3021/A little cracked.

A little cracked.
Date of Scene:	21 August 2020
Location:	Bolthole apartment in Bushwick
Synopsis:	Old friends meet over wine, Peggy gets a small lecture about getting herself shot, the subject quickly changes.
Cast of Characters:	Logan Howlett, Peggy Carter

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Logan Howlett has posed:
The address is just on the outskirts of Bushwick, its neatly within the zone of the recent Brainiac incident, which means Logan likely hasn't had access to it for a while. It's no tenement but its really not much better. The brown brick apartment building has it's share of graffiti. A few windows are boarded up because of a slow and lazy supe. There's even bushy Canadian in a white tank-top opening and closing a balcony door, waving his hand over his nose in irritation.

The reality is the district is in chaos. Being kidnapped and shrunk in a bottle had played hell with local infrastructure. For Logan, this means the few supplies he'd kept in the apartment refrigerator were not in good shape. The bandana tied over his nose is a good indicator of his plight, his grumbling reaching the street from his balcony.

The apartment itself is a clean single bedroom with spartan furniture, just enough for comfort and keeping one's head down. It would be practically spotless if not for smell of a spoiled refrigerator. Candles and air fresheners have been applied to the task of handling this disaster.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Bushwick isn't that far from the Triskelion, especially this time of night when Mahattan traffic isn't near the usual nightmare. Just happy to have somewhere to go when she should be taking it easy, Peggy grabbed a bottle of wine, her most comfortable skirt, and is knocking at his door 25 minutes later. Nursing an injury or not, it's no excuse not to be put together. Every year he's known her, every time they met, she's been picture perfect. Sure, there were a few ragged times during the war, but not really since.

So, tonight, it's her cuban heeled stockings, a pair of green T-strap pumps, a black pencil skirt and a button down, dark emerald silk blouse. Perhaps she's even thought ahead, if he wasn't joking about the tiger balm. The only indication she's not 100 percent is the fact that she must not have pin curled her hair last night, as it's rolled back on both sides of her head into a low tail at the base of her neck, instead of her usual, soft waves.

Approaching the apartment got her a few looks, but she didn't hesitate in picking her way down to his address, no fear about the ravaged, not great area. She smiles at him as he opens the door. "I figured wine isn't quite so dangerous as half a dozen pints..." She offers him with a half smirk, stepping inside smoothly. She's mostly hiding just how sore she is. Her nose only slightly wrinkles at the smell. "...Either some small creature died in the walls, or you *actually* had once-fresh food in that icebox. I'm almost proud."

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan pulls down the bandana and grins at Peggy as he opens the door. He wraps his hand around the wine bottle and gestures her inside. He barks laugh and sighs, "Figures, don't it? I had been stoppin' by to refresh the place. Even loaned it out once to Laura and Gabby... Lucky us they were at the school when the alien attacked."

He walks over to a cabinet and pulls out a pair of actual wine glasses. They don't match exactly, but it was better than drinking out of mugs. He pours them both a healthy dose and offers the glass, giving her a quick sweep with his eyes.

"You handle broken ribs well." He taps glasses with her and takes a quick sip, inhaling from the scent from the glass as a brief reprieve. "Sorry the place isn't in better shape, but.. its clean, especially in the ways that matter." No eavesdroppers, short of someone with a radar mic on a nearby roof.

"So, back to gettin' shot at, eh? Thought you were going to call me in for backup?" He leans against the kitchenette counter, frowning at her.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The smell hit her at first, but it'll fade into the background after a few minutes. Peggy looks around the place with a little chuckle, "It's perfectly serviceable. Especially in New York. God...those tenaments we lived in after the war. I was lucky to get my own *room* in some of those girl's houses." Then Howard Stark started fitting the bill, but Peggy remembers the old days.

She accepts the glass of wine with a warm smile, making her way over to the seats nearest to the window, so they could enjoy some late summer air instead of eau de fridge. Sitting down is the worst, when she can't entirely mask just how much bending hurts, but once she's settled in, it fades. "I've had worse. Would have had worse if it wasn't for the body armor from SHIELD. They really make lovely stuff nowadays, don't they? This was two full rounds of something uncomfortably high calibre and not even a scratch." But definitely a crack. She passes it off with a careless smile.

"I'd have called but...I didn't even know if I was on to something. Could have been the wrong name, the wrong family... Hell, Logan, I stalked the man down in a graveyard. I wouldn't have even handled the matter if I didn't get firm confirmation, but he had HYDRA guards. It was a... quick job, over all."

Logan Howlett has posed:
The old soldier squints at her as she speaks then relaxes, apparently mollified with the expression. "Well, not like I can expect to be there for every mission. Same side, different teams these days, huh?"

He finishes in the initial chore of cleaning the frig by dumping a box of baking soda inside of it then closing the door firmly. Next, he joins her at the window, taking a seat nearby. "Kind of disappointin' that HYDRA is still around, and from the sound of it, thriving. Though I guess I'd rather the idiot wearing an 'I am Evil' badge then hiding under some new name. Makes it easier to find them."

Reaching to the coffee table, he wraps his hand around a tin of liniment.  He shakes it in her direction. "Ancient secret recipe, extra on the wintergreen when you want it. I use it more for blockin' smells, but sometimes a friend gets hurt or a student makes a mistake. So, little herbal remedy ain't bad to have around."

Peggy Carter has posed:
"...Not every time, but the next actual lead I get, even if it's just a lead... I'll give you a call. I *should* know better than to go out in the field alone. I'd be having a screaming row with you or any of the boys if you went off alone on something like this." At least she can acknowledge her own hypocrisy, that smile of her's turning momentarily wry. She takes a deeper sip of her wine, eyes sinking shut in enjoyment of the rather dry red. Even wine had gotten better these days.

When he brings out the 'secret recipe', she reopens her eyes, both brows arching as she stares at him overtop of her wine glass. "... If that's not arnica and menthol, then you're just doing it wrong. If it is, old man, hand it over. Ancient, secret my arse." She leans forward just enough to set her glass down and accept the little tin. She gives it a little sniff, nodding in approval. "Good man. You know the right of it."

And then she's perching it on the top of her thigh as she begins to untuck her shirt with neat, business like motions. The buttons are next, she's dressed for maximum ease of not having to move too much to get in and out of the emerald silk.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan offers a throaty chuckle and then sips more of the red. He grunts, "Yea, you would. Guess you are gettin' too anxious in your boredom. You could at least pop a signal of some kind. Just a little hint you might be headin' into trouble."

Leaning back, he tilts his head toward the window and inhales. He sighs, "I'm going to be smelling this for weeks. Bet it'll be in good shape for your nose in a few days, but sometimes havin' a good sniffer isn't a great thing."

He takes another whiff then grins, "Your perfume is a nice touch, though. Might be able to forget about it for a few moments." He's not bashful about watching Peggy untuck her shirt. "Let me know if and when I can help."

Peggy Carter has posed:
There is nothing apologetic about her motions. They aren't exactly flirtatious, but she's also clearly a wman who well knows what she's doing. Peggy said her piece the other night and now she sits there, giving him a calm, just slightly bemused look as she shrugs out of the green blouse. It does, at least, put a bit more of her perfume on the air. It's the same one she's worn forever, a mix of vanilla and rose oils with just a touch of amber on the back end to make it not overly sweet. She's not bothered with an undershirt, but did tape up her ribs for simply getting across the city. Old habits die hard. She wears a simple bra of black lace and more than a few old war scars including the two most prominent bullet holes at her shoulder.

"...Those hands know how to be gentle? Getting this tape off myself would be as stubborn as putting it on alone. Get over here." Her ego is about as bruised as her ribs at accepting help, but it's a show of trust too. Not a vulnerability she'd show to many others.

"He was second generation. The son of one of those who was pardoned. I was hoping it wasn't passed down through the family... Hoping... Maybe it did die out there. I suppose that was rather in vain. He was there with his *daughter*... she.. She got out fine. Still. The poor kid."

Logan Howlett has posed:
He rises off his seat and slips over beside her. He murmurs and begins to assist with the tape, "Gentle enough. My ribs may heal really fast, but they hurt like hell for the short time they are broken. So you get some empathy from me."

Once he manages to get a piece of tape's adhesive loose, he begins to unwrap her delicately while he notes some of her old war wounds. Those bring back memories, having been there for some of them. "Glad you've got modern protection, Peggy. You always did make my heart skip a beat or two when you got a graze. Too many damn close calls for my likin', war zone or not. Swear, sometimes you act like you are a damn grunt."

"Sad about the kid. Sometimes kids can't help but pay for the crimes of their parents a little bit. Though, you probably ended a legacy of hate, and just because someone pushes out a kid doesn't wipe away their sins." His diligent work soon exposes her ribs.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The bruises are ugly. Purple and green, two clear, direct impacts of something that was probably at least a .38, if not larger. If she wasn't armored, they'd have been likely killing shots, but instead she sits there with a stormy sky of bruising across angry ribs and perfectly fine otherwise. It still probably hurts like hell. His commentary about her actions in the field earns him a firm side eye across her shoulder.

"I'll take the modern gear. God knows we threw enough money into developing it. But I always knew what I was doing in the field. Managed to survive this long, didn't I? You worried too damn much." Of course, there was that one time, in the late 60s, when the Winter Soldier did almost get her. SHIELD pulled out a literal miracle that time. Those scars are bullet wounds through her mid-left ribs and a lot of neat surgical lines. Most of the bruising has drown them now. Memories of a less lucky past.

She closes her eyes again at the feel of warm hands on her ribs. It hurts and is somehow soothing at the same moment. Her shoulders relax by a few inches she didn't even realize she was holding. "...You're right... About the kid," she finally starts, "She's young enough. Might actually be able to get out of it all now. I don't regret taking the chance. It just was... more of a mess than I anticipated."

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan accepts the task and takes the liberty of applying the tiger balm. He opens the tin of liniment and swipes his fingers through it to draw a healthy dose. Rubbing his palms together and tilting to the side, he rests his hands now both physically and chemically warm directly upon her bruises. He leaves them there, giving the muscles a chance to relax before he carefully massages medicinal topical into her flesh.

"Pfft. You think straighter then you shoot, Peggy. Worry too damn, much? You should be in a command center barking orders through earpieces. Usin' those smarts to save lives. I hope SHIELD wisens up soon. Yea, you know how to handle yourself. Doesn't mean that's where you make the biggest impact." He grunts. "These bruises might do you some good to remind you of that."

"You should have assets doin' this grunt work for you, though you never did handle kid gloves well." He frowns, leaning down to eye one of the bruises through the sheen of the balm. "I wish my memory was better, so I could turn one of your own damn lectures against you."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The sound that comes from her throat when he finally gets into slowly rubbing that warm salve in is half pleasure, half pain. It is very British in that she's not actually letting herself entirely vocalize *feelings*, but sometimes they escape anyway. Probably at least one rib is cracked, but nothing bad enough that anything other than tension bandages and time is going to help. Her head tilts a bit to the side and she just leans into his hands. It's been ages since she let someone else do this.

She forgot how nice it was, sometimes, to simply have human touch. She must be enjoying it more than she'd admit to not be immediately firing back about how she belongs out in the field. Finally, she draws in a long breath against his hands, still not pulling away, but getting her mind working again.

"Now, don't you dare go over protective on me now, Howlett. I had assets doing the grunt work for me for 30 some years. You know what I was doing in that office? In CIC? Going absolutely stir crazy. I was rotting behind a desk, no matter how good I was at it. I'm also good out there. And I'm plenty glad SHIELD has plenty of incredibly capable leaders now which *aren't* me. We said we were going out hunting and that hasn't changed. I'll give you that I should have called, but that's it. Not budging one other bit on the matter."

Logan Howlett has posed:
His fingers gain the slightest hint of tension as a low growl rolls in his throat. "There's a difference now, Peggy. Cameras. Sensors. You can be there -without- bein'  there."

Grunting, his fingers loosen as he focuses on not tensing up. He inhales deeply and exhales, showing off his fully-functioning ribs. Her perfume and scent act to soothe his rising temper. "But fine, I won't go overprotective on you. Just use that gorgeous brain of yours next time."

Calloused fingertips spread the balm delicately, "You never did get numb to it, did you? Ordering people into danger. One hell of a will, you've got there. Fightin' constantly against something you hate because you know it's necessary. Gonna have to find that balance again."

He murmurs into her ear, "Or get better at dodgin'." He shakes his head, and reluctantly removes his hands from her skin. "Such a shame too. Seeing that pretty skin bruised up like this. Oh well, I'll tape you back up before you leave tonight."

Peggy Carter has posed:
A single dark brow arches at him as she feels the slight tension in his hands and his words. There's no fear, but Peggy doesn't miss it. She watches him across her shoulder, taking a deep breath of his own scent, musk and cigars, while he goes through the process of calming his own temper. It makes her smile, just the slightest bit. "...You learned how to control that temper finally, mm? Impressive. Not that I'd like this night to come into a yelling match, but I hadn't put it past us. This... This is entirely more pleasant."

She shakes her head at the question of getting numb to it, that bit of a smile falling off her lips. The motion drags her hair across her back and bare shoulders, shampoo a slightly different, clean soap smell that her perfume. "Never. If I had...I'd have stepped down. You can't lead a team like that... A place like SHIELD, without your heart in the game. Too much power. Too many things could go wrong. Too much... a chance of becoming what you fight. It was never a balance, though. Work always won. No time for... nice nights over wine."

The last bit whispered in her ear gets a slight turn of her head, her nose resting against his cheek, forehead to his temple. It's close enough that there's no question of this simply being a friendly conversation. "They tried to put two dozen shots in me last night, Logan. I'm plenty good at dodging. Just...still only human. Fortunately, I have some good back up. Even old and half retired as I am." She smiles against his cheek.

Logan Howlett has posed:
"Darlin', got a check on my anger most of the time, most don't really know what I'm like when I'm -really- mad." There's a low chuckle deep in his throat. "Ah, well, the night is young. Not like we ever agreed on everything, Peggy. You just had the damn annoyin' habit of bein' right most of the time, so I've learned to let it go. -Most- of the time."

"Unless you are me, you usually want the other person battin' zero with those bullets. Burst fire was invented for a reason. Besides, you know damn well you already screwed up if a firefight breaks out and it ain't one sided." He sighs with contentment as he feels her press into the side of his temple. He growls playfully. "In my apartment, shirtless, with bruised ribs. Maybe you are gettin' cruel in your old age, Peggy."

He draws a hand around the back of her head, resting his fingers on her scalp. Turning his head, he places a kiss on her forehead. Sighing again, he comments, "At least the scent of your perfume and the tiger balm is blockin' out everything else."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The commentary about her being right, most of the time, gets a throaty touch of a pleased chuckle from her. She doesn't deny it, but her lips have turned up into a grin now. The sound of his growling voice was as much vibration against her as it was his words. She doens't pull an inch away. Idly, fingertips drop to the top of his thigh, red fingernails tracing quiet circles against the muscle there. Just to touch.

She forgot how nice simple *touch* felt. She leans into him a bit closer, head tilting back into the heavy hand on her scalp. Her eyes shut again as he places that kiss on her forehead and she cannot help but laugh a bit more at his accusation of cruelty. She places a faint kiss against the scruff of his jaw.

"Logan, I assure you that the siren song of tiger balm is not why I'm in this apartment right now, though the offer did give a convienent opening for both of us to pretend that this is just work again. This would have been an... Awful idea between us before. Hell, it might be now. But my entire life is no longer chained to an organization I feared couldn't operate without me. I can't say I really know how to live life... Otherwise. But there are parts of me that want to try."

Logan Howlett has posed:
His eyes close. He savors the sensation of lips on his skin. Another low rumble of chest vibrates in his chest. "Well, Peggy. You were the one that something about not making mistakes."

He reaches around her and clutches the neck of the wine bottle. He pours out another portion of dry red for both of them. He offers her a glass so she can stay close then picks up his own. He murmurs a toast, "Here's to revisitin' old bad ideas." He taps glasses with her and takes a sip of the wine.

Setting his glass aside, he fishes around in a jean pocket to find his phone. He squints at the device, swiping until he finds what he wants. Artie Shaw begins to emanate from the device's speakers.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Peg barely moves as he navigates around her, grabbing for the wine and refilling their glasses. She pulls back just enough that she can look across to him, studying his eyes even as he offers that toast. Her smile is wry, wine glass reaching up to clink lightly against his. "Logan, considering our lives... Can you really call much of what we've done good ideas?" She takes a deep sip of her wine, still smiling.

"We muddle through bad situations trying to make certain no one innocent gets hurt and fighting wildly dangerous men, often outgunned. This may actually be one of our better ideas, we just can't muck it up in the execution."

His phone is given a little askance glare for just a moment. They are sitting alone, she's half naked, and he's on a phone? But when the music comes, the momentary glare fades back into her classic smile. "See. Better ideas already." She sets her wine aside and leans up to finally, properly kiss him.