12604/Late Night Lounging

Late Night Lounging
Date of Scene:	31 December 2020
Location:	Rec/Res Area, The Triskelion
Synopsis:	Peggy and Sam both hit a night of insomnia, haunted by memories of their past. The share war stories and reminders about their jobs, and end up going back to bed in better moods for it.
Cast of Characters:	Falcon, Peggy Carter

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Falcon has posed:
Late night. Everyone with sense is asleep. Apparently, Sam Wilson lacks sense. Or at least has terrible combat dreams that wake him up at all hours. After coming to with his heart pounding and bright flashes of violence and bloodshed zooming through his mind the Falcon is none too happy. He slips out of his bed aboard the Triskelion and washes his face in the bathroom. He knows himself well enough to determine that it'll be some time before he gets back to sleep so instead he opts to slip into some shorts, a muscle shirt and Chucks and go for a walk through the building.

It's quiet throughout the halls of the massive complex, the loudest sound being Wilson's footfalls. Occasionally there's an agent still at work, but most of them are glued to their desks. Their presence, barely there amidst the huge spaces, almost makes everything even lonelier. Eventually Sam will find his way to the rows of vending machines, looking for something to drink to take his mind off of things.

Peggy Carter has posed:
After nearly a century of life, there are some night's which one's mind simply doesn't shut off. Too many atrocities, too many fights, too many things to keep a girl staring at the ceiling, wondering if she really should be alive. After a few hours of trying, she gave up about 20 minutes ago and came out to the rec area where there's at least different things to see and she can pretend she's not completely sleepless.

The sound of someone else's footfalls down near the vending machines draw dark eyes up from her book. While she could use a tablet, and often does for work, when it's strictly pleasure reading, Peggy is still very much a paperback kind of gal. She stands up, slippered footfalls coming up after Sam, purposefully loud enough she won't startle the man. This late at night, she's not bothering with any proper clothes. She's in an old fashioned black satin robe with pink flamingos on it which match the pink lapels. Her hair's done up in tiny pin curls all across her head. If it wasn't for the modern background around them all, looking at her would be a step about fifty years back. "...Couldn't sleep?"

Falcon has posed:
When he hears someone approaching, Sam looks over his shoulder to see his friend and lifts his chin at her in a greeting. His head shakes, "No rest for the wicked, right?" The vending machine gets his attention for a moment so that he can press a button to grab himself a sports drink. "Couldn't manage to stay asleep tonight. Dreams got to me pretty bad." His shoulders shrug and he sticks his thumb out at the drink machine before he smiles, "Can I buy a lady a drink?"

There are bags under his eyes, dude is clearly tired, but not everyone is good at sleeping through the night. "How about you? Hopefully you got caught up in your book and lost track of time."

Peggy Carter has posed:
A concerned, quiet smile crosses her lips which, for once, are plain of her usual matte red lipstick. She looks softer right now, somehow unfinished around the edges without her carefully styled curls and classic make up. While many SHIELD women don't even bother, Peggy's always in hair, nails, and a properly done up face. Old habits die hard, it seems. But now she looks younger, both more tired and more gentle for all her 'war paint' being gone.

"Mm, no... gave up staring at the ceiling about 20 minutes ago. Thought the book might help but it's just boring enough not to be a distraction. Handsome man offering me a drink is a nice one, though. Who am I to say no?" She flashes him a bit more of a smile as her hip leans against the machine, arms crossed over her chest. Her dark eyes search his features as he's going for the drinks, a quiet line of concern across her gaze. She's trying to read, from his face alone, just how bad it is.

Falcon has posed:
"You always know just what to say to a guy, Carter," Sam says to his friend with a flash of a smile before he gets another drink from the machine and offers it over. Peggy's perceptive enough to pick up that her pal isn't doing too well. There's evidence of stress in his features, eyes tightened a little bit, teeth unconsciously being gritted when he's not putting on a smile.

"It sucks you can't sleep, either, but at least we decided to wake up at the same time," the Falcon jokes as he twists the top off his bottle. After taking a swig he asks, "You been taking care of yourself? Other than not sleeping, I mean."

Peggy Carter has posed:
"If I knew just what to say, I'd be able to shut that shite off in your head and get us both to sleep in ten minutes. Sadly, it really doesn't work like that." She accepts the drink from him and nods towards the slightly more comfortable sitting area where she'd been curled up with her book. "Come on. Off your feet, at least. Maybe I can dig out an old story or two and bore you to sleep." She teases lightly.

Now not trying to make enough noise she doesn't startle him, Peggy moves nearly silent on habit alone. Over half a century of work as a spy and she's just learned not to be seen or heart, almost on habit by now. She moves with a dangerous grace, even half asleep, as she curls back down into that chair there. "Taking care? Much as ever. Wish they had us out in the field more. Easy to sleep when you're bone deep exhausted. And you?" Her head tilts, "Going to tell me what's going on up there, or going to make small talk all night?"

Falcon has posed:
"Never does. I'm a social worker and I don't know the magic words," Sam tells his friend as he follows her towards the comfortable furniture. As he settles in he nods, "I've been keeping busy between SHIELD and Avengers stuff. Young guy on the Avengers, Slipstream, has been teaching me a new video game, too, which makes me lose track of time pretty fast." And then his face grows more serious. Wilson takes a few seconds to think of what to say before opening his mouth, "Dreams got to me. I have them a lot, but tonight it was bad. Dreamed about a kid with burn injuries that I had to treat. Not even combat related, kid's god damn dad threw hot oil from the stove on him when he wouldn't shut up or something. Kid was burned so bad some of his fingers were stuck together, there's going to be scarring on his face and all over his whole body. I almost put a round through the dad's head that day but my wingman talked me down." He gulps deep in his throat, "Even if I didn't dream about it I'd still think about that little boy sometimes."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The older woman listens respectfully and silently. Peggy's mastered the art of silence, generally to get people to open up to her, but it's usually also because she's honestly interested in what someone is saying, not simply waiting her turn to talk. While they aren't exactly 'cuddling' friends, and Peggy has never been much of a touch person, they've gotten close enough that she knows some touch often helps. So, she allows her legs to stretch over a bit, so she can tuck her feet beneath his leg.

Besides. Her feet are chilly. At least, that's what she'd say if someone asked.

As she hears the story of the kid, her expression crumples a bit more. There's an ache of earnest sympathy across her features, "...lots of awful people in the world. That day...you showed that kid there are good ones too. I know it doesn't feel like it, but I'm certain he was very lucky *you* were the one there..."

Falcon has posed:
Sam lets Peggy slide her appendages under him without saying a word. It does seem to help, his shoulders relax slightly. With a deep sigh he nod his head and says, "I just wish I could have done more. That's the thing that haunts me the most, all those times I couldn't do anything. Sometimes it was ROE..." Rules of engagement. "Sometimes it was just impossible to do something. That still gets to me."

The tough guy demeanor has started to crack, "When my wingman, Randy, bought it it came out of nowhere. Just a lucky rocket and he was gone. I couldn't take care of him. Couldn't bring his body home myself. Had to continue the mission." A deep frown. "All the bad dreams that wake me up, I never dream about Randy dying, though."

Peggy Carter has posed:
As he doesn't shy away from that little touch, Peggy relaxes a bit herself. It was a risk but, even if she'd never say it out loud, it was nice to have that contact too. Being the old battleaxe of SHIELD often leaves her in a lonely position, other agents generally uncertain what to make of her. She's not exactly a boss these days, but she's still in all their academy text books. Few people know what to do with her. But he seems comfortable, so that makes her a bit more comfortable.

"...I suspect you know that Randy would understand. He knew what he signed up for. It's bloody well awful and no one deserves to go like that but... You both signed up for it. The kids? They didn't. Civilians didn't. I've seen... a lot of people go in the field. When we lost Lieutenant Barnes, I don't think any of us slept for days... " There is an ache of strange guilt on her features even now about it. "But... the civilians are always the worst. The things you don't prepare for, going to war..."

Falcon has posed:
"I know Randy'd understand," Sam agrees with a nod before taking another drink. "Yeah. Civilians aren't asking for what happens to them. I had to respond to attacks on civilian villages. Massacres, pretty much. If we could catch the bad guys we could almost think we'd made things okay, or made things even. Of course, we both know that's a load of crap. Killing someone doesn't even anything out, but it prevents them from doing evil again." His eyes meet Peggy's, "Losing someone you go to war with is harder than hell. You had draftees, too. Guys who didn't even sign up to be there but went all the same. That takes a different kind of guts, if you ask me."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The older woman dips her head in quiet agreement to his comments on killing. He's not saying anything that's a shock to her. For all her feminine airs and the fact she looks rather soft around the edges for a soldier, she is absolutely a soldier. He'd seen that in her the first day they met and nothing has changed. If anything, in her old age, she's hardened rater more. Only little things, like that touch to his thigh, show there's still some heart left in her.

"I was lucky. The Howlers were a... volunteer unit, so to speak. Hand picked by Steve, everyone stepping up to the cause. But in the early SSR days, yes... we had a fair amount of draftees. It was...complicated. Most people wanted to go off and fight. No one would say they didn't want to be there. That'd be Unamerican... or betraying Queen and Country, in my very earliest days. But you could see it in their eyes, occasionally. I knew. Still had to give orders..."

Falcon has posed:
"I don't blame anybody for not wanting to fight," Sam says seriously. "Hell, it isn't in most people's hearts to take a human life." The Falcon sighs and leans back further in his chair, "I was never an officer. NCO, yes, but pararescue is still pretty much the enlisted airman's domain. I never had to give any orders I didn't want to give. Had to follow some I didn't agree with. You must have been put in some lousy situations doing espionage and soldier stuff at the same time."

Peggy Carter has posed:
A slight shrug crosses her shoulders, "During the war, not really. I wasn't technically an officer, or even enlisted. The SOE and then the SSR worked... Differently. I think the boys listened because they knew I didn't have my head up my arse and understood the tactics on the maps better than some officers. Then after..." Peggy rolls her slender shoulders beneath that satin robe, not going to deny it, "I chose to help found SHIELD. To step into Directorship. Korea... Vietnam... We chose to be there. I knew what I was getting into. I think... I'd like to hope, some of the missions we conducted helped cut down the loss of life. I'll never know for certain. But when you sign up to such positions, you know what you're getting into. Enlisting. Being drafted? So many don't..."

Falcon has posed:
"When I ran group at the VA I'd talk with some old guys who were drafted during 'Nam," Sam says, rolling the bottle of sports drink between his hands as he talks. "Those guys often still felt a lot of pride in their service and their units. Didn't like the calls being made above their pay grade, but they felt like serving was the best thing for them to do under the circumstances." He pauses for a moment, "Do you know there was a higher percentage of volunteers during Vietnam than during World War II? Even an unpopular war had guys thinking that the right thing to do was serve their country in the Armed Forces." His shoulders shrug, "Anyway, SHIELD does a lot of good. You did a good thing founding it and running the show. Lots of people don't even know we help them, but we put more good in the world than evil. All we can do is our best when it comes to making the world a better place."

Peggy Carter has posed:
As he gives her that pep talk, Peggy's brow arches quietly and she gives him a leveled, slightly firm look. The almost smile on her lips is one someone gets when they're about to ask a person if they've looked in the mirror lately. "You're right...about all of that. Even through your current service, during the last war and *now*. We're both here, in SHIELD, doing the good work... Trying to be certain kids like what you saw don't go through it again. Or worse. If SHIELD has taught me anything..." Peggy gives a bittersweet, quietly exhausted laugh, "There are genuinely things worse than ground warfare out there. I'd never have said that fifty years ago. But, we're here... We're making sure no one else sees it."

Her hand then reaches over, resting against his leg for a moment and giving a quiet squeeze. "But hell, Sam, I didn't mean to pull you down that path. Here, I'm supposed to be distracting you and we're back neck deep in war stories and trying to remember why we signed up for this shite..."

Falcon has posed:
"Yeah. We deal with deep, dark, scary things so nobody needs to know about them, and that's the way it should be," says Wilson with a little chuckle. "I know a lot of folks would freak out if they knew half the stuff we contend with out there."

The smile from his chuckle still in place, he lift his chin, "You don't need to distract me. Swapping war stories and psyching ourselves up is good for us. Helps put things in perspective and it helps us remember that we're safe and sound, we're in the States and we can walk out the front door whenever we want to without worrying about snipers and IEDs and the Red Skull." Usually. "You're a good friend, Carter. You know I got your back, but I'm going to say it again. I got your back."

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Hell, don't even remind me of Red Skull. You know we never found a body?" Peggy gives a little groan, dragging one hand across her face in consideration of it all, "There's been a part of me for over half a century just...waiting... for that bastard to show back up like an unexpected flare up of some VD." Peggy's statement was probably purposefully crass to get a bit more of a smile out of him, but it's still honest. That is one enemy that still keeps her awake at night.

"And you're pretty damned good yourself, Wilson. You keep this up, and I'll put in a request that neither of us goes out there without the other. Then you'll really be stuck with me." But it's something she's thought through previously, clearly. She trusts him that much.

Falcon has posed:
"Never found a body?" Sam asks rhetorically, frowning. "If he does show up I doubt he'd survive you, me and Cap all gunning for him. I'd fire a missile up his Nazi ass while Cap smacks him with the shield and you put a round through his dome." This kind of talk does cheer him up. He's smiling by the end of it.

"You know I'll work with you any time, any place, any mission. Just keep me out of that spy crap, I'm much better off if I can start slinging lead or zippin' through the air."

Peggy Carter has posed:
His question of staying out of the spy shit makes her half smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Peg just squeezes his knee gently, "I'll do my best..." But that's not a promise she can or will make him. In fact, the expression on her tired face looks, for just a moment, her 100 years of age. And looks like a woman who knows he'll get sucked into that 'spy shit' one of these days.

"Well, now that I've sent you off with sweet dreams of caving in a certain Red Skull, think you're up for trying sleep again? We probably both should. 0800 hours comes around too damn early and while they're not exactly playing revelry on base here, you know they'll expect us up. I think something about an investigation in the mid west tomorrow... some 0-8-4..."

Falcon has posed:
"Yeah, I think I can give sleeping a shot," Sam says with a grin. "Thanks for the talk, Carter. I appreciate it. You know that talking with a buddy can be as beneficial as some forms of therapy with a trained counselor? Not sure why I went to school as long as I did, knowing that."

He starts to push himself to his feet, "I'll be there, wings and all. Gotta be prepared for anything on one of those calls." Now that he's up on his feet and feeling better, starting to smile and such, Sam looks wholly changed. Of course, who knows what the next night will bring? Regardless, he's good now. "I'll see you at work tomorrow. If you ever need anything, though, you know where to find me."

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Sweet dreams, Sam." He generally calls her Carter, but she switches between his given name and his surname, depending on just how personal she's feeling in the moment. The more personal matters get his personal name. She's smiling as she sees him actually relaxed, headed off to bed. The fact that she seems to have helped him is enough to encourage Peggy herself that maybe sleep was worth trying again. She's certainly in a better mood than she was before. She scoops up her book and follows him down the hall to the personal quarters area, disappearing into her room a minute later. The morning did come early.