Margaret Shield (sophist) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-08-27 23:24:00 |
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It seemed anathema to being a complete and utter adult to get shitfaced on Shiraz before the Shield parents arrived. Margaret wanted to be petulant and boozy and mad. But she had her tin hat on and instead, stood in front of the stove to check on the pineapple bedecked ham. She had to bend at the waist, tugging at the back of her skirt, and scoffed at the hunk of flesh. “Oh you lucky sod. About another fifteen minutes for you.” Then, turning, she strode into the dining room and began to light the candles on the set dining room table. It seemed strange to think about Peggy Carter in this instance. But she felt much the same she remembered the other woman feeling upon the eve of battle -- nerves tuned to fever pitch, intent on all things being perfect, prepared for the worst but expecting one rung up from that. At least dinner would have some semblance of taste to it. His sister’s mood set Rupert on edge, too -- though, truthfully, he’d been on edge the entire month, too. He wanted to steady her like he always could, like they always could do for one another, but he was at a loss. The anticipation of what was to come wasn’t really something either of them could settle. Rupert sidled up to the table, unsure of himself. “Is there something I can do?” he asked, hopeful. If she gave him a task, he’d be able to focus on that instead of their parents. And then he reached out to touch her gently on the arm. “It all looks perfect, you know.” “Set to a proper supper, Mum will be pleased …” And she hated the tremulous note in her voice, but it was there all the same. She hadn’t put this much work into ensuring that all the customs were seen to only to put one over on their parents. For all her bluster, if they were coming she wanted it to be civil. She wanted to show them how well she and Rupert got on. A tight smile. “Promise me their visit won’t change anything for the worse.” He wished he could promise her that, but deep down, Rupert knew he couldn’t. He had no idea what was going to happen when their parents arrived. He wanted to believe everything would be fine, and that the years of distance had softened their parents some, but he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep. “It won’t change us,” he insisted instead, because that was something he could control. No matter what, he wouldn’t let anything get between them. Impulsively, she threw her arms round his neck and hugged him tight. After a moment, when she sat back, she seemed more composed. “I am, at the very least, not going to talk to them about getting the memories of a bloody adventure film character. Imagine the horror.” Turning to the table, she moved a butter knife a fraction of an inch and then smoothed that part of the tablecloth with her palm. “Oops.” She shrugged. “I haven’t spoken of this with you before.” “Ah… no, we haven’t.” Rupert looked guilty for a second, because they shared practically everything else and always had, but this was something they hadn’t discussed. Despite the fact that other people in town were seeing stories of their own, he had still hesitated to confide in Margaret. Some of it was the lack of overlap, he was sure. At least he assumed there wasn’t overlap, considering he had dreams of a brother but not a sister. Unless… “Are you a dwarf in yours?” he blurted out. “Because I’m not telling them about my adventure film character either. But you, I’ll tell you.” She blinked, definitely not expecting assent. And if he was going to be getting someone’s memories, she wanted to have some avenue to sharing them. Rupert had been (and still was) too integral to her life not to be inextricably linked to her. Peggy had a brother. But he wasn’t … “I’m not a dwarf. But I suddenly want to hear everything.” That was more disappointing than he’d expected. He’d known, deep down. Something inside him had known and hadn’t wanted to admit it, out of fear for what it might mean for them. He wanted Margaret to be his sister in every universe, any universe. “I’ve dreamt of my childhood,” he began, “growing up in a city underground. Training with weapons. I’ve dreamt of leaving on an adventure, to reclaim our homeland. And,” he took in a deep breath, “Nina.” It made sense, didn’t it? Nina and Rupert had continents between them but still found one another in Dunhaven. She and Sarah had been the same. After a beat -- “That’s good, though. I can definitely see you with a beard! Very unlike the dapper gent my brother chooses to portray.” Rupert wrinkled his nose. The beard was one thing he hadn’t gotten used to feeling on his face in the dreams, and his wasn’t even the long, braided beards of his kin. “Can you see me about,” he squatted down until he was as tall as Kili was, “this tall?” He grinned as he looked up at Margaret. “Don’t underestimate me just because I’m little. You should see me with a bow and arrow.” As he said it, he knew it was true, even though he’d never fired a bow and arrow before in his life. In this life, anyway. Her face blossomed into a smile. “I wouldn’t dare. Trust me, I know about the little guy. We should set you up some targets, brother. That way, we can see if the abilities translated.” She paused to check her phone and sighed, knowing that the family would arrive any time. “I’m a boring old human.” His eyebrows lifted upwards in confusion at the mention of some little guy, but he didn’t question it, focused instead on her suggestion. It was a good idea, truthfully. He hadn’t considered trying anything out, but his dwarf-self did have skills that Rupert had never tried before. The memories translated, but would skills? If he remembered tracking animals through the woods, if he remembered aiming at enemies, would he be able to do the same? “Hmm. Yeah, we should try,” he agreed. “Tell me about you. I highly doubt you’re boring in any universe.” She shook her head quickly. “It’s … a bit of the same as our England. But I’m in World War II. I was at Bletchley Park, then my br --” a cough. “Then Michael died in the war. I broke off an engagement and joined the SOE. I eventually made it to the Strategic Scientific Reserve. They were trying to create a super soldier to fight Hitler and I was the Director of Operations.” And SHIELD. For years. Peggy directed so hard that she wore her mind out before her body was ready to go. Instead of focusing on the sadness, however, she determined a smile. “She was a crack shot with a pistol.” “That… sounds exactly like you, honestly.” Rupert’s grin was an attempt to cover up the anxiety in his chest at the mention of Michael -- her brother, perhaps? He could only assume. It wasn’t him, but Rupert felt a pang of jealousy, despite the fact that he was gone. It didn’t change how it hurt to know he wasn’t part of Margaret’s life in that world, and she wasn’t in his. “Let’s make a pact,” he suggested. “Let’s tell each other next time. We used to tell each other everything. I don’t want that to change on account of this.” A snort. “Except I haven’t picked up a pistol in my bloody life and red lipstick always gets on my teeth. Honestly, Fitzdarling.” But he wasn’t wrong. She felt connected to Peggy. Connected enough to still find her loss of herself tragic and ultimately frightening. But she squared her shoulders away from that and smiled at him. Margaret spit into her hand and then offered it to her brother to clasp. “Shake on it.” At that moment, the doorbell rang. He hadn’t picked up a bow before, and he was certain he wouldn’t know how to braid a beard, but that didn’t stop a part of him from feeling like both of those things were natural parts of him, somehow. He didn’t understand, but there it was all the same. Rupert copied his sister’s actions and shook her hand, only pausing when he heard the doorbell. “We’re out of time. Ready or not, here they come.” Margaret gave her brother (her brother who she loved, whose bond was sure and fast in this universe and any other) a peck on the cheek before she smoothed a flyaway lock of hair from her face and turned to approach the door. She gave herself one moment for a deep breath and then opened it with a flourish. “Mum, Dad. Do come in.” Mrs Shield, tall and angular, her red silk Hermes scarf cutting a slash through Margaret’s late-August sun-addled vision, swanned into the room and held out her handbag. Mr Shield, much smaller though no less impeccably dressed, paused to consider his daughter before he too walked into the room. It was Mrs Shield who spoke. “Why if it isn’t my darling children, all cozied up in a little bungalow keeping house in the United States.” Though her tone was positive, it managed to brook a kind of crawl up the back of Margaret’s spine. His sister was almost a figurative shield for him, even though Rupert had less of a reason to hide away from their parents than she did. It was true he and his father had struggled before he’d left for good, but it really hadn’t held a candle to what Margaret had been through, and having put some space in between, Rupert wondered if he, too, could have been kinder. He blinked and shook the thoughts off, reaching to take their mother’s bag from her. “It’s more space than I would have been able to afford in London while I was still on training,” Rupert pointed out. “How was the flight?” Margaret rolled her eyes behind her mother’s back in the line of Rupert’s sight, glad that he chose to speak truth and keep the peace. Because Margaret felt like she could go out for blood. “Oh, you know. We wanted duck but they had filet. So what was one to do? We chose the chicken instead,” she swept into the dining room and gave the setting of their supper table a critical eye. Turning back to her children meant that she approved. Mr Shield spoke up. “We want to know more about your life here. How it’s different, and …” Mrs Shield broke in. “ … when you’re ready to give this shite up and come home!” Rupert had turned to pick up a glass of wine, planning on offering their mother one of the local varieties even though it was far below her station, but at their father’s outburst, he paused. He held onto the glass with a vise grip. He knew Margaret hadn’t spent a fortune on the glasses, but he didn’t want to break it all the same. His eyes met his sister’s, briefly, before he faced his father. “We’re not,” he answered for both of them, because he knew exactly what Margaret would think and feel about the idea. His mother gasped, and Rupert shook his head. “We’re happy here. We’re not coming back. This is home.” Let them hate him for it, he thought. At least it wouldn’t be directed only at Margaret. At least they were both in it together. Margaret eased to her brother’s side. “We’re making a life for ourselves here,” she attempted, keeping her tone calm. “You have to be reasonable.” But the blanched pallor and pinched expressions on their parents’ faces told Margaret that luck was not swinging their way. And it was still so odd. The chill she got, everytime she looked at her mother, was no different than at any other time in her childhood. But perhaps it was the red slash of a scarf at her neck and the haughty carriage of her head in their very nice and very modest house that made her want to jump across the table and pound her with the cheese tray. Mr Shield interjected. “We are being very reasonable. There is a place for you back home, where you belong. You can give up these little rebellions …” Rupert scoffed. “Is that all you think of us? That this is some little rebellion? I’m getting my medical license. How is that a bloody rebellion? Honestly, leaving for Kenya was more of one.” He could feel his blood going hot, and one of his fists clenched. Reasonable. He wasn’t sure his parents knew the meaning of the word, if this was what they thought being reasonable was. “You haven’t bothered to find out if we’re happy here or not,” he continued. “You don’t know anything about our lives. The reasonable thing would be to support us.” He could tell, by the looks on their parents faces, that he wasn’t convincing them. “We’ve always supported you,” their mother stated, “we paid for --” “ -- I hate to tell you this, Mum, but paying for schooling isn’t the same as support. You bankrolled many things for Rupert and you bankrolled my wardrobe.” She cut off, breathing through her nose. “It wasn’t enough,” was her final assessment. She still couldn’t shake the cold trickle down the back of her neck whenever she looked at her mother’s dark eyes framed by the crimson scarf. “And dinner’s getting cold. If you have it in you to be civil, you can stay.” His sister -- his brave, strong-willed sister -- was right. It wasn’t enough. What they’d found in Dunhaven, however? That was enough. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder in solidarity, and then gave it a squeeze for comfort. Their parents looked taken aback, though Rupert couldn’t imagine why. Had they really expected this would go well if they approached it like that? Absently, he thought of Kili’s mother, of his uncle, and of how different their lives were. “I think you owe it to us to give this a chance before writing it all off.” Mr Shield’s eyes narrowed for a moment then, with a palm to his wife’s side, guided her to the other side of the table. “All right,” he said consideringly. “Let’s eat.” Dinner passed by uneventfully -- it was awkward, but there were no more confrontations about giving up their lives. Rupert figured their parents were only biding their time before bringing it up again, but it was a welcome respite. This was what he’d wanted out of the visit: a chance to catch up, to tell them what they were doing, to include them in their lives in America. But he knew he could only go halfway: his parents had to make it the rest of the way, and he couldn’t force it. He helped Margaret clear the table of their dinner plates, and while they were in the kitchen, he turned to look at her. “How are you feeling?” he asked, careful to keep his voice low enough that he couldn’t be overheard. Margaret turned from her sink full of soapy dishes with her eyes wide. “Look, something’s up with Mum. I don’t know if …” she took a deep breath. “I’m fresh out of fucks to give when it comes to these memories and alternate lives, but Mum feels different. A little more sinister than ever she’s felt.” Which, to a younger Margaret, had been admittedly pretty damn sinister. “So.” Cough. “You okay?” “Sinister?” Rupert hissed. He knew their mother had done and said some fucked up things in the past, but he wasn’t sure he was following Margaret’s train of thought. He glanced quickly at the doorway, and then back at her. Their parents had been unfair with their demands earlier, and a little quick to insult their children’s lives and their happiness, but he wouldn’t have called it sinister. He trusted his sister’s judgement, however. He ignored her question and focused instead on her assessment of their mum. “What do you think is going on?” “I’ve never seen her wear red before.” Margaret felt so stupid. But Peggy seemed to be screaming out in her mind. “It --” she began and then shook her head vigorously. “It’s a memories thing. Her being here is doing something and … I can’t really explain it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what it is.” She paused. “But really. Are you okay?” He still didn’t feel what Margaret did, but Rupert didn’t want her to feel like she was alone with all of her feelings. Rupert reached over to take her hand and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. Maybe she couldn’t explain all of it then, but he’d still be there when she could explain it. “I’m okay,” he said slowly, “just… angry. Disappointed.” But a large part of Rupert thought that he shouldn’t have been so surprised by their behavior. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of as much of their own disappointment as his sister had been, but he’d heard about it. It was what had driven him to America, finally. He’d chosen Margaret. Naively, he’d hoped that their parents would come around. “I’m sorry I encouraged all of this.” “No, it’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. Margaret was afraid of her mother and angry with her father. Her brother was getting memories from a life wherein he wasn’t her brother. And she had another brother. A dead one. Margaret wanted Sarah. But instead, she centered herself with a breath and let her temple fall on Rupert’s shoulder. “Now we know.” “Now we know,” Rupert echoed. It didn’t feel fine, but he didn’t want to argue with her. Instead, he tucked her in close. “Well, at least I know I don’t have to invite them to the wedding.” His voice was dry, to hide the hurt that he felt. “Not that I’m planning that without you. Just, hypothetically. Ah, do you want me to entertain them the rest of the time they’re here, or should we tell them to bugger off?” “I’m not leaving you alone,” she told him and let him surmise it was for both of his statements. Though, hearing it again she decided to bring it up later. She fully expected Nina to become a part of the family. But when? She hadn’t any good idea until now. He was clearly considering it. “Let’s make it clear it’s time for them to go. Together.” Drying her hands on a towel, she quirked a brow in the direction of their parents in the dining room. “Once more into the breach?” It wasn’t how Rupert wanted this all to start -- or end, for that matter. He’d wanted them to meet Nina, but after tonight, he wasn’t sure he was ready to welcome them into that part of his life. More importantly, he was worried about what he might subject Nina to if he did. He could tackle that with her when he told her about dinner, though. “I suppose we must,” Rupert sighed. “Together.” |