Fic: Saturday next
Aug. 1st, 2011 03:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bennet_7And now, some random post-film Captain America: The First Avenger fic.
Saturday next | G | 489 | Peggy (Peggy/Steve)
Peggy had an uncle who would always show up when you boiled the kettle or pulled a cake from the oven, so she pours her first glass on that principle. It's a French pinot noir from years before the war that she's kept it safe in her sock drawer for a special occasion and corkage at the Stork Club is a small price to pay. She swirls half an inch around in the glass, sniffs, and then tastes.
Peggy doesn't have a damn clue whether it's corked or not. A full glass then, but pushed to the side. She's waiting.
She wanted a good table, right near the entrance, so she got there early. There will be no comedy of errors tonight, where he walks in but can't see her and leaves assuming the worst (that she didn't care, that she didn't make it). She rejects every offer of company more rudely than she otherwise might (there isn't anyone else). She pours his glass in expectation. It needs to breathe.
These things take time.
She hears the ticking in her head. Glances down to check her watch - it turns her stomach - back up to check the door - a surge of hope. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes past the hour. Twenty minutes is an excellent late entrance, Howard told her once.
"Long enough that it doesn't look like you were rushing to get there because you should never look like you care, but not so late that people get really annoyed and don't invite you next time. Plus, if they're serving food it'll still be hot."
Howard does like to go on to anyone who will listen. If only Steve were impressionable.
Peggy pays a waitress a shilling to go look out the front door and see if up the road there's been a horrible car accident or a kitten stuck in a tree or if maybe, just maybe, there's a tall young man with blond hair - Captain America, you must have see the news reels - standing outside, nervous about coming in. Peggy gets a shake of the head and takes her first honest sip.
Steve can't - couldn't - can't get drunk.
Peggy most assuredly can. Somebody takes the other chair at some point during her third glass. She seriously thinks about finding the person and shooting them.
It ends up being quite a nice bottle of wine. Once she really starts paying attention to it she notices blackberries on the tip of her tongue, a hint of vanilla, and a subtle smokiness to the base notes. The effect of it is slow, at first a warmth that creeps into her blood and then her mind is quietly numb before she realises that most of it is gone. Most, but not all, because Steve's glass remains.
She drinks it for him. Though she might regret it, nothing will go to waste.
Saturday next | G | 489 | Peggy (Peggy/Steve)
Peggy had an uncle who would always show up when you boiled the kettle or pulled a cake from the oven, so she pours her first glass on that principle. It's a French pinot noir from years before the war that she's kept it safe in her sock drawer for a special occasion and corkage at the Stork Club is a small price to pay. She swirls half an inch around in the glass, sniffs, and then tastes.
Peggy doesn't have a damn clue whether it's corked or not. A full glass then, but pushed to the side. She's waiting.
She wanted a good table, right near the entrance, so she got there early. There will be no comedy of errors tonight, where he walks in but can't see her and leaves assuming the worst (that she didn't care, that she didn't make it). She rejects every offer of company more rudely than she otherwise might (there isn't anyone else). She pours his glass in expectation. It needs to breathe.
These things take time.
She hears the ticking in her head. Glances down to check her watch - it turns her stomach - back up to check the door - a surge of hope. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes past the hour. Twenty minutes is an excellent late entrance, Howard told her once.
"Long enough that it doesn't look like you were rushing to get there because you should never look like you care, but not so late that people get really annoyed and don't invite you next time. Plus, if they're serving food it'll still be hot."
Howard does like to go on to anyone who will listen. If only Steve were impressionable.
Peggy pays a waitress a shilling to go look out the front door and see if up the road there's been a horrible car accident or a kitten stuck in a tree or if maybe, just maybe, there's a tall young man with blond hair - Captain America, you must have see the news reels - standing outside, nervous about coming in. Peggy gets a shake of the head and takes her first honest sip.
Steve can't - couldn't - can't get drunk.
Peggy most assuredly can. Somebody takes the other chair at some point during her third glass. She seriously thinks about finding the person and shooting them.
It ends up being quite a nice bottle of wine. Once she really starts paying attention to it she notices blackberries on the tip of her tongue, a hint of vanilla, and a subtle smokiness to the base notes. The effect of it is slow, at first a warmth that creeps into her blood and then her mind is quietly numb before she realises that most of it is gone. Most, but not all, because Steve's glass remains.
She drinks it for him. Though she might regret it, nothing will go to waste.
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Date: 2012-01-11 04:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-11 08:46 pm (UTC)