Owner	Pose
Peggy Carter	They'd all been warned about the winters near Russia. While their gear wasn't perfect, there were layers of heavy uniforms, ways to cuddle in bunk tents and convoys, they were prepared. Sometimes they were even allowed to build fires. But six months later, on the way to another supposed HYDRA installation, no one really warned them just how bad the *summers* would get. A freak heatwave over heated two of their convoy's engines earlier in the day and so camp was set up a bit early. Dugan snuck in some sort of awful 'shine and gulping that stuff was the only way half the men got to sleep. Peggy didn't drink shine. Besides, she was up late, decoding the last Numbers Station transmission she intercepted. While the men were off drinking, playing games, stripping down to skivvies, and generally taking what leave they could, she was working. It's done now, though. Too hot to sleep, Peggy's daring to sneak out of the camp towards the little stream they've hidden the trucks near -- if they didn't all splash off, the smell alone would have killed them. She's just in her full slip that normally goes under her uniform and her skivvies, wanting to wash them as much as she does her body.
Steve Rogers	The edges of the stream are mostly mud and soft grass, but there's at least one decently sized boulder that provides a stable place to sit. Looks like someone else has beat Peggy to the idea; Steve's sitting on the boulder, bare shoulders bowed forward and a sketchpad propped awkwardly against his knee and forearm for him to scribble on. A mesh bag tied to a stake via a short length of rope looks like it's packed full of olive drab clothing. Steve's boots and shield are nearby on the bank itself under a tree. Despite the relative safety of their location Steve's sturdy 1911 is under his left arm in a shoulder holster. Moonlight glints off the beads and metal of his dog tags.
Peggy Carter	That makes her stop. Just a few heartbeats of hesitation, utterly certain she's intruded upon a personal moment. Especially as he has that sketchbook out. She takes in a slow, considering breath, uncertain if he's heard her yet but also not able to pull her eyes away, her heart suddenly galloping in her throat. Finally, the sticky humidity wins the race. It's entirely too miserable out for her to stand on propriety. After those considering moments, she resumes her step over towards the boulder, clearing her throat quietly. "Captain. I... don't mean to interrupt, but... only washing service available, you know." Her British accent clips out teasingly, as she creeps along the muddy edge of the shore. Her dark hair is swept up off her neck, carefully maintained curls pinned in efforts to preserve them a few more days in the heat. The rest of her is just pale, sun-freckled skin and that satin slip. If half the boys saw this, they'd be hooting and hollering.
Steve Rogers	Between the lyrical sound of flowing water, Steve's focus on his work, and Peggy's soft-soled step, the blonde soldier clearly doesn't pick up on Peggy's presence. It's not until she speaks up that Steve whirls in place, a little too quickly. Eyes open wide at the surprise-- and the view. "Carter Peggy! I mean-- Agent Peggy! CARTER!" Steve launches to his feet on the boulder and reflexively puts his sketchbook in front of his shorts as if caught naked. "What are y--" Steve's reflexes are fairly good, but slick stones and wet moss conspire to betray even the most adroit of acrobats. Arms pinwheel and his feet scrabble for purchase. "Oh shi-!" Over Steve goes into the drink, though at least he has the presence of mind to keep his sketchbook overhead and out of the water!
Peggy Carter	Well, so much for needing to wade in on the muddy water. Steve has now convieniently cleared the boulder for her. Peggy has seen him take far worse falls, even if he might be bruised. He's a super soldier. So a gentle, warm laugh escapes her throat instead of a yelp or a cry of concern. Especially since he's holding up his book. "...You still can't talk to women, can you?" She asks from her perch on the rock above him. She carefully shifts down, well trained, muscled frame keeping her balance keenly as she sinks down one foot, and then the other, into the slick water next to him. She's reaching down and over for the book, "Let me save that for you before you lose all your work. I'll be safe on the side here. Dugan's drink has knocked everyone else out cold. I almost feel like I should keep watch tonight." If she has any idea of just how indecent she is, it's gone. She's been at war too long for propriety.
Steve Rogers	Steve surfaces with a splutter and wipes water from his face and short-cropped hair. He gives Peggy's offered help a rueful look of resignation, and hands her the sketchpad. There's a pretty good depiction of the other bank, which has a lot of character in terms of flora and fauna. "I-- you /surprised/ me," Steve says with a nervously accusatory tone. "I didn't expect anyone to show up, especially looking like, like--" with hand extended, he gestures vaguely at Peggy while she moves to the bank and sets the book down next to his boots. "like--" Steve's eyes widen minutely when Peggy's rich brown gaze is directed back at him. "Like /that/," he says, nodding vigorously in agreement with his own defense.
Peggy Carter	"Like a woman who hasn't bathed in three days and is worried her uniform is going to start growing a mind of its own?" Peggy asks him after she, very carefully, sets the notebook aside. While others might not treat it with quite so much care, Peggy handles it the same way she would top secret documents. Especially near water. She leans over, setting it on the bank, well behind his shoes, tucked there in case some water would splash up, so the boots are more likely to catch it than the book. She cares. Then she's looking back to him, wading farther into the water with a sound of relief that is almost intimate it's so happy. She's been quietly dying under those layers of uniform and hair. "...Perhaps we are dead. This may just be heaven, I think. That convoy blew up and we are dead." She mutters teasingly, cupping some water up over her face happily.
Steve Rogers	Steve looks a little flummoxed, and the best reaction he can even emulate is the sort of attempt at disinterested nonchalance which Bucky could do on delivery, and which Steve can't feign with any sincerity. "My, uh..." he coughs. "My gun's wet, I'm just gonna--" Steve points at the bank and unslings his gun belt to set it near his other gear. It buys him a little time to try and wrap his head around Peggy's presence. "I didn't notice you smelling bad," he volunteers, sitting waist-deep in the water. A beat later, and Steve balks. "Not-- that I notice your smell! I don't smell you. Then. Or now. Can't..." Steve clears his throat, looks down at his interlaced fingers where his elbows bracket his knees, then looks up at the sky. "Holy Christmas," he mutters, as near to profanity as Steve ever really gets.
Peggy Carter	"Well, mine isn't wet, but it's back with the convoy, so we had better hope that HYDRA doesn't get any clever ideas or we'll have to strangle them with our skivvies." Peggy is only half teasing there. One night that she did let herself get drunk, there was absolutely a story of the time she strangled a Naxi soldier with a pair of her nylon thigh highs. The worst ending? She snagged them in the process! A devestation during war time. "I'll show you how it's done, if we must." Peggy teases in his direction with a little wink. Then he's rambling on about her smell and even dares at that almost profanity. Peggy laughs deeply, turning her back to him in some efforts to give him a little bit of privacy. "Oh, come now, such language. If you didn't have sisters, I know *Barnes* did. You have seen a woman's shoulder before. If it is that awful, you can turn about and we can both bathe in privacy." Priv-eh-see, of course, the British way. "But there is plenty of stream for both of us and I'm not losing my chance to not be sticky for the first time in three bloody days."
Steve Rogers	Steve's smiling ruefully, Peggy's laughter and chivvying putting a little pink in his cheeks but taking the edge off his nerves. He chuckles and looks down at his hands, then cups some water and splashes it onto his face and neck. "Only child. But you know that," he reminds Peggy. "It's ..." he pauses. "/Definitely/ not awful," the big fellow concedes. "Just surprised me, is all. I didn't make it out to the shore much. Sunburns, and not a great swimmer." Steve looks at his forearms as if remembering the sun damage that no longer seems to affect him. " Bucky's sisters are all little kids anyway," Steve points out.
Peggy Carter	"Bucky's sisters would all be full grown, 20-something women and you'd consider them little kids because they were Bucky's sisters." Peggy continues to tease him lightly, but it's clearly done with warm affection behind her voice for both of them. She knew about Buck's whole family by now. She'd even dreamt by the fire, some night, of getting back to the states to meet them when she, James and Steve were up later than everyone else one evening. Slowly, the lure of the cool water entirely too tempting, she sinks herself all the way to her knees and then rests her buttocks on her heels beneath the water, so she's mostly covered all the way to her collar bones. Her eyes shut and the first truly relaxed breath she's exhaled in weeks spills across her lips. "It's safe, you can turn back now. I'm mostly under and it's too dark to see anything unless you use your imagination." The teasing is gone from her tone. She sounds simply at ease. A little carried off on the pure relaxation of the moment.
Steve Rogers	Peggy's commentary produces a chuckle and a wry nod of agreement at her assessment of the Barnes girls. At the comment about light, Steve glances over at Peggy (and relaxes a bit more seeing her fully immersed). "For you," Steve says, after a beat. Toes dig into the mud, stirring up a cloudy plume that's carried away downstream. "There's more than enough light for me out." He squints skywards at the partial moon overhead. The blonde fellow /had/ been sketching comfortably when Peggy arrived after all. "If it's just me in the command tent I'll light a candle or something so I'm not burning up all our fuel running the generator."
Peggy Carter	"...That would explain the sketch. I knew your eyes were sharper than most people. I don't suppose I realized *just* how sharp. I figured your imagination was being inspired by the bank. Not that you were copying it leaf for leaf." Peggy still sounds sometimes in awe of his transformation. She's been there for all the tests, holding his hand every step of the way, but now and then a little detail catches her off guard and the lost magic of Erskine's work enchants her again. "...Well, *Captain*, since you are so sharp, then I shall just have to trust you not to peek. I am a lady, after all." That last bit is teased warmly, not really offended or worried in the least. She sinks back into the water, trying to find one smaller rock to perch on to save her whites from the mud even as she runs fingertips and arms through the cool stream.
Steve Rogers	"That's been kind of a problem," Steve admits. "It's harder to imagine the things I couldn't see before. Not just the details. I counted thirty-three flying bugs, five frogs, and fifteen flowering plants in the grass." He looks across the distance, some twenty meters away. "I see everything these days. And I can't forget any of it." There's an awkward silence and Steve gets to his feet, reeling in his bag full of laundry. Muscles cord in his arms as he wrings a gallon of water from the bag, twisting it heavily in his grip, and starts dressing himself in the least-dirty set of fatigues he'd brought along. %
Peggy Carter	"...Well then, Captain. I hope I at least gave you a peak of something worth being unforgettable." Peggy could blush and stammer. She could lose herself in JUST how unprofessional this is. But it's too hot, she won't apologize for stealing away to a bath, and it's become a near favourite past time to see him blush. Or, she'd better call it, do her best to teach him to flirt. "Go get some rest, Steve. It's going to be an awfully long day tomorrow and the heat isn't waning. I'll be safe getting back to camp, I promise." She reassures him gently, taking some of the edge off of her teasing flirt from a moment ago. She's giving him the out he probably needs before he turns red all the way to his temples.
Steve Rogers	"Yeah." The sound is less amused than rueful, and when Peggy glances over, Steve's not looking at her. Or at anything. His eyes are focused a thousand miles away, in a middle distance that doesn't exist. Haunted isn't quite the word... but there are definitely some spectres lingering around Steve, all the same. Trousers, t-shirt, and loosely-laced boots; Steve carries the rest of his gear under one arm. "Anyway. Enjoy your bath. G'nite... Peggy." Steve flashes a vague smile in Peggy's direction and heads back towards the bivouac site, moving with a graceful silence as easily as a jungle cat despite his heavy tread and combat boots.