verdict: good. but that had been months ago, and the landscape has changed dramatically.
rather, her vantage point over it has.
peggy holds up a hand, a finger, a warning. this is the most she's felt like herself in a damn long time. ] Something being most successful is damned different to being, well, actually successful. Not to mention you're grading on a helluva curve. Agent Fitz is undoubtedly brilliant and I don't mean to besmirch him when I say it might be more accurate, [ she gestures at his notebook, ] to call it the least unsuccessful attempt instead.
[ two very different metrics, peggy carter thinks. edith piaf croons behind their conversation, a sentimental counterpoint to all this sudden shoptalk. ]
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It's a place that should not exist. Of that, he is absolutely sure.]
Either way, his is the one attempt I've known of that has managed to actually breech any of the dimensional barriers in Wonderland. [Not the one leading to their own worlds, of course, but rather the barrier between the mirror realm and the one they linger in now. He holds out the notebook once more, gesturing to the words written on that same page.] And beyond that, so much of the failure was due to the manipulation of one of the researchers by a force among the mirrors. That is what set them off course before, and unleashed so much of that chaos you experienced upon your arrival.
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she scrubs a hand across the back of her neck. feeds her fingers through her hair, head tilting while she pushes her way through a multitude of thoughts. the science is so far beyond her -- and that worries her when it comes to even talking around the periphery of this problem. peggy's clever, yes, but she knows when she's flanked by giants. there are scientists and engineers here the likes of which her peers at the ssr could only hope to emulate in shades and shadows. fitz and simmons. howard's son. ray palmer. even rip, it seems, with his diagrams and formulas -- a piece of his puzzle she'd never seen before tonight.
alongside all this energy. and peggy has to ask herself whether that faint tinge of determination isn't just a little too similar to something seen in the man she'd met by the firing range. but, of course, that man and this man are one in the same. another thought among the many. she breathes in. ]
I imagine you're near to suggesting he and I should have a chat. [ agent fitz, that is. it's hard to ignore what quality rip seized upon first and foremost: looks to you as a leadership figure. peggy's not so blind to her own machinations to think she hadn't thought of exploiting that same edge before now. although never in pursuit of another bloody portal -- and that qualm isn't exactly squashed when rip alludes to the 'manipulation' seething behind the corner of the initial attempt.
but the portal's details? maybe. theoretical frameworks. the like. she knows the value of intel like that. it's unpleasant work, but hasn't it always been?
there are lines to be drawn, of course. she won't abuse a relationship with her own people -- and fitz is decidedly that. has been since the first moment he called her ma'am. ]
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But he is trained in exactly that. To measure costs, take note of their weight, and proceed with the best course of action. This avenue, when it had closed, had felt so much like a blow, particularly with Rip in no position to offer up words of encouragement or a voice to the contrary.
Now there is opportunity. He sees it; Peggy knows he does. The key is convincing her that the path is justifiable with the risks paving it.]
I am. But not if you don't believe in this possibility. [So he measures his words carefully. Peggy Carter is a smart woman, brilliant and stubborn both. She's been reluctant to take up the mantle of the founder of SHIELD; indeed, Rip himself has cautioned her to avoid it, as part of that nebulous cloud called the future of which she should not know.
She won't stand to be manipulated. If she suspects Rip might play her, even in the slightest, it will not only end this endeavor, but likely their friendship as well.
Always, always there are risks.
He's got little choice then: temper his enthusiasm. Prove he understands the danger. Be truthful in his words. He presses his hands together, not unlike a prayer, gesturing towards her in cadence with what he offers at this alter.]
I am not suggesting he build another portal straight away. But he stopped his research because of the guilt he felt. The weight of those people hurt and killed because of what happened. If anything, that will grant him wisdom towards his approach should he take up the task again--and he need not be alone. Dr. Palmer might be enlisted in the effort, or Mr. Stark.
[Both men who desire to do something, from what Rip has gleamed--although with Ray's recent marriage, his might be a harder sell.]
It's a worthy endeavor, Miss Carter. A promising beginning to what might well prove the way to end this dimension once and for all.
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(and it's not just about fitz. it's about all of them -- the good bits of shield, tony, a whole rank and file of people whose presents are her future. she feels responsible for them; in moments like these, she feels protective. possessive, almost.)
while rip weighs his costs, peggy weighs hers. what does she risk by shutting him down? what does she provoke by keeping her finger out of the pie? at least, if she has a seat at the table, then maybe she can temper some of that eagerness she sees so barely-hidden behind rip's pressed hands and inside his bent frame. it's the kind of eagerness that could steamroll a person, she thinks, with enough impetus. ]
Guilt's more than wisdom. Guilt can be a useful barometer, too. [ peggy sits up and lets his notebook flop shut on her fingers. she returns it to him. just now, she doesn't need to read any more of it. ] And if his guilt tells Fitz that the gamble is too steep, then he's not your man.
[ it's not the plan she objects to, but the too-ripe potential for it to churn a person up and spit him out. ]
But I'll talk to him. Get a reading, so to speak.
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And Peggy won't either, if she doesn't have faith in the possibilities.
She takes something of a protective stance, which Rip at least realizes on some level is fair, if not ideal. He doesn't know Fitz well enough at all to say if he will need a push, or if he'll simply retreat into his self-doubt and fear. But in the end, he supposes they all might get a glimpse of the Peggy Carter who eventually founds an organization, and who inspires those who come years after to look at her with respect and awe.
Rip cannot say that it is a sight he doesn't also want to see.]
That is all I can ask. [And good still might come of it, if Fitz refuses. He might at least share his research for those who can build upon it. Rip sits back against the couch once more, lets out a breath--lets out something almost akin to a laugh, now that the deal seems to have been struck.]
It's been quite some time since there's been even this much promise of progress against this place. I'll confess, it's quite a positive, yet unexpected turn for this evening.
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but peggy thinks she doesn't want that question answered honestly. but she doesn't want it answered dishonestly, either, when she has got herself convinced she could likely sniff out the lie. besides, the subject at hand is far more fascinating than the difficult politics of the heart -- a subject that's only grown more and more complicated the more she studies it.
best stick to these more familiar mountains and valleys. even so, she's not quite so quick as rip is to celebrate this thin edge of possibility. she shakes her head even as she admires the way in which his whole composure seems to relax.
no -- relax is the wrong word. unwind, perhaps. her attention ticks from the angle of his elbow to the rise and fall of his breath.
dourly: ] Don't let your hopes get so high.
[ admiration only takes her so far -- the rest of the way sees her slide almost naturally into the role of counter-weight to rip's exuberance. ]
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The only answer he might have been able to voice would have been Elton John.
Things takes a different turn, however. She chides him for that sudden spark of optimism, and on some level Rip understands that Peggy is right to do so. After all, this is hardly a guarantee of anything resembling escape, or even of securing the data. Still--
Still.]
I'm hardly one known for unfounded optimism, Miss Carter. [Even if the hint of a grin still plays along his lips, and there's a light in his eye that does not often nor easily shine.] I assure you, it's nothing more than celebration of a singular moment. You have my word that I will keep all hopes well checked.
[He must; Rip can remember the last time he believed a solution in view, one celebrated too soon with a drink of whiskey. His eagerness nearly led to the death of them all, a reminder now cemented as he picks up his glass for another sip.
She isn't wrong to have slapped his wrist as she has.]
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although, in peggy's ears, that rings an awful lot like rationalization.
still! it's good to see it in him: hope. she feels it's a far cry from the scattered personality she'd come across, him in his slippers, when she knocked on his door however many wednesdays ago. and watching him come to life with possibility reminds her a little of another conversation, years past, where while sitting under a tent in the rain she'd been the optimistic one. and not too long ago she'd told rip of her quiet believe that they should live in the world as it should be, could be. but that had been admitted under duress. tonight, she can choose to present only her pragmatism. ]
Well. [ her eyebrows raise and she puts on a warmer expression. peggy raises her glass in a kind of mock salute. ] Now that I have your word on the matter?
[ -- as if any of them could ever give promises about how hope and faith might tug at their hearts -- ]
I'm looking forward to us working together.
[ working. it's an important word, and it immediately defines them going forward. it's the sort of definition she'd felt had been lacking in the wake of their unexpected (albeit wonderful) dance. but this exchange of notes, this tempered promise to pursue something together...? that puts boundaries on this friendship. just-in-bloody-time. ]