7464/Sleepless in Not-Seattle

Sleepless in Not-Seattle
Date of Scene:	11 May 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Peggy Carter, Captain America, Winter Soldier

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Peggy Carter has posed:
    It's between two and three in the morning, 1940-something, and even the loudest of the Howling Commandos have mostly been tucked to sleep. Peggy supposedly retired a few hours ago, but that just meant that she was tucked into her little cot in the bunker (set aside from where the soldiers sleep because *propriety*) with an oil lamp going, studying at the most recent reports. She'd been working a handful of days on intelligence analysis of some Russian radio signals, trying to pin point a HYDRA station up north, but without a clear answer yet. So, the team hasn't deployed. So they are stuck in the bunker, restless, running out of cheap booze, cigarettes, and patience. And so... she works.
    At quarter to three, however, she's hit upon something. Another report she remembered reading a few days ago combined with the one in her hands might mean something. Therefore, she's scuttled out of her little cot and into the main area, crossing past the war map and to the drawers on the far side of the room. She's not bothered dressing again, entirely too focused on not losing the little thread of cross-analysis in her head, so she's just wearing a pair of old track pants and a white undershirt she stole from one of the commandos months back now. With entirely too much energy for this time of the morning, she starts quickly leafing through pages from the main war desk drawer.

Captain America has posed:
Hearing the sounds of rustling beyond the quiet of the Commandos breathing around him, all asleep in their own cots, Steve rolls over in his bunk. He blinks at the sudden light on display and then attempts to slip over to the door, barefoot himself. In treated sateen cotton trousers and a plain white t-shirt himself, he curls a finger around the door to the bunker to peer out towards the main room itself.

Ah -- of course, the Captain can't count himself terribly surprised in the end. He allows himself a small smile before he slips out and into the hallway. His footsteps are noticeable, given this is no woman he intends to startle without good measure, and he stops within view of the war room itself. A little swallow.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
They were in bed, but have gotten up. The cot that belongs to Barnes was empty already. There's the scent of tobacco smoke from outside - as ever, when insomnia strikes, Buck's crept out to indulge. Somehow, he always knows how to find someone willing to sell or trade Luckies.

The door to outside opens softly - he's at least trying to come in without waking the sleepers. There's a squint for the pair of them. Perfect timing, Barnes, you again scotched Steve's chances of making time with Peggy. But for once, he doesn't razz or tease. By the shadows under his eyes, nicotine and insomnia are better than the nightmares about Zola and the knives and the needles again.

Peggy Carter has posed:
It's a voice she'd know anywhere. To be fair, those are footsteps she'd know anywhere too. Slightly more solid, somehow both heavier but more careful than most on this ground, even when barefoot. So, Margaret Carter doesn't even bother to look up from her paper sorting as his baritone cuts through the room. "...the...Numbers station signal we caught on... was it Tuesday? Yes, Tuesday..." Her flipping slows, brown eyes narrowed at the top corner typewritten dates on each report, "...which was the closest outpost to it? Königsberg? ...We still have a unit in Königsberg, right?" The fact she has to ask that at all is proof of how many hours she's been awake, but she's sitll going.

And then there is that tell-tale scent of smoke. An open door, the tobacco she knows just as well. Quiter footsteps, like he's still scared of being hurt if he draws too much attention. "...Barnes. Could you put the kettle on? That electric thing Howard brought is still around here...somewhere. I think we could all use a cup." Because, of course, she wouldn't just offer him a cup out of concern. That would look like coddling, raise more hackles. But if they all had one to relax... Maybe he could drop off in a corner somewhere, knowing friendly faces were around and awake. She's done it a few times before, never ordering him to bed but creating, as carefully as possible, the least threatening situation that he can find a corner and nod off in a shadow.

Captain America has posed:
"Yeah, there's still a unit in Königsberg." Steve lingers in the doorway for a handful of seconds more before he steps into the room. The same measured cadence leads him over to the desk and there he stands, hands behind his back in a relaxed parade rest. His head tilts as he considers the reports, his own memory attempting to run together dots as he catches flickers of pertinent information.

Bucky's arrival, however, has him glancing up. The quiet man receives a friendly, small smile from him. "Sounds like a good idea, wouldn't say no to one. Is it still gonna be the Earl Grey or did a miracle happen?" He gives Peggy a semi-expectant look across the desk, expression saintly.

Winter Soldier has posed:
They're both good influences, ward against nightmare. Buck grunts, goes looking for the kettle, goes to fill it in a sink.

He's been....strange since Steve rescued him. Not the sunny-natured, smart-mouthed boy Rogers grew up with. More prone to violence, less to talking his way out of things. Hungry, much of the time. Tired, but less inclined to sleep. He's already shrugging off his jacket - down to t-shirt beneath. "Think we even have some sugar."

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Königsberg..." Peggy breathes out again, her mind half stuck in numbers stations and Russian code. That's when she actually looks up and sees that saintly, still somehow boyish expression from Rogers and just how deep those bags are under Barnes' eyes. Her fingertips hesitate on the pages in her hands, a flicker of concern crossing her brow. "...I think we could use it tonight, Sergeant Barnes... And I might just have some chamomile stashed around here." She offers Steve with a half wry smile. "Because, if I'm right about this, we all deserve to celebrate. Then will need the sleep."

One hand still with the pages, she reaches under the war desk to grab something. A small key. The key is brought over to her little steno desk in the far corner, where they hole her up when the boys are talking 'proper war'. Just because it happens to be closest to the radio and telephone means nothing, of course not. Key in the very bottom drawer, and she's pulling out a little measure of sugar in a baggie and some loose tea. Properly, it'd be enough for a generous cup at most. But these were proper times. She passes the stash off to Steve with a little nod towards Bucky, silent permission for the two to get into making a decent cup. Then it's dark eyes back on her pages. "We thought they were using the Memel River... they aren't. It's the Pregolya... they're smuggling supplies down the Pregoyla. That has to be it."

Captain America has posed:
Steve takes the collection of tea and sugar with marked care; he's well aware of their rarity and the spilling the precious contents would surely be a portent of doom. Returning the subtle nod given to him by the brunette with a grateful flicker through his eyes, he then walks over to the kettle set to heat. The small baggies are set upon the counter and he begins looking about the table for something akin to a clean spoon.

"Not the Lawa River? Might not have finished the canal, but that means nothing. They could still get supplies through the area under the cover of darkness," the Captain points out, glancing over his shoulder at Peggy. He remains a comfortable presence near to Bucky, not intrusive in the least, but within easy reach of a cuff or some other friendly display.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Buck produces a mess kit spoon from a pocket, sets it down. IF he's consciously aware of the treatment he's getting, it doesn't show. No opinions offered on the logistics, though he slouches over to give the paperwork an eyeing. Just a furrowing of brow. He's got a knife at his hip, even in this relative undress....and bizarrely, it's a Marine's fighting knife. God only knows where he traded for that.

Peggy Carter has posed:
"Gde rot vstrechayet korolya..." Peggy breathes out in Russian, doing her best to code switch through some old notes but even Margaret Carter hits her wall eventually. Code switching is hard on a sharp day and, for just a moment, it's clear on her face how tired even she is. Her free hand now rubs against her eyes for a few seconds, as if she could push free the scraps of connection points she's missing from the intercepted tranmission. "...Dammit. I know it's there. If I could just..." She half shakes her head. "It's not the Canal. They're using boats... it's all on the water..." But her moment of clarity is lost to exhaustion now. She half slumps against the war desk, exhaling a tired breath.

Captain America has posed:
Steve catches up the spare spoon with a flick of his curled finger, a subtle display of reflex more recently earned than not. With the water nearing to boiling, he works at doling out the appropriate amount of loose-leaf tea per dented metal mug he's managed to find. It's a paltry amount per serving, more like a thick floating of herbs than a proper cup, but he's fair in his exactings.

Peggy's faltering line of thought has him looking up, his brows quirked in concern. With markedly politeness of tone, he opines as he glances over at the steaming kettle, "I find sometimes that it'll come to me if I let sleeping dogs lie for a bit. Little twitch, like the jump of a flea."

Winter Soldier has posed:
It's hard not to stare at Steve, sometimes. Because he's changed so much, too. Buck looks at him like the blond's a puzzle he needs to solve.

But now Buck's heaving himself up from his seat to get the kettle off the hob. When do they ever have quiet like this?