3163/No Bugs Here

No Bugs Here
Date of Scene:	30 August 2020
Location:	McSorley's Pub, Brooklyn, New York City
Synopsis:	Sometimes, you have to go someplace public to get some privacy. Steve and Peggy discuss mission-sensitive information and come to the conclusion that Barnes owes a story.
Cast of Characters:	Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers

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Peggy Carter has posed:
McSorley's pub. It was a bit of a dive the *last* time they were in Manhattan together and that was 80 years ago. Not much has changed, except the walls are filled with several more decades of smoke, laughter, knicks in the wood, and life. The stairs are so worn down that they are slightly rounded at their edges and the cushion on the barstools went flat sometime in the 70s. It still felt like home. There were exactly 6 ales on tap, clouded old glasses that get replaced with the same style decade after decade when they break. Memorabilia from the Brooklyn Dodgers of old and the Yankees of now lines the walls. It feels like home.

Peggy just left him a note to meet at the old place in Brooklyn. He'd know where. She's there already, on day three of *actually* taking it easy after another two, long fights and a night spent laid up at an old friend's place. The split on her lip was reopened, but it's scabbing over now and she's mostly hidden it with make up. She's actually taken to wearing the sling he snuck out for her. She's in a blue dress tonight, one with a high collar to hide most of the bruising. It's been a long week.

But the pint in front of her helps some, the same old booth they used the first week she met him in New York, and a quiet crowd on a Saturday afternoon. Minus the broken ribs, everything's feeling just lovely.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Same place, same time, same Bat --

Well, no channels here.

But the crowd's a normal one for the early evening hours, sure to swell and ebb as the hours pass, and a tall man stepping in through the door catches nobody's eye for more than a moment or two. In a black jacket and blue jeans, work boots and a (new) old Dodgers baseball hat, Steve makes a point to keep his broad shoulders a little slouched and hands in his coat pockets. He's any guy off the streets now.

Peggy will be able to spot him once he glances up from under the bill and spots her in turn. She'll see him smile wryly, immediately beset by memories of long ago, and he slides in across from her with a sigh like...well...he always did.

"What's on tap tonight then?" the Captain asks by way of greeting, his eyes flicking to the bar after he asks.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Of course, she knows him. The moment he comes in the door, slightly slouching for the lower, older ceilings of a place built around the turn of last century, she knows it's him. It makes her smile, watching him cut through the crowd like a normal, everyday guy off the streets. He didn't *quite* pull it off, but that's because she knew him too well. She nods to the booth across from her.

"Mm... Hello, handsome. Been a while since we saw the likes of you around these parts. You know they've been in LA for ever now..." She nods to his hat, smiling just a bit wider.

The question of what's on tap gets a surprised look from her. "...They actually put Smithwicks on tap, finally. A decent beer after 85 years. You must wonder what the world is coming to..." She slides an empty pint glass across to him and picks up the pitcher she's already ordered. She made the decision for both of them -- Smithwicks it is.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Steve looks back at the brunette across from him and snort-laughs even as he drops his chin for a second. The bill of his ballcap tilts back and forth as he shakes his head.

"You 'nd Barnes both..." comes the grumble lacking most of the ire in regards to the //current// location of the Dodgers -- which Steve conveniently ignores most of the time. The news of Smithwicks, however, has him pleasantly surprised. He certainly accepts the pint glass and gestures for her to pour, even if it'll be all about the taste and nothing at all to do with the alcoholic content.

"Some good things come 'round again. Other good things never show up again. The world's a weird place to live in these days, weirder'n even me 'nd you." His smile is just that touch cheeky for a passing second before it slips back into the friendly, well-mannered habit of set. "You're wearing the sling."

Of course he'd note this, as if it were some minor victory on his part.

Peggy Carter has posed:
The commentary about the sling gets him a *look*. Though she's not surprised, she can hear that small victory behind his voice. Of course, it makes pouring a little more challenging since she's relegated to her left hand, but she's not going to let that stop her. If anything, she's MORE determined to get things done with that off palm as if to spite the sling for its necessary existence.

"Yes... and ... *thank you* for the procurment. I suppose the thing is useful. Especially after another unexpected...Tussle. It's done now, though. Whatever cell Richter was managing is fully... Handled." The end of that sentence is a bit more chilled and final than it would be if she was just done with the research. There are probably a few more bodies hidden somewhere, now. But she's in one piece. Mostly.

She scoops up her own pint, taking a hungry, deep sip of it. Good beer was worth forsaking the painkillers for a night. A slight smile follows the taste of it as she watches him over the rim of her glass. "The messiness of it all in the Bronx, however, just tells me more how important it is we start this clean up. Which means, I'm tapping Bucky."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Figured you'd still want to bring him onboard given what's gone on so far." Steve, having taken his poured glass and his little victory with his usual humble acceptance, continues speaking after he's sipped at the beer as well. "Not my place at all to be the one granting permission. He can make his own decisions."

There's a steady, brief twitch of his jaw muscles before he soothes the ire away. The helplessness of Winter's wrench of self-control is something that still stings like an old wound to the Captain. A memory's flicker of reaching for a hand he didn't catch on a snowy, steep mountainside is there and gone.

"Have you swept the place?"

For bugs.

Peggy Carter has posed:
Another small sip of her beer is taken and then the glass is abandoned. This isn't a conversation she wants to have with a full beer in her, even if she might want two afterwards. She watches his face, practically able to read those old memories off of it. It was the same face he made when they sat across from each other in the shattered remains of that little pub they all loved in France. Wood as old as this, the smell of beer, but a bombed out bar and abandoned room otherwise. Her fingertips shift across the table for just a moment, resting on the back of his hand instead of her glass.

His question brings her back to the present, nodding almost immediately. She doesn't even need to ask what she's swept for. "Yes, before you came. And I know I wasn't tailed. At least, I'm almost certain." There weren't many agents who could tail Peggy Carter when she was trying to lose them. "...You took the long way to get here?" She asks, expecting he's as paranoid as she is, but all precautions mattered.

Steve Rogers has posed:
A double-edged sword, how transparent the Captain can be. He too can guess at what makes her reach and so very gently, knowingly, soothingly touch at the back of his hand. There's the barest twitch of a grateful smile at one corner of his lips.

Steve still looks around the room again even after her confirmation that no listening devices exist. Methodically, he ticks off patrons one at a time visually as non-agent. It takes him a few seconds longer to answer Peggy for it, but his true-blues do return to her before he nods. "Only longer way I could've gone is through the sewer 'nd I didn't wear my Wellingtons. Didn't pick up any tails either."

He takes another deep swig of the beer as if to wet his mouth. He finds and hold her dark eyes. "Peggy. What I'm about to tell you is off the record." His voice is low and utterly somber.

Peggy Carter has posed:
She's more than content to be patient while he studies the room, double checking that SHIELD isn't on either of their tails because they both know it could be. They've both been important, dangerous assets before. Peggy follows his gaze around the room, trusting his assessment of the few patrons present more than her own. He's been with this modern SHIELD longer than her. That palm on his hand gives one more squeeze before drawing back to scoop up her pint and take a perfectly normal sip. Like perfectly normal friends out for a perfectly normal evening drink.

In truth, they were both very good at blending in when they needed. Not a single person was bothering to even glance in their direction.

Once he looks back, her expression goes more serious. No softness there now but a heavy, understanding weight to her eyes. She gives him a single nod. "I...understand. This for us. Only us. Not SHIELD. Not other unit members. Just us." The weight behind her words is a promise.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Those true-blues linger on her for another second or two more before he gives a nod more final than before -- agreement for their implied pact for Bucky's continued safety above all else.

"'s'for Bucky's own good good that it stays between us. You'll see why," he continues, his voice still at its private volume. His pint glass is turned one full rotation in its condensation circle before he speaks again, eyes now off to one side over her shoulder.

"While you were in cryo, HYDRA got to him again. Not for long, I managed to get him out of it, but everything you dealt with when you ran into him -- all of that, it's still in there, just like he's told you. Nearly killed me too." Which is one hell of a task to do, further proof of the insidiously-effective training the Winter Soldier possesses. "When he was himself again, he told me there was a way to shut him down. ICERs...he could shrug those off -- dislocated or broken limbs -- push him off a ten story building 'nd he'd be on his feet." Steve's lips roll flat before he simply closes his eyes. "But not if I said two words."

Peggy Carter has posed:
Peg is dead silent across from him, even as he's looking over her shoulder, she's watching those familiar blue eyes. Halfway through the story, her gaze flickers to the side, giving the room a scan again to make certain no one else seems to have gotten abruptly interested. But they are still just shadowed, boring blips of average people slouched in the corner of a bar. She looks back to him, a tense touch of concern lining her dark eyes. Especially as he admits Bucky nearly killed him.

"...Hell. I... had no clue." Her nose twists up a bit, not happy that she had no clue, but also not going to interrupt further. Her head tilts just faintly to the side, waiting for those two words. Breath stopped for even just a moment.

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Not something we talk about in the break room," the Captain quips quietly. It's not a smile, not really, what quirks one side of his mouth. His eyes open upon her again. "Managed to shoot me through the chest with something only a few grades lower than a Barett Light. If it hadn't been for the serum 'nd modern medicine..."

Steve looks upon Peggy very somberly. There's no further need to explain the consequences: it would have been fatal.

"More'n enough reason for him to tell me that it wasn't just a sequence of words that affects him. Two words 'nd he drops like someone'd taken a lead pipe to the back of his head, down for several minutes." He leans in and practically mouths them at the woman:

"Soldat Sputnik."

Peggy Carter has posed:
Her eyes follow his mouth, taking in the shapes as much as she does the barely vocalized sounds. There's a tension behind her gaze, her whole body really, as he tells the story. Hearing the tale of how two men she loves, in their own ways, nearly destroyed each other? I makes her quietly sick to just consider. But she's a woman accustomed to hard stories, and she takes it all in with a slow breath through her nose. The end of it all. The security words. She nods once.

"Soldat Sputnik." Also not voiced, letting her lips wrap around those words and the familiar Russian syllables, just slightly different from English, even where they live on her mouth. Hopefully they are not words she will ever form again, but they're burned into her mind now.

Once she gets an affirmation from him that she heard and processed accurately, she sits up just a bit straigher. She reaches for her beer again, taking a longer sip, letting some strange tension leak out of the air around them. "...I hate this." She finally confesses.

Steve Rogers has posed:
Down and up, almost more an unconscious natural motion of the heart's beat than a nod -- but confirmation nonetheless. Those are the words.

"Hate it as much as you do..." Steve replies quietly. His voice goes hollow even as he looks down at his drink. It's a pretty color, the beer, he notes at some very far distance. "Hate that I had to use 'em. Hate that it's in there, in his brain in the first place." His hand lifts and rubs at one side of his face, up and over one wheat-gold brow and to his temple in passing. The pint glass still remains in his other hand's grasp. "Hate that there's a chance somebody else is gonna hear 'em 'nd try 'nd use 'em. Can't erase 'em...dunno if Buck's ever looked into it."

Peggy Carter has posed:
A grimace of a smile echoes on her features as he speaks. Peggy is trying to give him a look of reassurance, that old, game smile that came even when they were facing the worst of circumstances. But this was a bit different than an impossible fight. This was planning to shut down someone who was very much at the center of both of their lives, like turning off a machine. There were no happy, against all outcomes with these words. So, the expression comes out a bit too sad. Tired, worried... All those emotions Peggy was awful at but felt bitterly deep, even if she was too British about much displaying them.

She finally scoops up her beer again and takes a long enough gulp of it to fully drain the glass. Information passed, she could take a few hours to dive into her cups, if she wanted. She pours herself more before topping off his glass as well. "I'm only going to pull him out with people I trust. You. Logan. Bobbi, possibly... The teams are going to be small. I found far too many missing files to trust everyone is on board with our interests."

Steve Rogers has posed:
More beer pours into the pint glass in a cascade of golden bubbles, its under-hues deeply red where the illusion of glass ends and drink begins. Steve merely continues giving the glass a gloomy look. His chest then rises and falls in a sigh. Peggy might catch the faintest hitch of memory; there's no scar or internal damage remaining from the nearly-successful killshot, but just as a phantom limb twinges, Steve knows precisely where the wound once was.

"I trust your judgment." It's easy to say because it simply is, his faith in her ability to make the right calls. "Missing files should be reported. What's not where it should be?" he asks, glancing up at her again. Now his brows move to meet in a quirk of tried patience with inaccuracies of paper shuffling -- document caching -- whatever it is these days.

Peggy Carter has posed:
She can see the faint tension in his shoulders and through his chest, even in that slightly baggy shirt, she knows him. Knows when his shoulders aren't sitting right. Peg flickers a dark look to the room once again, never too paranoid, but then gingerly shifts out of her side of the booth, just enough to come around to his side of the table. The small smile she gives him is genuine as she gives a little push with her nose. "Move over."

Partially for security reasons but mostly for simple comfort, Peggy slips into the side of the booth with him and lets her good shoulder just rest against his, arm to arm, leg to leg. Just the pure comfort of another body, warm, sharing space. Someone to physically lean against in the moments those memories makes chest tight and the world a bit colder. Once settled, she takes another sip of her drink before settling it down.

Now it's her turn to bring soured news. Her head turns, looking directly up into his eyes from this closer position. "There were almost 20 ex-HYDRA agents that SHIELD helped integrate back into the scientific community through Operation Paperclip and it's ilk. 24. So far, I've recovered 12 of those files which never made it to digital record. They're lighter than I remembered too, or maybe I'm just being paranoid. Richter was just one. A few could be a simple mistake. 11? Is a pattern."

Steve Rogers has posed:
Curiosity has his gaze following her as she rises and then comes to his side of the table. With a quiet scuff of jean-buttons against the seat's fabric, Steve does scoot into the booth further and allows ample space for Peggy to sit down. She does and he seems momentarily surprised at the lack of distance she's elected. Smaller, more delicate build, but even through the clothing, he can tell she's all steel and strength, even with one arm mollycoddled in a blue sling. He doesn't flinch or lean away. His own presence is solid, steady, warmer and scented of his deodorant -- older and harder to find in these modern days.

Bemused still at her closeness to him, it's easy to make the direct eye contact Peggy does. Steve's brow meet again because those...are uncomfortable numbers. "You're thinking somebody's gone 'nd lifted files? Erased 'em? Conveniently misplaced information in 'em?" he asks quietly, not looking away from her, face half-shadowed by the bill of his cap.

Peggy Carter has posed:
This close? She amusingly still smells a bit like that tiger balm, sharp and menthol beneath her rose and vanilla, old fashioned oil she always wears. Funny the things they cling to, their preferred, outdated scents and soaps. But scent was always a comfort. Leaning this close, he might realize she's still holding herself stiffly. Probably taped up beneath that dress, the bruises having expanded since the morning he saw her. There was another fight. A longer one. Though she's a few days on the mend now. She's still and edge more delicate than all of them and, sometimes, it painfully showed.

His question about the files gets a slightly longer line of her mouth. She does not look happy about it but also not quite jumping to the worst conclusions. "11 files missing is... not a mistake. I think... I *hope*, someone just decided they'd rather not digitize SHIELD's sins. Let it all die in paper record and people will forget. That is the best case scenario and I'm simply being...paranoid. At worst... Someone is erasing them, hoping no one will ever follow up on past mistakes. Well... that someone is wrong. I've found most of the paper files. I'm keeping them. I've told SHIELD about five of them... but the other six..." She lets those words hang in the air. A test, most likely. "...maybe I'm being paranoid."

Steve Rogers has posed:
The tiger balm is something new. The oil he'd know anywhere, day or night, blindfolded or even in a bout of amnesia. Memories crop up even as he sits and listens, watching her face for more tells than words alone can provide. Both of them -- they were always transparent in their ways, still now in this modern time.

"Paranoid...maybe a little," Steve allows quietly, no insult implied. "Or thorough, instead. Paperwork's an easy thing to lose these days 'nd it's convenient." Slowly, he sighs, looking away from her and around the room again out of ingrained habit. "Keep 'em." The six files. "SHIELD's aware of enough of 'em. If somebody's actually erasing them, you've got the high hand."

He seems to think of something and glances over at Peggy again, wearing a thoughtful if distanted look. "...you thought about making convincing copies 'nd seeing if or when they disappear...?" Bait.

Peggy Carter has posed:
It's not the most pleasant scent, but it helps. Whether that's because the stuff is effective or because it's just what she's used forever and habit is as comforting a placebo as any, who knows. She shifts just enough they can comfortably watch each other, now sharing this side of the booth, without actually moving too much away from the quiet press of hip to hip. She wasn't much for touch in the past but she's learning to appreciate it in little moments. The comforts of simply being human that she avoided for so damn long.

She nods in agreement about keeping the files back, relaxing a little as he doesn't automatically press her to share everything. No matter how loyal they both were to SHIELD, even home can be compromised. She's just relieved he seems to share her worries. "...that...was the plan. I've got them off site, now. At one of Logan's safehouses. No where SHIELD knows. I...might need my own apartment."

She's been staying full time at the Triskelion but, now, that makes her frown. Another place to operate isn't a bad choice. His other offer, however, gets a wider look from her eyes. She blinks and, ever so slowly, smiles, "...I have now. When did you turn into a super spy, hmm?" Her paranoia is momentarily blunted by simply pride in him and his idea.

Steve Rogers has posed:
With just the dusting of cheek he shows now and then, Steve simply allows himself a smaller smile and sips at his beer. He lets her compliment linger in the air between them before glancing over at her again.

"Buck's never told you about the poker game with the Howlies, has he?" That little tidbit is dropped into Peggy's lap with an innocent cast to his face just that //hair// too theatrical to be believed. "You should ask him some time. You tell me what he says 'nd I'll let you know if he's told the truth."

A flick of those golden brows beneath the shadow of his ballcap. His smile still sobers. "'nd you should think about getting your own place, yes. Lets you breathe." Proverbial 'you'. He still doesn't press for details; there's implicit trust that if information was meant to be shared, it would or will be. "Doesn't mean SHIELD won't know about your life off-site, but...might help."

Peggy Carter has posed:
The commentary about a poker game -- much less one she didn't KNOW ABOUT, gets a long look from her. Peggy is practically grinning for a moment, eyes aghast that he's not actually going to tell her. "...There's a poker game I *missed*? Ach... Being in that command tent was so bloody stuffy. You boys had all the fun. And I *will* ask Bucky. He'll be honest. Lili won't let him be otherwise." She's mostly teasing with that last bit, but she is horribly curious.

Sadly, teasing old times can't last forever. The thought of her own place hangs a bit heavier in the air as she finishes the last gulp of her beer. She looks back to the room again. It seems a minute can't pass without at least one of them checking. Old habits die hard, and paranoia even harder. "I... probably will. But you know they'll keep eyes on it. Howlett's place is effective...for now. He knows how to disappear when needed. We'll see if I find any other missing files. But... replacing the copies. I can make that happen tomorrow." She quirks just a bit of a smile, "To ensure the record is complete, of course."

Steve Rogers has posed:
"Better the bait's more'n good enough to take than not quite enough," the Captain agrees, still at a low volume for their closed distance of seating. "If there's a way to see who's got their hand in the cookie jar but not snag 'em just yet, do it. Whoever's doing it 's'not the mastermind. Gotta trail 'em 'nd see where the trail leads. Just a suggestion," Steve adds, flashing a quick grin again at the woman who was stuck in the command tent.

Someone enters the place and it makes the man glance up in solemn suspicion in another iteration of double-checking faces against recognition. Nope. Some Average Joe in for a drink at the end of a shift. Back and forth in place, the super-soldier shifts about, forearms rested on the table and one hand still around his pint glass. Their connection of touch at the hip isn't lost.

"It was between missions out in the field, the card game," Steve adds, making eye contact with Peggy again and very faintly smiling. He knows she's //dying// to know in turn at this point.

Peggy Carter has posed:
He's not the only one who is distracted by the entrance of another person. The plans being made were just too important. SHIELD was probably a bit too concerned about the two of them when they went off base. It, and the empty pitcher in front of them, is enough to finally rouse her to consideration of it being time to leave. "Daisy... I think I can trust her. And she knows those computers better than anyone. I'll get her to help." She brushes her shoulder against his, wry smile following. "Not just a pretty face after all. And to think we put you in a dance belt."

Then she groans as he brings up the poker story again, shaking her head almost immediately. "No, no, Steve Rogers, I will not sit around for this *torture* of this story of yours you won't share. I know where Bucky lives. I can get to the bottom of this case." She grins, but then she does shift away, out of the booth and smoothly standing. "...But, we should both get moving, before they start wondering why we're gone. I've got the tab... Get home safely. And don't warn Bucky about the poker matter. I want his genuine reaction." Peg shares a conspiratorial smile with him -- that story was safer to end the drink on than muttering about disappearing files.

With that, they'll both leave at seperate times, going separate directions. Round about routes to be sure they're not followed. They both know the drill.