ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Veterans Day

Vignette - Veterans Day
Dramatis Personae Steve
In Absentia	2015-11-11 "{For as long as I can remember, I just wanted to do what was right. I'm not quite sure what that is anymore.}"
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Sunroom - Lower East Side
Bright and warm, this room is set up to enjoy a little bit of the outdoors even year-round. Tall glass panes make up most of its wall in between wood supports, providing a wide three-sided view of the garden and yard outside. As well as the inner doors leading back into the kitchens and dining room, an outer door leads out to the outdoor gardens, as well. Inside, the room is airy and green -- a plethora of potted herbs and plants hang from the ceiling, as well as ring the room in a series of narrow wooden raised-beds that provide growing space for a selection of herbs year-round. Outside of the herb beds that ring the room, this place is designed simply to come and relax; quiet and simple, with clean stone floors and neutral-toned wicker furniture adorned with comfortable cushioning. Some of the chairs ring stone-and-glass tables for eating or conversing; a few more solitary seats come in the form of rocking chairs or netted hammock-chairs hanging from the ceiling. The late afternoon sunlight is weak but warm here, out of the wind. Steve is dozing in a chair, a blue and purple knit blanket draped over his lap and a book open on top of that. It doesn't look like a very restful sleep; he stirs and twitches, his lips moving though no intelligible words come out. A large mug of tea sits on the coffee table in front of his, as do three other books: 'The Space Race', 'Practical Spanish', and 'The New Jim Crow'. The woman who enters the room is quite elderly, her wavy silver hair neatly tied up into a bun. Her face is much-wrinkled and her eyes have faded to gray, but she carries herself straight and tall for her 5'5". She's wearing a conservative white blouse and a sharp charcoal pinstripe skirt suit, and carries a black handbag in both hands. Even her soft footfalls are enough to alert Steve, apparently, since he wakes with a start before she gets more than a couple of steps into the room, bolting upright and upsetting the book in his lap. It falls to the floor, closed: 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' by George Orwell. But he isn't looking at the book. He's /staring/ at the woman, jaw slack and eyes bleary. "Peggy," he says, his voice scratchy and brittle, as he bends to pick the book up and lay it on the coffee table with the others. "Steve." She smiles and closes the distance between them. "{It's been so long.}" Her French is precise, crisp Parisian. "{You look...awful, actually.}" The smile fades as she sits down in an adjacent chair, near enough to touch him. "{You look wonderful.}" Steven's French is a lot more casual, a lot more country. "{In my defense, I spent seventy years on ice. And I have the plague, just so you're warned. Excuse me.}" He blows his nose noisily and drops the wadded tissue into a wastebasket near overflowing beside him. "{Flattery.}" She waves it off, reaching out a hand to take his. "{You should go back to SSR for treatment.}" He's shaking his head before she even finishes the sentence, but squeezes her hand all the same. "{I don't want any special privileges. I'll wait my turn at the city-provided facilities, like everyone else.}" Then, he frowns. "{You're still working for them?}" "{What, you think I'm getting too old?}" The arch of Peggy's brow looks superbly unimpressed. "{I mostly provide consultation and training for up-and-coming agents, but yes. And before you pull out that hurt puppy look on me, I'm /not/ here at their behest. I just had to see you again.}" Steve looks chastened at this, but the frown doesn't fade. "{I'm sorry I missed our date.}" He glances down at her slender hand in his, a simple gold band on the ring finger. "{Robert. He's a good man,}" she says, softly. "{You met him briefly, liberating that POW camp in February of '44. We have two children and three grandchildren.}" Steve's smile is wistful but genuine. "{I'd love to meet them sometime.}" Hers is even fainter. "{Robert...hasn't been well. His mind is fading, but he has good days. We'll have you over for supper. I'm sure you'd get along famously. Oh, but before I forget...}" She withdraws a glass bottle of schnapps from her purse which, though large enough, certainly didn't look like it was holding anything so heavy. The label is written in German. "{Happy Veterans Day. I got this in Augsburg.}" "{Are we drinking to Dr. Erskine?}" Steven asks, then immediately turns to sneeze into his shoulder. "{Excuse me.}" "{Maybe some other time,}" Peggy suggests, setting the bottle on the table and handing him another tissue. "{after you've recuperated.}" "{You know, the last time someone put off a toast with me...}" But Steve doesn't finish. He blows his nose instead. "{So, is there going to be trouble at SSR over me quitting?}" "{There are people who will say Fury should have tried harder to keep you, whether by carrot or by stick. But they'll get over it.}" Peggy gives a very shallow shrug, clearly unconcerned. "{You've broken a few hearts at SSR, I'll wager, but I think you did the right thing.}" "{You think so?}" Steve mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "{For as long as I can remember, I just wanted to do what was right. I'm not quite sure what that is anymore.}" He shakes his head. "{But I'm pretty sure being an instrument of oppression is /not/ it.}" "{You're always so dramatic.}" Peggy chuckles, turning to stare out the window. "{Look, you saved the world. We rather...mucked it up, but don't write off SSR and Fury just yet. He should not have tried to recruit you back immediately. You need time to make up your own mind about this world. Time to catch up. Time to grieve.}" "{The others? Fury said he'd get me a list, but then...zombies happened. Then I quit.}" Peggy draws in a deep breath. "{Lord Falsworth and Colonel Phillips have both been gone for decades. Dugan lived just long enough to see the turn of the century, but I'm sure his children would love to meet you. Gabe became a history professor--emeritus, now, living in D.C. Jimmy founded an international aid organization, and he's /still/ running it. Jacques retired to tend a vineyard in Provence, if you can believe it. His wine is awful.}" She chuckles. But the mirth fades now. "{Howard died in a car crash. Almost twenty-five years ago.}" She pauses a beat, watching Steve's expression carefully. "{His wife died with him, but their son is alive and running one of the most powerful corporations on the planet.}" Steve is silent for a good long while. He pulls his hand free from hers and picks up his tea. Doesn't drink it. "{Hard to wrap my head around it. Saw them all so recently. I knew I could lose any of them at any time, just...not like this.}" He take a sip, swallows with a wince. "{I'm glad you got to have a family, a career, a life.}" "{I have lived a life,}" Peggy agrees, clasping her thin hands together. "{My only regret is that you didn't get to live yours.}" Steve lowers his mug and smiles broadly. "{Well, I guess it's a good thing I get another shot at it. Now, you have to tell me all about your adventures after the war...}"