womanofvalue | Open RP Post

Peggy settles in with her pillow, trying to settle in with the rather large bed. She'd been used to a single at the Griffith and though Howard tended towards opulence, she still always slept as though she'd never gained the space, firmly in a line. The positioning, now, becomes a touch awkward not because she thinks she'll be rejected, but rather she doesn't want to rile Steve up. She's hardly intending to tease him.

"I'll lie well enough for the both of us," Peggy promises, cupping his cheek. "On certain topics, only, of course." There are other things that she would never lie about, not on her life.

The next evening, Steve takes his time getting ready. This is the date he's never gotten to have with Peggy and while it's technically part of the mission, he wants to still give her the respect she deserves. He puts on a proper suit, a nice tie and he hopes that he looks every bit of the part of the hero she'd hoped she'd get to dance with at the end of the war.

"Ready to go, Mrs. Rogers?"

She's affixing gold earrings to match the bright shining (fake) gold of her wedding ring, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she wonders whether she looks like a Mrs. Rogers now. She's wearing the suitable dress of a respectable non-working wife, a pearl bracelet upon her wrist delicately. With clutch in hand, she adjusts her hair and dabs perfume in the appropriate places before she goes to meet him, standing in the door of the bedroom.

"And here I thought I'd keep my name," she jokes, knowing full well that she must be Mrs. Rogers for any of this to work.

"Oh, come on, give a guy a little chance to dream," Steve teases. She looks absolutely beautiful and if she wanted to be Mrs. Carter-Rogers or just Ms. Carter, he isn't going to complain. He's just going to count himself lucky that she's willing to go out with him at all. He's already done his tie but he subtly loosens it, makes it seem like the knot isn't quite right.

"Do you think you can help me with the tie? I don't do so well with suits that aren't star-spangled."

Peggy gives him a dubious look as she approaches him, but her eyes are filled with the challenge and fire that she'd had the night in the pub, when she'd walked in with her red dress and a challenge practically laid out for Steve. She settles right in front of him and reaches up to begin fussing with his tie.

"I suppose, for now, I'll be Mrs. Rogers," she says idly, as if the cover doesn't utterly depend on it. "Your boring little housewife. I must have made Captain America quite the roast dinner to capture his heart," is her wry, mildly contemptuous comment, because that's what the men at the club will presume. She slides her thumb over his neck as she works, catching at the pulse and feeling her own thunder in turn.

"I...I don't think you could be boring if you tried," Steve says. His pulse is hammering and any of the bravado he'd had before starting this little charade has quickly fled him. He's not good at these sort of games. In this, he's still the boy that couldn't get the girl while his friend had two on each arm. He's learned how to win fights now instead of just endure and he's a paragon of the human physique but he's still not any better with women.

He's certainly not any smoother with this woman.

"Even if you were just a housewife, Peggy, you wouldn't be boring."

She can't really hide her smile from him, so sneakily amused by the way he fumbles and stumbles over his words. While there are times when Steve's inability to converse with a woman had frustrated her, she's come around to being charmed by it again (provided she doesn't find him kissing other women anytime soon). She keeps her gaze on the tie, especially since that's about where she comes up to, with his height being what it is.

"I don't plan on being a boring housewife anytime soon," she says, half an offhand warning in the event he had any misconceived perceptions. She cups his cheek with her palm, knowing that if she hadn't just applied a coat of lipstick, he would be kissed right now. Stepping back, she regards him with a placid, calm look. "Were you able to get to the drugstore?" she asks, as if they're simply having an off-hand conversation.

"I was." To his credit, Steve manages to say that with a straight face. He's of the opinion that if you can't talk about condoms and safe sex, you don't have business having sex, so he thinks he owes it to Peggy to be able to talk about the important parts without shying away. He's gotten the protection they need so if they do end up in bed (and he hopes they do but he's not going to expect it, just hope) they won't be interrupted.

"Everything's been bought."

She raises her brow and smiles, secretively, before she steps back and smooths her hand out over the tie down his chest, enjoying the firmness below her fingertips, as she always does. There's a glimmer of nostalgia, too, imagining doing this for him before when he'd been roughly of a height with her, where she could lean straight forward and kiss him while she worked.

"I suppose then, if we garner enough information tonight, we won't have to spend the evening staking out our targets," she says. "We'll have to be very good at our jobs."

"I don't think there's a time when you aren't good at your job," Steve points out. He's not shy about giving Peggy praise and certainly not when it comes to her work as an agent. She's much better at being subtle than he is and the combination of the two of them is a formidable one. He reaches out and tucks a curl behind her ear.

"Hopefully I don't screw you up tonight."

She'd very much like to reassure Steve and promise him that there's absolutely no way that he could do such a thing, but she also doesn't want to lie. There is a chance that something could go awry, especially when it comes to subterfuge and Steve's habit of being honest. She feels her skin prickling at the touch of his fingers to her hair, her mind clouding with unprofessional thoughts.

"Bloody nora," she lets out a huff. "I am going to go after every single one of those stupid men who thought they should keep you from me." She means to reassure him, to be kind, but her frustrations are boiling over as she thinks of all their lost time.

"Shh," Steve says. It's more out of wanting to soothe Peggy than to step on her toes or hush her because, honestly, he sees her as more than an equal. He's outside of his depth when it comes to this kind of subterfuge and he doesn't want to mess anything up. He wants a chance to be able to work with Peggy again, if it works out, and that depends on him pulling this off.

"We can talk about that later, okay?"

Peggy ducks her gaze low as it fills with a low level of irritation at being hushed like a spooked baby animal, shooting Steve a look that no matter how much she may love the man, she'll use her heel to step on his foot if he condescends to her in such a way.

Still, why glare when she can put a hand on his tie. "Just a bit tighter, I think," she notes, with an edge of sweetness, knotting it just on the tighter side of comfortable. "Two hours at maximum," she says. "I don't want us to seem desperate to gossip. He has to be ready to give us the information we want, he has to trust us and we have to build that."

She ignores the little voice in her head that says if they draw this assignment out, she gets to keep living this charade.

"Two hours, got it." If his voice is a little strained, Steve tries not to bring attention to it. He doesn't want to let on that Peggy's got him in his place until they get home and then he's very, very happy to let her know just how much in his place he is.

"I'll follow your lead. You're the best at this. I'm just the best at looking like I'm in love with you."

She gives him a chiding look that's ruined by the fact that her eyes are brimming over with fondness. "Stop that, you're going to make me want to stay here and tell our handlers that the night was a bust," she accuses, taking her hands off him belatedly, as if just remembering how problematic it is for her to be touching him so much.

Breathing in deeply, she regards him curiously. "We're not taking your motorcycle, are we?" she asks, pleading that they've sent a car. "I don't think all the preparation I've just put in will survive."

Not to mention, she's not sure that she, herself, could survive being pressed up against him. At least, not before a mission. Any other time is a completely different story.

Steve laughs a little and shakes his head. "No, they're sending a car. I wouldn't ask a lady to get dressed up nice and then ruin it all by taking a motorcycle," he promises her. He lowers his voice a little, brushes his thumb against her chin. He's missed her as much as it's humanly possible to miss a person and having her here is still a novelty he hasn't gotten used to.

"But we can always take that ride later, if you wanted?"

Peggy tries not to let her enthusiasm show, but she suspects her mood is evident in the way her lips curve upwards with such ease, thinking of being on that bike with Steve. She leans in and wraps her arms around his waist, as if measuring it for later. "Yes, I think that will suit just perfectly," she agrees, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek as she goes to fetch her gloves and her bag.

She'll never be this housewife, she knows that, but perhaps once she strips off all the trappings, she can see them enjoying a touch of domesticity. Peering past the curtains, she notes the headlights in the driveway. "I believe that's our car," she says, holding out a hand to him after sliding on the wedding ring. "Ready?"

Seeing that wedding band on Peggy's finger makes Steve's heart skip a beat or three and he suddenly feels like the skinny kid with the heart that isn't up to US Army standards. He's not, anymore, but he sure feels like it sometimes when he looks at Peggy and realizes that everything he's always wanted, all his hopes and dreams, are realized in this one beautiful, amazing woman.

He steps just ahead of her to open the car door for her and let her slide in before he does. "You look great. I know I told you already but I've got to get it out at least a thousand times before we get in front of society."

Peggy is grateful that the rouge on her cheeks masks the way that even those little words can make her blush. She had thought herself to be in so much more control of herself, but Steve Rogers' surprise reappearance in her life is causing her to rethink all of that. She slides into the car with a hand upon her clutch, adjusting her little hat carefully as she peeks, glancing to make sure Steve bundles in.

Since the driver can't be officially theirs, she begins to slip into her persona, demure and sweet, curling into Steve so she can rest her cheek on his shoulder. "You say the sweetest things to me, darling," she praises, and honestly, apart from being perhaps a touch forward, she feels like she's not having to play up much at all.

Steve slips his arm around her, enjoying the moment of getting to be intimate and romantic with Peggy because, honestly, he's never gotten these moments before. These are the things that have been stolen from him by the government and by their duty and he's going to steal them now while he's supposed to be on their time. He is careful not to tousle her carefully-done hair and every shift of his body reminds him that he wants her badly.

"It's not hard when I love you as much as I do. Just kind of comes out, honey."

There's a teasing glimmer in her eyes as she looks at him, implying that later, she's going to remark upon his use of 'honey', wondering if she's the first person to have ever earned that particular endearment out of him. She also can't help the way her insides try and liquefy when he says 'I love you' as easily as he does, as easy as breathing, like he does it all the time.

Heart racing, she steels herself and reaches down to take his hand in hers, squeezing firmly to promise that she feels the exact same. With a mind to their driver, she turns their conversation to banalities as they drive, discussing the colour of paint in the living room, what he wants for dinner.

Honestly, by the time they arrive at the club, she's desperately relieved given how bored she is by the discussion. Stepping out of the car, mindful that they're still in public, she waits for Steve, arm at the ready. "Incidentally," she says, when they're alone, though a smile is still plastered on her face, "if we ever grow boring enough to discuss paint colours, I may very well go out and pick a fight with the nearest Hydra cell just to keep our lives interesting."

Steve laughs a little. "Don't worry. I'll let you handle the paint colors if it comes to that. I don't think we'll be boring." Steve hopes not, anyway. Right now, even getting to discuss the colors of paint in their house is novel enough for him that he's fascinated with it and bored is the furthest thing from his mind. He keeps an arm close around Peggy both to keep their cover and also just because he can and he wants to.

"All right. Are you ready to put on a show, Mrs. Rogers?"

No, they won't be, will they? She revels in that, knows that he's right. If this is their lives, him and her, then they won't let it be boring. She's still so cautious and wary, though, unsure of whether something is going to happen to steal him away again. Only, those thoughts are robbed away when he calls her Mrs. Rogers, and old fantasies flood her, making her clasp onto his arm so that she can stare straightforward and her reaction isn't instantly seen on her face.

"For my darling husband? Anything," she assures, taking in a sharp breath. "I'm going to go gossip with the other housewives," she says. "Will you be able to talk to him until I can bump by and coax information from him?"

"Absolutely. You don't have to worry about me," Steve says. He's not the best at being anything other than himself but luckily, in this instance, he doesn't have to be anything else. They are expecting Captain America and he can play that to the hilt. The mark is more than happy to speak with him but it seems to be small talk; Steve tries to make mental notes of all of it to go over with Peggy later. She's better at parsing the important details than he is.

His eye is drawn to Peggy, though, so much so that his conversation partner notes it. "You love her, don't you?"

Peggy is keeping an eye on Steve and their mark, gauging body language, facial micro-expressions, and a number of other variables to ensure she doesn't go too early. After all, the last thing she wants is to rush this mission, not only for the potential risk of failure, but also because the longer this goes on, the longer she gets to simply pretend that it's all real. Eventually, she excuses herself and makes her way over to the drinks, taking the long route that brings her by Steve and the man. "Darling," she announces with delight, hand to his chest as she positions herself in front of the Russian, smiling winsomely at him.

"I hope he's not bending your ear with all sorts of boring trivia about motorcycles, this man and his hobby," she teases, squeezing his arm as she hangs on, as if for dear life. "Do you drive one of those awful machines too?"

The mark seems plenty distracted not by her smile, but by the cleavage lower, though he does try to hide it. Still, Peggy is glad that 'by any means' will help in that case. "Ah, no, I have an Oldsmobile. Not quite so fast."

"What colour?" Peggy asks, feigning interest. "I bet if you painted it cherry red, it would seem all the faster."

He makes a face, tells her 'blue', and she makes a disappointed noise, but at least now she knows which car to look out for. "Now, what were the two of you talking about, really?" she asks, of Steve, curling into the heat of his body, fitting herself in as neatly as if she's always belonged there.

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