Log, Marvel: Peggy C & Steve R
Peggy was an expert in clothes. She knew how to be stark and military; she knew how to dress when she wanted men to remember something other than her, ahem, face; she knew how to be professional and approachable; she even knew how to put herself together when she hadn't seen hot water in a month and the last wash was a happy memory. She did not know how to dress for Steve Rogers' doorstep. She tried on three different dresses and even a pair of very odd-feeling jeans, before she ultimately went with something modern as well, a casual cowl shirt and silk slacks she'd bought right off a manikin as a set. She hoped it didn't look too office... it certainly didn't feel military. Peggy was going for nice. The sort of outfit you wore when you expected someone might like to take it off, but you didn't want it to seem like the outfit wouldn't work if no one did.
Oh God.
She had no idea why she was so flustered about this. They'd had their dance (wow), and it made sense to her that they would skip to... to... a house... visit. It wasn't fast, after all, it had been years, and they had both waited long enough. This strange patter of anxious panic at the bottom of her stomach had no reason to be there. She hoped to God there was actually going to be a food... interlude... or she really was going to melt into a puddle just getting through the front door.
When her request to Sharon went unanswered, Peggy assumed that her friend (she forgot the niece part when she wasn't staring into her a face that resembled her sister's, quite honestly) was as busy with the cleanup as she had been. Sharon was much more in the thick of things than Peggy was, and she, Peggy, knew that SHIELD (and its various constituents, good and bad) weren't telling her everything. Focusing her efforts on coordinating small pockets of search and rescue had given her a sense of accomplishment for a few days, something she'd been sorely lacking. Baking the cake had been like that, as well.
She held it in her hands, a plate with a cake cover. She discovered it made it impossible for her to check her watch. Hopefully she was neither too late nor too early. Precariously moving the cake to one hand, she steeled herself with a deep breath and knocked briskly.