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[ He references a crisis that occurs thirty years after her present and tosses in the casual mention of alien invasion alongside it. Maybe it seems she's handling each outlandish thing dropped into her lap because she has heard so much in such a short amount of time that they're just — barely registering. Enough to be heard and filed away for later perusal with none of it truly rocking her to her core, except for the news about Steve.

So she nods along to what he says, huffing out a breath as she looks down at the half-empty glass balanced on her knee. Full clearance. Her smile is quiet and more than a little wry. ]

I'm flattered by your trust in me.

[ It isn't entirely mutual. Not yet. But she doesn't have to say that. She still isn't sure what she can believe, not without seeing it for her own eyes or hearing it from someone she truly knows. (Like Steve.) But what they offer her is all the truth she has, so she must accept it for now. ]

A bunker, [ she repeats on a soft outbreath. It almost sounds — disappointed. Or sad. She takes a more measured sip from her glass, running a thumb down the side in an absent gesture. ] Some things never change. I'd hoped they would.

[ Is it trust, when Peggy Carter has simply earned the right to access anything SHIELD does? It's not not trust. They have the privilege of hindsight, so they assume she won't do anything like, say, sell them out to HYDRA remnants.

With her admission, the mood drops. He feels that hopelessness deep in his chest, spidering out through his veins whenever he isn't actively pushing it down. Things only get worse. The Inhuman crisis, the LMDs, the Framework, the Kree. There's always something clawing at them, tearing them apart, as if the split between the Avengers hasn't already shown how mad it is to let anything divide the world.

He tips his head, dragging his thoughts back to the now. ]

We're still here, though. [ Jemma would have something brighter to say, forward-looking and sure. Fitz barely feels certain of the present. ] That's a victory, too.

[ Fitz meters out hope in small doses, when he only has so much to offer. ]

[ The mood drops and she feels it acutely and reprimands herself for it. She isn't ordinarily so maudlin (only she is, isn't she, in the years after the war, when no one is looking) and it's unfair of her to bring it here — this distant future she knows very little about. They have their reasons to hide away from the world. She understands it, a little; part and parcel of the life they lead, isn't it? Espionage.

We're still here, though. Peggy smiles briefly at her glass. Does he mean SHIELD or humanity? Both could apply, she supposes. ]

Yes, it is.

[ She lets the silence filter in between them and she polishes off the last slip of whisky in her glass before helping herself to a refill. It's already settling warmly in her empty stomach, she can feel the tension in her shoulders lose its edge, but nothing about her bearing suggests it. ]

So, Agent Fitz, [ she begins once she's settled back into place, voice distinctly more casual. ] You have a grandson, is that right?

[ As the resident self-pitying and introspective agent, Fitz accepts her variable mood. It's to expected, out-of-time, and separated from your loved ones. His welcome was far from smooth and even the other agents were a tad frantic.

Her shift in topic is but a marginal improvement. He downs his glass and reaches out for her to pass the bottle. ]

I have. [ measured, ] A Deke. He's a handful and half. [ fitz, he's a highly intelligent and keen young man. then, utterly dour — ] I expect he'll be back from assignment tomorrow and nosing around you.

[ like an untrained puppy. ]

[ She just barely stops herself from making a face at that tidbit of information, although it's a near thing. ]

Well, how different could it be from today, really.

[ Barely restrained doesn't mean she can hold off on the snark altogether. No, that's not fair, either; she suspects they haven't told her everything about how much he means to this present world, but she's gleaned enough. She's somehow made it into the annals of influential historical figures before the 21st Century and she's reaping the benefits of it now — in a way. Underground bunker being what it is and all.

Peggy exhales that's neither sigh nor laugh but somehow straddles the line between both then flicks her gaze over the man in front of her. It's assessing, not overly probing. But she still says, before taking a sip: ]

What don't you like about him?

[ Another fair point, agent. Fitz scrunches his features. ]

He's — [ you can't just ask what he doesn't like about it deke!!! ] — just — the worst. Awkward. Keen. [ Sound familiar? ] And nosy. Always interrupting.

[ It's called being friendly, grandpa. ]

[ His answer doesn't elicit an outright laugh (because it takes a bit of doing to get one out of her and they are still fresh acquaintances here) but she smiles briefly around her mouthful of whisky. No, they don't know each other very well, but the way he fumbles his answer is telling.

It is certainly a curious and likely frustrating situation to be in all around, people dropping in and out of their respective time streams. A future grandchild! (Does she have any out there in the world? Good Lord.) But Fitz's answer carries less heat than she expected. ]

Sounds to me as though he's simply... young. Careful, agent, [ she says mildly. She is absolutely amused, but that could just be a comfortable warmth from the drink, too. ] You're starting to sound about as old as my calendar years.

Edited 2018-10-24 10:56 (UTC)

[ Events that fall under "improbable to the point of being impossible and yet", alongside ghost dimensions and Asgardian enchantresses: Agent Peggy Carter reading him for filth.

He coughs on his drink, caught off guard by how swiftly her mild advice turned wry. Her observations about Deke are astute, in some ways. Despite his years and experience of trauma, he shares the energy of a younger Fitz, who weathered troubled times with less wonder. ]

Yeah, well. [ There's no disputing that, even without the cardigans. ] Means I'll never outgrow my personality.

Edited 2018-10-24 11:15 (UTC)

That's no bad thing.

[ Age could just as well mean wisdom as it does crankiness. God knows she's more than capable of both and then some when the days have grown long and the war cold. But only one of the two apply here; and even though she still feels restless, this is the first bit of peace and quiet she's had in hours. (The day does feel endless: she's essentially lived two, hasn't she?)

She's not the only one. She'd be surprised if anyone was sleeping soundly around here, working to solve... whatever this is. ]

You did keep a level head in the basement. [ Given the circumstances. ] I know men who wouldn't have handled the situation half as well.

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