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trace_of_scarletTourner le dos
Peggy wonders what she's doing here, looking at the man she gave up sixty years ago. There is something wrong, she thinks; she is old, and fragile, and remote -- but he is here, here, here, as immediate and mind-blowing as she knew him in life.
There is something wrong here, and she can be no part of it, no matter how much she wishes she could.
So she looks at the man in his plain grey suit, calm and grey as any man on bodyguard duty, as calm as any lover on watch, and shakes her head and walks away.
She walks away, and knows that finally she has found her Captain, as she should have done over sixty years ago.
And because she loves him, she walks away.
Director Fury Needs This Done By Thursday
"I just want you to know," Tony complains loudly, "that I feel completely oppressed by SHIELD's exploitation of my genius. I mean, you could at least let me pick the music!"
"Uh-huh." Coulson glances away from the TV screen (SuperNanny is currently engaged in an epic five-hour battle to make a spoilt six-year-old sit on the designated Naughty Step for biting her stepmother) long enough to eye Stark, who has paused sulkily over his workbench with a hammer raised Thor-like in his fist. "Lewis, if he keeps shirking his work, you have official permission to deal with him as you see fit."
"I - HEY!" Tony spins round to stare beseechingly at the much shorter brunette. "Guy with an electronic device on his chest, over here! And feeling bullied!"
Darcy glares right back at him, raising the water-filled squirtbottle threateningly. "Then stop being a dumbass and get back to work!"
Boxing At The Edges
In Lombardie, in a comicbook shop, there is a Captain America 1940 'Star Spangled Man' trading card in near-mint condition. It normally lives in pride of place behind glass, with all the most expensive memorabilia, but this comes to a sad and sticky end when one of Clint Barton's arrows explodes in the back tyre of a terrorist's getaway car careening past the shop.
The card, however, survives, as Natasha Romanoff discovers during clean up. She picks it up and dusts it off, holding it out to the man who had been their mission control.
"I think this should be yours," she says, with almost uncertainty behind the calmness, and Coulson takes it with a crinkle at the corners of his lips that is almost a smile.
"A little boxing at the edges," he remarks, examining it critically. "But surprisingly uncharred."
He tucks it into the breast pocket of his jacket. "Thanks."
SHIELDmaiden
She looks at it, glamorous and gleaming as a hornet in yellow and red. She wonders what it feels like: is it intuitive as a second skin or as clanking as chainmail? She wonders how Tony can bear it, cannot imagine how it doesn't feel like some new prison, hot as an Afghan cave. She could not bear it, she is sure. Even now, just to look at it - just to taste how nearly he died for it - makes her want to run shrieking on her high heels.
But she has a job to do, not to run terrier at a millionaire's ankles but to fly, even if she cannot bear it. Someone must bear it, and this time it must be her.
Still she hesitates, but nevertheless she tremblingly takes the helmet from the mannequin, and puts it on.
It isn't until the suit cloaks her in its entirety and her breath has settled steady - in, out, in, out, in, out - and she feels the push of it on her hips, the pull at her arms and face, that she realises the truth of it. The suit is no prison, no cage: the suit can make you free.
The suit, she thinks, will make her free.
Ideas Men
"Tony," Steve says, and fidgets a bit, like his helmet isn't on quite right. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"What, testing how conscious Bruce is mid-Hulk-out?" Tony demands. "Of course!"
"No," Steve says, but this time his fidgeting brings him a little closer to Tony, closer to Tony's lips. "About this."
Tony thinks about this, briefly. "No," he says, and leans across the remaining gulf between them. "But I'm going to do it anyway."
Errand-Running
She looked along the barrel of her gun... and along the barrel of a second gun, pointing directly at her, unhesitating and calm.
This was not, on reflection, a particularly unusual situation - excepting so far that they were both pointing guns at each other and neither of them had yet pulled the trigger.
It was also slightly unusual in that the woman was both familiar, and about sixty years older than her. She raised an eyebrow, mildly enquring, only for the woman to return the gesture.
"Aren't you supposed to be in New York, Miss Romanovna?"
"I had errands," Natasha said dryly, and put up her weapon. "Interrupted ones."
"So I see," said Peggy Carter, and lowered - but didn't holster - her own weapon. "But I think you missed some." She nodded at the room behind them. "Shall we?"
Natasha smiled: Coulson and Barton, it occurred to her, were going to be jealous as hell when she got back. "After you... ma'am."
Peggy wonders what she's doing here, looking at the man she gave up sixty years ago. There is something wrong, she thinks; she is old, and fragile, and remote -- but he is here, here, here, as immediate and mind-blowing as she knew him in life.
There is something wrong here, and she can be no part of it, no matter how much she wishes she could.
So she looks at the man in his plain grey suit, calm and grey as any man on bodyguard duty, as calm as any lover on watch, and shakes her head and walks away.
She walks away, and knows that finally she has found her Captain, as she should have done over sixty years ago.
And because she loves him, she walks away.
Director Fury Needs This Done By Thursday
"I just want you to know," Tony complains loudly, "that I feel completely oppressed by SHIELD's exploitation of my genius. I mean, you could at least let me pick the music!"
"Uh-huh." Coulson glances away from the TV screen (SuperNanny is currently engaged in an epic five-hour battle to make a spoilt six-year-old sit on the designated Naughty Step for biting her stepmother) long enough to eye Stark, who has paused sulkily over his workbench with a hammer raised Thor-like in his fist. "Lewis, if he keeps shirking his work, you have official permission to deal with him as you see fit."
"I - HEY!" Tony spins round to stare beseechingly at the much shorter brunette. "Guy with an electronic device on his chest, over here! And feeling bullied!"
Darcy glares right back at him, raising the water-filled squirtbottle threateningly. "Then stop being a dumbass and get back to work!"
Boxing At The Edges
In Lombardie, in a comicbook shop, there is a Captain America 1940 'Star Spangled Man' trading card in near-mint condition. It normally lives in pride of place behind glass, with all the most expensive memorabilia, but this comes to a sad and sticky end when one of Clint Barton's arrows explodes in the back tyre of a terrorist's getaway car careening past the shop.
The card, however, survives, as Natasha Romanoff discovers during clean up. She picks it up and dusts it off, holding it out to the man who had been their mission control.
"I think this should be yours," she says, with almost uncertainty behind the calmness, and Coulson takes it with a crinkle at the corners of his lips that is almost a smile.
"A little boxing at the edges," he remarks, examining it critically. "But surprisingly uncharred."
He tucks it into the breast pocket of his jacket. "Thanks."
SHIELDmaiden
She looks at it, glamorous and gleaming as a hornet in yellow and red. She wonders what it feels like: is it intuitive as a second skin or as clanking as chainmail? She wonders how Tony can bear it, cannot imagine how it doesn't feel like some new prison, hot as an Afghan cave. She could not bear it, she is sure. Even now, just to look at it - just to taste how nearly he died for it - makes her want to run shrieking on her high heels.
But she has a job to do, not to run terrier at a millionaire's ankles but to fly, even if she cannot bear it. Someone must bear it, and this time it must be her.
Still she hesitates, but nevertheless she tremblingly takes the helmet from the mannequin, and puts it on.
It isn't until the suit cloaks her in its entirety and her breath has settled steady - in, out, in, out, in, out - and she feels the push of it on her hips, the pull at her arms and face, that she realises the truth of it. The suit is no prison, no cage: the suit can make you free.
The suit, she thinks, will make her free.
Ideas Men
"Tony," Steve says, and fidgets a bit, like his helmet isn't on quite right. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"What, testing how conscious Bruce is mid-Hulk-out?" Tony demands. "Of course!"
"No," Steve says, but this time his fidgeting brings him a little closer to Tony, closer to Tony's lips. "About this."
Tony thinks about this, briefly. "No," he says, and leans across the remaining gulf between them. "But I'm going to do it anyway."
Errand-Running
She looked along the barrel of her gun... and along the barrel of a second gun, pointing directly at her, unhesitating and calm.
This was not, on reflection, a particularly unusual situation - excepting so far that they were both pointing guns at each other and neither of them had yet pulled the trigger.
It was also slightly unusual in that the woman was both familiar, and about sixty years older than her. She raised an eyebrow, mildly enquring, only for the woman to return the gesture.
"Aren't you supposed to be in New York, Miss Romanovna?"
"I had errands," Natasha said dryly, and put up her weapon. "Interrupted ones."
"So I see," said Peggy Carter, and lowered - but didn't holster - her own weapon. "But I think you missed some." She nodded at the room behind them. "Shall we?"
Natasha smiled: Coulson and Barton, it occurred to her, were going to be jealous as hell when she got back. "After you... ma'am."
