Margaret Shield (sophist) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-10-28 23:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, r * chel, r * laura, r: margaret shield, r: sarah grant |
WHO: Sarah Grant and Margaret Shield
WHEN: Now's fine :)
WHERE: Margaret's house
SUMMARY: A long overdue conversation.
WARNINGS: N/A
Margaret clung to truths oddly, allowing them to sometimes fill her up or knock the wind out of her sails. And as happy as she was for her brother and his soon to be wife, the future started filling her with a certain sort of dread. Though she and her twin had not often lived near one another, their bond had been unshakeable. Now, knowing that her memories were of another world … a world that he didn’t share … seemed to snowball. Adding that to his moving out of her house and she felt very lonely indeed. Upon resolving to simply insist that he and Nina come by for a weekly family dinner, she made another resolution. And that resolution included calling up Sarah Grant and ordering her over in the sweetest way she knew how. Which was a text that said, essentially, “am naked in bed & cold pls send help kthx :D” … The truth was, she sat quietly on her sofa with a glass of water and a record of old jazz standards spinning in the corner. It took no time at all for Sarah to decide what to do -- really, it wasn’t much of a decision. Of course she was going to “help” her girlfriend with the little problem Margaret described. When she arrived and let herself into Margaret’s house, however, the scene wasn’t at all what she expected. “Not so cold and naked, hmm?” she asked, grinning as she stepped into the living room. “Looks like you don’t need me after all.” “But I can be at a moment’s notice,” she piped up, rising to wrap her arms round Sarah’s shoulders and greet her with a kiss. Sarah had quickly become a foundation for Margaret; it was odd, thinking about how Peggy had been that for Steve, now she felt slightly unmoored. “I can be if that means you’ll stay with me.” A pause. “You will, won’t you?” Sarah returned the kiss with as much affection as it was given - and then raised an eyebrow at her girlfriend. “Really? You have to ask?” She didn’t know if Margaret meant that night or for longer, but she was assuming Margaret wasn’t thinking any farther ahead. “I’ll stay no matter what you’re wearing. Or not wearing.” She grinned. Sarah was taller than her, so she sank back down onto her feet and took a step back, resettling herself on the sofa. “There’s water, tea and about fifty different kinds of wine. It’s all yours.” Then, drily. “Did I tell you my Mum was wearing red? When she came to talk Rupert and me back into being good children. Mum never wears red.” Then … “Dad was here too. It was a very tense dinner.” As she wandered over to Margaret’s collection of wine, Sarah glanced back, surprised to hear her girlfriend talking about it. It was a wildly sore subject, moreso than Sarah’s own parents, and she’d previously thought her parents were difficult to handle. Mostly, Sarah wished that things could be better, for Margaret’s sake. “Red?” she asked, confused. If there was some sort of meaning there, Sarah didn’t catch it. She did, however, reach for a bottle of rose (not red, now that Margaret had said something. “Is that… not good?” “Mum … felt different. It was odd. I told Rupert, who I’m quite so thinks I’m bonkers. But she felt like someone from our world who very much liked the colour red.” It felt so insensitive and stupid. But Margaret, saying this to Sarah, couldn’t escape the crawl of anxiety that licked up her spine. “I’m obviously crazy. But …” she paused. “Suffice it to say, I’m doubly glad they’ll not be coming back to Virginia any time soon.” Sarah felt a chill run slowly down her own spine. She knew who Margaret meant, even if she hadn’t immediately picked up on the symbolism. Would that explain some things? she wondered. She knew how much trouble Margaret had with earning her parents’ respect (which, frankly, Sarah always thought was ridiculous), but if Margaret felt the presence of Schmidt… She turned to look at her girlfriend. “I don’t think you’re crazy, M. I trust you. Your insincts, hers and yours, have always been impeccable. You wouldn’t get that feeling if there wasn’t something to it.” Margaret smiled tightly, giving Sarah a nod. She wasn’t wrong. Peggy’s instincts were all wound up in her own and never more fever pitched than that night. “Look at me yammering on and being dramatic,” was drily said after a beat, upon regaining some sense of composure. “When I haven’t asked how you are, my darling?” “Babe, come on.” Sarah leveled her gaze at her girlfriend. “You need to talk, I’m here to listen. I’m not going to be mad if you haven’t asked me how I am.” But -- after years of friendship and a year of dating, Sarah knew Margaret well enough to know that part of the subject change was Margaret’s own desire to not focus on her own thoughts anymore, so she returned to the couch, glass of wine in hand, and settled in beside Margaret. “I’m all right, though. Trying to get a grip on this other life stuff, but working through it with art isn’t helping like it usually does,” Sarah admitted. “I wish it’d all just stop.” As soon as Sarah settled in, Margaret threw one leg over her lap as she twisted on the sofa to face her. Her head tilted, lips pursed as she considered Sarah’s other life stuff. Steve’s burden was heavy; far heavier than most. And she couldn’t say as though she would or would not bear up grimly beneath it as Sarah had. “Why?” She was curious. So many people talked and commiserated about these memories. But no one ever came out and admitted what Sarah just had. “Because,” Sarah started, a deep frown crossing her forehead, and then she stopped to give herself time to put it into words without just blurting things out in anger. After a moment her shoulders sagged. “Because it’s bullshit.” She could feel the weight of everything that she’d seen so far mixed up with the weight of everything she still had yet to see, and it was threatening to drag her under with it. She didn’t have Steve’s strength. She didn’t have his fortitude. “It’s exhausting,” she continued, “never knowing if this is the night I’m going to dream about losing Mikhail again, or you, or someone else, or the whole damn world. It’s exhausting not knowing if there’s an end in sight or what it’s going to be, and it’s exhausting not being able to do a damn thing about any of it. We can’t fix it, we can’t change it. Nothing. It’s out of our hands. The only good thing is it brought me Mikhail, but Jesus, he keeps losing Bucky, and I don’t know how much more I can take.” The rising concern in Margaret’s throat tightened, threatening to constrict her airway as she continued to listen to Sarah’s concerns. Finally, after a beat, she eased her hand along Sarah’s jaw and turned her gaze toward her. “Hear me now,” she breathed. “Sarah and Steve. Hear my words.” “You can’t give Steve what he lost and it isn’t your job to do it. Whether it was Peggy or Bucky, he lived with that loss and it defined who he was. He respected it and it was a part of him. You aren’t responsible for fixing it. You are responsible for making choices that help Sarah Grant. And if Steve -- glorious, flawed and beautiful Steve -- has some love about him, it’s to help you live a good and honest life. That’s it. You owe him nothing.” Her girlfriend was right, of course. There was nothing Sarah could do. Maybe that was why it was so exhausting. She closed her eyes and leaned into Margaret’s touch. “I just don’t know the point of all this. If there’s nothing we can do — what’s the point? Why us?” Margaret pressed her lips against Sarah’s forehead. “That, my darling, I do not know. Maybe in understanding their lives we can live ours all the better. We can learn the lessons they didn’t learn. But we cannot become mired in their pasts when we have our futures.” “Maybe,” Sarah agreed quietly, uncertainly. “Maybe.” She wasn’t sure what Steve’s life could teach her, outside of living fully in the present and not holding back, but maybe that was enough. He was so caught up in saving the world that he never really lived at all. He lost the only chance he had to be with a woman he loved, lost it to time and space and war. It didn’t have to be that way with Margaret. This could be Steve’s second chance. “I love you, you know.” She knew Margaret knew, of course. It wasn’t a secret. “So much.” “Maybe is enough for now,” she said, her quite tones brimming with confidence. Margaret wanted to imbue Sarah with all the surety Peggy possessed: that even if there was not a purpose, there was a life which required moral actions, good living and its own quiet nobility. “I love you too.” She pressed another kiss to Sarah’s forehead. “I love you so much I want you to bloody well move in with me.” A pause for impact. She grinned. “ … Surprise!” “What?” Sarah pulled back a little, enough to look at Margaret, and stared at her, wide-eyed. She’d thought about asking the same question a dozen times before, and there were mornings she couldn’t figure out why they weren’t living together already - besides Rupert living with his sister, anyway. But she hadn’t asked, and time drifted away from her. She wanted to sound excited, but all she could manage was surprise. “Really?” “Rupert’s moving in with Nina -- and about time, really! Plus, you know my upstairs has better light than yours. That would be all sorts of reason to work beyond, well.” A pause for impact. “Me?!” As much as Sarah loved her little house (and she loved her little house), Margaret was right about the lighting. The loft was adorable, but it had next to no storage space, which was endlessly frustrating. It’d been great for just Sarah, but she couldn’t picture where they’d put both of their wardrobes. And that was the thing that called back to what was really better about the suggestion: her house didn’t have Margaret. Her house wasn’t meant to be the end; it was meant to be a stepping stone, a beginning. Now she could pass it on to someone else who’d love it as much as she did when she’d first seen it. “Yes,” she answered, grinning widely as she leaned in for a kiss. “Of course.” Margaret planted her kiss upon Sarah’s mouth with gusto. She threw her arms round her shoulders and squeezed, too. She and Sarah sharing space was a move that was - truthfully - behind schedule. She should have asked an age ago. But Rupert’s happiness managed to reflect her own. “Soon as possible. I’m not that good at alone!” Sarah laughed lightly against Margaret’s lips, “I thought you were doing just fine when we first met. That was all a guise?” She couldn’t have blamed her for that, not really. Sarah often pretended she was confident when she lacked it, until she finally felt it. “I can start… well, now works for me. I can start bringing things over after work. And on the weekends.” “I’ll help, of course.” She wanted it clear that she thought Sarah should move directly into the Master with her. “I’ll clean out half the closet. But the room next to my study should be perfect for a studio, love.” There was a grin splitting her face wide. “And we should get a few cats so we can be proper house lesbians.” “Oh yeah?” Now that the idea had settled and was real, Sarah felt giddy about it. Outright terrified, too, but only because it’d been a while since she lived with a girlfriend. This was a make it or break it sort of situation, and Sarah didn’t think she’d be able to handle this all falling apart. It was easy to make plans now, but would they still feel that way in six months? A year? She shouldn’t get ahead of herself, though. She shouldn’t expect the worst. “They’ll need proper gay icon names. And I can paint portraits of them in the studio, and then hang them up here somewhere.” “God, you’re brilliant. Let’s do it,” she declared and smoothed a lock of hair from Sarah’s temple. Some part of Peggy welled up in her at this moment; pride, she knew. But there was a wistfulness. A memory of what might have been. But it was Margaret’s life. And this, she would seize with both hands. “Let the record indicate that I want you in here before any gay icon cats.” “That’s fair. Move all my shit here, unpack. Celebrate. Then gay icon cats.” It was ridiculously easy to picture, a quiet, comfortable life with Margaret and a couple cats, and her artwork on the walls. It was the sort of life Steve would never get. Sarah felt that more strongly now than ever. Before she let the thought of what he was missing take over again, though, Sarah let a sly smile settle on her face. “Actually, I think we could stand to celebrate first.” |