Peggy gave a chuckle, finger waved hair falling over her eye. It was a down period for the agent who took lodgings in her tent. She had taken to dropping a gramophone needle on a new record. It was a gift from her brother Harrison. The parcel was unexpected. The lulling surroundings of the camp allowed her to take a slow sip of her steaming drink: tea. The light liquid coated her throat before she gave a shake of her head. "It's all about coffee in America, Peggy." She gave a defensive hold of her tea mug sharply retorting that they were in England.
Across from her was Steve Rogers, pencil dragging over his sketchpad. He was telling her of Brooklyn, glorious Brooklyn, New York. Instead of his light-hearted remarks of peer bullying she was given the music stores where he would listen to records in booths. His ocean eyes were sparkling as he recounted lazy afternoons sitting atop his building roof, drawing the Brooklyn Bridge. "Everyone wanted to go to The City," he laughed, taking a relaxed drink of his coffee. "I still can't figure out why." His eyes were still sharp on her, leaning forward as he outlined her eyes on his paper.
She had rarely been able to see Steve's beloved hometown. Most of her time was designated on the camp in that area or brief meetings. The way he spoke of Prospect Park made the Englishwoman's heart swell. Never had she heard so much admiration for a place even in all her years of speeches about London. Everything is friendlier in Brooklyn. Everything is possible in Brooklyn. Each memory he recalled was saturated in these subtle hints. "Coney Island! You've gotta see it. You'd love it..." His smile was sweeter now, deep in the reliving of the streets.
Peggy uncrossed her legs, still dressed in her Class B uniform. "You sat on the stoop and you just talked to people. You talked to your neighbours about the game. Y'know… 'How'd the Duke do?'" His accent was becoming more apparent causing the brunette to secretly smile as she flipped the record over to fill the small gaps of silence as the soldier finished his impromptu portrait. A few brushes of his palm and the rubber shavings neatly piled at his feet. "You'd really love it…"
Peggy and Steve had known each other for a year now, spending every rare moment they could together between missions. Steve was not expected to be called away for two more days-Peggy, four. "Yeah, you would," Steve chuckled under his breath, shading the majority of her hair. There was a short quiet filled in by a crooner. All she could hear was the noise of graphite subtly wearing away.
"Steve Rogers, are you asking me to move to Brooklyn with you?" The woman queried coyly, faded red lips tugging upward. Now it was Steve's turn to be still until he dropped his eraser on the ground.
"When it's all over," he grinned, raising the coffee cup to his lips again.