You Think You're Alone Now

May 18, 2017:

Peggy Carter returns home. Unbeknownst to her, she has an invisible visitor.

Peggy and Thor's Apartment


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Steve Rogers, Jessica Jones

Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

It's not exactly late, but the warm summer night is fully dark by the time the door opens and closes to emit Peggy Carter back into the flat she shares with Thor. She wears no coat, but she carefully hangs her purse on a hook, pulling her phone and tablet out. "Thor?" she calls out, but the flat is empty and the rooms dark. Kicking her shoes off, she shoves the heels under the entryway table and moves into the penthouse more fully, starting to tap in a long passcode into the tablet that she then slides onto the island in the kitchen.

Her mind is clearly still on work as she moves into the kitchen and pulls a glass to fill with water. The fridge is opened and shut without her retrieving anything. Instead, she moves back to the tablet, spinning it about so she can read it better.


What an odd name for a roommate, Grymalkin supposes.
A tall young man looms closely behind Peggy as she opens the door to her home. Dressed exceptionally well, if old fashioned with a British suit and long coat with black bowtie. It could be remarked upon, that is, if he was visible. His footfalls are completely silent, having long-since mastered the sound illusion of reversing small sounds perfectly into inaudibility. He's close but not so close she can feel the electric sensation of warmth and nearness.
He's an old hand at this. Smoothness is quickness as he wastes no motion but moves without hurry. Stepping to the side to let her close the door behind herself as she strides into the room with distracted purpose. His mismatched eyes look about as he folds his gloved hands behind himself. Taking in her chosen decor and the aromas she chooses to flavor her homestead.
He pauses a step as the shoes are flung before him before continuing his meandering walk, turning his gaze to the glassy device she seems preoccupied with. Only then does he take in the sight of her in full, inhaling her smell.

So there she is. Peggy Carter. Months of searching and stalking possible leads has finally borne fruit. At first he thought it a simple matter, until he looked deeper into the woman's name and face. She should be a crone by now, but here she is. As beautiful and vivacious as the prime of her life. It seemed implausible until he happened upon one Sergeant Barnes, who resisted the pull of time as well as his superior the great Captain Rogers. Following one led to the other which has led him .. here.

What is this woman really? Why does his benefactor want her love so? Strangest still, not for himself.


Unaware that she has an unexpected intruder in her home, Peggy continues to go about her business. The penthouse is large - a rarity in Manhattan. It has accents that give it a very vintage vibe. It has a sunken living room, the carpet and furniture have an almost sixties feel to it. However, there are accents everywhere that give it a personal touch. There are framed pictures that seem to date from World War II and before that. The art on the wall are landscape pictures: classic.

Her attention is not on her decor, however, it is on the tablet in front of her. It's a lot of words, seemingly a report and transcription of an interrogation, or a phone conversation. The brow furrows as she reads, finger swiping to keep reading as she does so. As a general rule, the woman who helped found SHIELD is impeccably dressed and today is no exception. Her outfit is modern professional, her shoulder length brown hair pulled back. She wears no perfume, but there is the vague remnants of her shampoo and soap, which smell faintly floral. Maybe lilac?

Setting the tablet back down on the counter, she takes a sip of water and then starts to pull the pins out of her hair to let it down.


The intruder does not fully comprehend modern practices but he's lurked New York enough to understand this space is opulent by it's standards. This woman is wealthy. Or perhaps this Thor is?
He strolls the outskirts of the room, examining every picture and furnishing. Questions abound in his mind but he knows the virtues of patience. As she fusses over the tablet he approaches again. No shadow looms near her in warning as he glances over her shoulder at the text scrolling.
'Agent Carter' Steve Rogers had corrected him. Present tense. Those words revealed a great deal about the woman. What precisely she did during the war is mostly classified, even to this day. He has no way of knowing the scope of what she'd accomplished beyond her astonishing longevity. Most in her situation would have simply retired but no, not her.
Here she is again, seeking more wars.
Grymalkin is beginning to understand the appeal. No nonsense in this woman. She is an achiever - determined and glory bound.
No perfume infuses her professional wear, also telling.
This is no love-lorn maid seeking comfort and protection in the arms of the mighty. No wonder it seems the great Captain has fallen for her.

Watching her hair tumble down her shoulders, his tongue slides along the inside of his teeth in contemplation.
She is a great conquest worthy of the Captain, he can see that. The man has his choice of any woman in the country but this.. This is the unattainable.
As for why she seems to love him? That should be obvious with his incredible, Greco-statuesque form and noble persona. Or is it?


As she scans through the files, Peggy sets down the glass of water - now finished onto the counter with a clink. Fingers run through her hair as she combs it out and then lets it fall where it may.

The pictures on the wall are vaguely artistic - they're shots of landscapes and cities. The framed pictures are a different matter. They're framed newspaper clippings from the War, a picture of her with four other men with champagne glasses laughing and not looking at the camera, there are a few candids of the war involving the Howling Commandos and Steve and James Barnes. These mementos are scattered amongst the books and the other decorations.

Frowning, the woman stands from the counter and picks up her phone, tapping at a contact and then letting the phone dial. She sets it up against her ear as she moves out of the kitchen and paces: it seems she is a woman who does not like to be idle. After a long few rings, a voicemail message plays. She waits patiently and then leaves a message, "Hey Jess, it's Peggy. Been looking into the names on the phone we didn't know. Kevin Thompson is apparently a kid who disappeared awhile ago. I've got a picture in contacts that I can send you, but he's a full grown adult. I've also been looking into Holmes on this side. Whenever you're back, let's get together and regroup. I'm worried I haven't focused on this for too long. I hope that your investigation has been going better than mine. Be careful."

Hanging up the phone, she sighs. Moving to the fridge, she pulls out an already opened bottle of white wine and pours herself a glass. Picking up the tablet again, she moves toward the living room area and settles onto the couch. Unlocking her phone, she brings up Steve's number, frowns at it for a moment and then puts her phone to sleep again, moving her attention back to the tablet.


Statistically it could be a coincidence but the message itself is far too damning. A missing children's case? It seems Miss Jones is once again proving how soft hearted she is to the world. And perhaps, with Agent Carter's involvement, she too has a soft core - especially when she stands so little to gain from it.

Noting that she's finally filling a glass with something more substantial than water, he meanders further into the kitchen. He waits for her to move away before he silently picks up the bottle to look over the label carefully, taking note of it's vintage and kind.
In Vino, Veritas. The romans once told him.
The bottle is replaced where it was the moment she settles onto the couch before she has a chance to notice. He's playing it careful here. While he knows little of spies in the wake of the world wars, he knows the type. Careful and observant at all times. He isn't going to play little games with her.. Not yet anyway.

Instead he approaches, striding behind the couch to look down over her as he lightly places his fingertips upon the back of the couch.
Mismatched eyes follow the movement of the letters on the tablet, looking for names. She works for SHIELD now most likely, as her paramore Captain America.

He wonders. Leaning down within a few inches of her hair, inhaling to see if he can catch any hint of his scent there. Not calling him, eh? Aaah, promise there. There is the potential of a divide.


Unaware that she is being watched, Peggy settles into the couch. She makes little pretense of lady-like posture in company and without it, she cares little for such. The glass is set onto the coffee table and she settles back, propping her ankles up on the coffee table and leaning back amongst the cushions.

The bottle of white wine is nothing special, a mid-ranged bottle of Chardonnay. Grym's instincts do him well, as Peggy - apropos of nothing - suddenly looks over her shoulder as he leans over to sniff at her hair. There's no reason for the sudden movement, but she frowns as she glances about the room. Nothing seems out of place and there is no one there. It's just her overactive senses thinking there might be danger nearby.

There are multiple names on the tablet as Grym leans forward to look all with the last name 'Holmes'. There is quite a long list. They list addresses and there are pictures next to each of them. It seems as if she is on a search for someone.

The sniff of her hair will get nothing of Steve Rogers. She came home straight from SHIELD. The phone is looked at and then tossed to the side a bit so she can focus on the work that is front of her. The thoughts of Steve are distracting. It's not the time to call him in on this investigation yet, anyway.


What a hilarious coincidence that she is looking for this Holmes as arduously as he looked for her.
Moving away from her then as he goes back to his orbiting, he takes note of what this 'Thor' might be in possession of. Just as Peggy's instincts are telling her that there might be something off, Grym also senses the lingering presence of something.. otherworldly.
It can't be the actual Thor, that would make no sense whatsoever.
Sergeant Barnes went through the trouble of having his home warded. He was worried that Agent Carter would as well, but it seems she's not quite as mystically careful as he. Nor is Thor, apparently.

As scandalous as it was in previous eras for an unwed woman to live in the same home as a man, it seems modern sentiments are not as .. strict. Could it be that Captain Rogers is sharing her with Thor? Doubtful by this brief measure of her.

No. A relationship seems peripheral to her ambitions. She seems the sort to live her days as an unmarried spinster focused on her accomplishments than having a man. Their relationship must be tenuous at best.

There is opportunity here. His eyes sweep back to the lounging woman, unconcerned with ladylike mannerisms not unlike Miss Jones. A few careful nudges and things could fall apart. Their work, after all, is most important to them.
All work has to do is get a little.. tricky.


As a spy and a woman out to find things, she is often looking for a person or a piece of information. The tablet is given intense scrutiny as she scans through multiple different profiles. It seems as if she is looking for someone in particular.

The particulars of her living arrangement with Thor and her current relationship with Steve is something she would never have thought possible in the 40s. However, she is an adaptable woman to the times and cares little about what other people think of her. If this is the living arrangements that she chooses, then so be it.

After a good hour of searching through profiles, Peggy sets the tablet aside and leans her head back against the couch. Remembering her glass of wine, she takes it and sips deeply. It's warm now, but she doesn't seem to care. Instead, she drinks almost half of it and then sets the glass back down. From there, she closes her eyes for a few moments, almost as if in meditation.


Grymalkin seats himself in mid-air. It would be errie if anyone could witness, as he crosses one leg over the other, easing his elbow on some invisible piece of furnishing as he watches her. Opposite the sofa, gold and blue eyes watching her meditation like a predator as he learns of her in the most basic ways.
She does not watch the television as most seem to these days. Nor does she watch the pet videos on her tablet as others might. Hers is a focused world.

Thankfully her focus is very easy to understand. If work is her entire world, then Grym begins to formulate precisely how best to enter it.

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