Oh Death, can't you spare me over 'till another year?

[impaledqueen]

Who| Peggy Carter and Linden, then Peggy, Linden, and Jason
What| The Peacekeepers are coming for Peggy and Linden. Jason is Peggy's hail Mary to get them both out.
Where| Linden's room in the Tribute Center, then Compson Manor
When| Afternoon to Evening days before the parade.
Warnings/Notes| Jason, and (minor and breathtakingly pathetic) violence against a woman. I'll add more as they come up.

For Linden

Peggy has a lot of practice looking calm when inside she feels like melting down. After talking with Derek and destroying the letters Bucky had sent her (it stung a little, but she knows them word for word now and there can be no evidence of his survival left behind), she puts the radio Bucky had given her years ago into her bag, touches up her makeup, and goes to work like any other day.

Her girls are still working with the Stylist. Peggy wishes she could say goodbye to them, but she can't let on that she knows what's happening, and any gesture of favor from her would put them in greater danger once she's gone. She tries not to think of all the people she's probably never going to be able to see again after this.

"Linden?" She's at Linden's door, knocking gently. She doesn't really know how they'll get him out of the Capitol along with her, but she can't bear the thought of just leaving him to die and saving herself. She's making this up as she goes along, and hopefully she can just drag him along. "Linden, it's Peggy."

For Jason and Linden

Peggy explained what she could in public, which basically amounted to her taking his arm so she could lean in and whisper, "The peacekeepers are after you. Follow my lead and trust me," into his ear without it looking too weird or getting picked up by the microphones scattered through the city.

There's a blind spot in the middle of the Compson Manor's dining room. Jason doesn't know she knows about it. Hell, Peggy's not even sure if Jason knows about it. Either way, she's not sure if Bucky's instructions for escape were one-time or long-term, and if they are meant to be constant, she doesn't know if whatever system he set up could move as quickly as she needs it to and take on an extra person. She doesn't even know if District 13 would take her when she's been discovered and turned into a liability--that is, if any escape is sanctioned by D13, which she's not sure of. She's left thinking on her feet, unsure of how to proceed and going to Jason in an effort to save her and Linden.

She clicks the system to buzz her in at the gate, Linden by her side when she says, "Jason, it's Peggy. Could you buzz me in, please?"

Comments

[whatisay]

Jason still hasn't spent the night at Swann's since his mother's death. It's become something like a pilgrimage, coming home to the ersatz altar, his mother's bedroom, now cleansed of anything that once marked it as belonging to someone except for the smell of camphor, which has soaked into the very wood. Sometimes he sleeps in his mother's bed, although he would never admit that aloud, and every night he could swear he hears (although does not see) her as a revenant; the inarticulate, addictive shuffling that carries an identity that he could never verify on anything other than instinct, but that he knows is neither him nor Benjamin nor the servants he fired but who haven't left, being paid under the table by Swann; the sound that instigates not curiosity but a kind of slavish devotion not to love or filial piety but only to a simpler if equally miserable time, one that holds familiarity while it still hasn't yet seeped away. It comes only when he's mostly asleep, not yet under but not conscious either.

He's smoking and reading some news articles when the buzzer goes off. He sets his reading tab down and takes off his glasses, tucks the arm of one into the collar of his shirt so he doesn't have to find their case. The Compson Manor, for all Peggy's efforts, still looks like the concept of decay taken architectural form. The building smells like mold amidst the herbal stench; the paint is peeling and the back of the roof is broken and bows in, like an old mule's; the stairs sag and water stains and grime cake the corners near the ceiling. The whole house seems to exhale in a wheeze emphasized by creaking pipes and wood and drafts.

Jason doesn't check the visual feed to the intercom; like many things in the Compson Manor, it broke years ago and no one's had the impetus to fix it. As such, he doesn't see Linden until after he's buzzed her in and opened the door, meaning to remind her to be careful about the second stair on the front porch, which is loose and wont to fall in under anything heavier than the typical weather. When he does pull it open, the thoughts of their ankles' safety goes to the wayside, and his face pulls into a haughty sneer, the kind that betrays a whole bloodline of being the upper class, a disdain that is inherited genetically.

"He's not allowed in here. It's a low bar to not make this place look worse with someone's presence, but he doesn't clear it. What do you mean, bringing him by here?"

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden came because it's a chance to live, maybe his last one, and the fact that someone bothered to come for him and put themselves at risk for his sake is something he's still trying to wrap his head around. The purely unselfish thing to do would be to insist on staying behind, distracting the Peacekeepers spectacularly while increasing the chances of Peggy's successful escape. He'd started to try, but this is an old game the two of them have played, criticizing and expressing concern for the self-destruction their friend is committing while ignoring their own. Rather than getting into a strange competition over who can be the best martyr, Linden had relented and agreed to go with her, taking the risk that they'd both be caught and killed, if they were lucky.

Still, he's determined not to be dead weight. He won his Arena, after all, and not out of sheer dumb luck. Though his health is still a faded fascimile of what it should be for a man of his age and he can't keep up with Peggy's obsessively maintained conditioning, he can move with her at a reasonable pace. He's used to going without food for long periods and doesn't complain about hunger or thirst. That being said, he's not optimistic about going to Jason Compson of all people for help, but he holds his tongue, realizing that they're only here because the situation is a desperate one. Peggy must be relying on her rapport with the Escort to hardball him into allowing Linden into his household.

It's life or death, and it's still a bitch to think about resorting to this.

When Jason greets them with the expected distaste and displeasure, Linden suppresses a sneer, gentling it into a mere contemptuous lip curl. "I don't exactly want to be here, either," he snaps back. ""This is every bit as difficult for me as it is for you."

[impaledqueen]

Goodness help her, but she will kill these men if the Peacekeepers don't get them all first.

She shoots a glare at Linden, because while Jason was the one to provoke this particular incident, Linden is the one who is aware of the stakes and he shouldn't be antagonizing Jason if he can help it. Their lives are in the balance and of course these boys can't help but start going at it the moment they see each other.

This is madness. She's not even entirely sure Jason can help them, but she's hoping that his less savory acquaintances know something and that the Compson family name means he will be spared the brunt of the Peacekeeper scrutiny once they realize their prey is missing.

"We're going to go inside and we're going to talk like the mature, civilized adults we are about what's been going on in the Tribute Tower. This really can't stand anymore."

There are eyes watching her. She knows there must be, and she needs to give them a credible excuse for dragging Linden to Jason. An attempt to somehow bridge the gap in their coworker relationship is, while a completely fruitless exercise were she actually to attempt it, as good an excuse as any. She turns to look at Jason, trying to smile at him, but she allows a slight crack in her usual facade.

Her mouth is smiling, but her eyes are wide and there's a flicker of familiar terror behind them. It's the same terror she wears when she rushes to Jason after a nightmare, the same terror she wore the moment she was Reaped, both the first and the second time. "We really need to talk, Jason."

[whatisay]

"I doubt it," Jason snaps at Linden, fixing him with a glare before he turns his attention to Peggy, about to round on her for the insolence of bringing an addict gutter rat to his front door like he's running a halfway house. And then he meets that

He probably would shoot her down if not for the expression in her eyes or for the way she helped him get through the last few weeks. His face is pitiless, and something in his jaw goes tense. He hears his teeth grind.

Fury wells up in his like a wave of nausea, and he thinks that all along what he thought was friendship was just a District rat coming to him for help like a piglet on a teat. Probably even took pride in it, in drawing blood from a stone like him. Every kind thing she's done for him is blotted out in this torrent of feeling taken advantage of, of being turned from person to safe haven from whatever is terrorizing her.

And he realizes that even if this is the case, he can't turn her down. He swings the door open wide and jams his hands into his pockets and calls over his shoulder.

"Well, unlike some people here I have the bare minimum of manners. Come on in, I'll get some tea or coffee or- or something started. You can wait in the dining room. Close the damn door behind you."

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's eyes are flint and steel. He's done lying, done pretending, and a significant part of him does want to go blow for blow with Jason. But, much like the Escort, when he sees the look Peggy gives him, he withdraws, intentions mellowing and settling. This is important. This is the most important thing, for him and Peggy both, and if he's not willing to try to play nice, he might as well turn around and walk right back into the lethal walls of the Capitol, where his execution or Avoxing will be the talk of the Tower for at least a week.

Even if talking like mature adults is a tall order for the emotionally stunted Mentor (former Mentor, he realizes, disquieted that his entire adult identity is about to be completely uprooted), he nods, agreeing to it even as he recognizes that it's safest to keep his mouth shut for the time being. He likes tea and coffee, but he's wary about eating or drinking anything provided by Jason, so doesn't request one over the other.

"I'll get it," he says, turning and closing the door, eyes traveling to the manor's signs of decrepitude that are obvious even to a layman, even just inside the front door. When he's through, he follows, staying just behind Peggy's left shoulder.

[impaledqueen]

"Thank you." There's a little more gratitude in her voice than is really appropriate for a coworker trying to mend coworker relations, but fuck it. She just needs them to not be at each other's throats long enough to ask Jason for help.

She's still not sure if he can help, but she trusts him to not sic the Peacekeepers on her. On Linden, maybe, but not if it meant she would be executed too. She trusts Jason to be a terrible person in most respects, but no matter how his feelings may fluctuate and how he might lash out, he's loyal to those few people who hold sway over him, and for better or for worse, she's one of them.

She doesn't spare the decrepit condition of the house a glance before walking into the dining room. She's used to it, even lived in it for a while, and it felt like it had been sucking out her soul during the time she stayed.

Peggy sits in a vary particular seat and gestures for Linden to sit on another very particular seat. She knows which seats are in the blind spot, which are not, and which are somewhere in between. She'll wait for Jason to come in with whatever refreshments he thinks necessary and carefully watch his reaction to see if he notices exactly where they sat.

[whatisay]

Jason takes his sweet time getting the coffee and tea in the kitchen or, rather, berating one of the servants into doing it while he watches and henpecks them. His nagging, as well as his bitching about Linden being here at all, is audible in the dining room, which Jason's well aware of as walking into the other room and talking about people where they can't help but hear is a tried and true Compson tactic, passed father to son.

He dismisses the servant and carries the drinks out himself. He notices - of course he does - that they're sitting in the large section of the room that is sectioned 'private', approved by petition back when his grandfather owned the place, but he doesn't think they know about it because they couldn't possibly. Those records are kept secret, and Capitolites only share the locations of petitioned private areas with each other.

He sets the platter down so it makes a louder noise than it needs to, then takes a seat at the head of the table (also in the blind) and folds his arms and glares at the both of them. "Alright. What the hell do you mean by any of this?"

Before they answer, he grabs his vaporizer and starts to smoke. He feels like he'll need it.

[dead_black_eyes]

Linden's careful to sit exactly where Peggy indicates, the grandness of the chair clashing with the shrunken shabbiness of his appearance. Even though Peggy had given him the chance, actually urged him to make himself presentable, using that word is generous. His clothes only really look nice when the stylists guide his limbs into a coordinating, newly tailored number and run a comb by him, and they have not been near him in days. He is every bit a wild-haired, tortured Districter sitting at the dinner table in the Compson manor, in other words, sans the polish, makeup and tricks that allow him to pass in the Capitol. And he happens to be a Districter that Jason hates, on top of everything else.

He glances Peggy's way while Jason spews vitriol in the kitchen, but says nothing, even if his hands clench under the tabletop and the set of his jaw is tenser than usual. When Jason returns, he makes no move to help himself to a beverage, instead slipping a hand in his pocket for a carton of hand-rolled cigarettes. If his body is craving nourishment, the twisted knot in his stomach prevents it from registering. He also slips several scraps of paper and a pair of pens from the same pocket.

Linden keeps a careful eye on Peggy, trusting that this is a place to speak relatively freely given her direction, but not wanting to take the chance just in case microphones can still pick up what they're saying.

He takes a deep breath, as if about to say things that are immensely difficult for him. "To start off, I want to apologize, from the bottom of my heart, for everything I have ever said that you took personal offense to. The shots at your family were especially unfair and uncalled for, and it does nothing but reflect poorly on my District when I use that kind of rhetoric. Furthermore, it reflects poorly on me as a person to take advantage of such low blows. I am not a bully, and it pains me to realize I have been behaving very much like one."

As he speaks, he writes, more slowly to make his childish, sloppy hand legible.

We have to leave the Capitol. Both of us are in danger.

[impaledqueen]

Peggy, on the other hand, takes the tea Jason offers. His servants know what kind of tea she likes, but it feels like pooling, molten lead in her stomach when she swallows. This is it. Eight years of plotting, scheming, and pretending behind the backs of everyone she knew and care about has all built up to this.

It feels like she's floating. She's trying to rip off the mask that she's been wearing her whole adult life, but it's fused to her skin and she doesn't know where it ends and she begins. She's so comfortable in her role as Capitolite pretender that she doesn't quite fit right in the skin of a proud and true rebel Districter anymore.

She allows Linden to talk. She sips her tea while staring forward, battling with herself to figure out how to tell the truth for the first time. The fact that Linden is apologizing to Jason can't hurt their chances.

"You can speak freely here, Linden. We're in an officially sanctioned blind spot." She sips her tea again, using the heat to ground herself. "Many Capitolites have them, especially when they're from powerful families."

She looks at Jason calmly. She's lied to him, and he's not going to be happy about it. She owes him eye contact when she finally tells him the truth. "The Peacekeepers will be coming for the two of us shortly. I imagine we're due for a brutal interrogation followed by a public execution." They're too famous to leave avoxed, she imagines, although they might avox her and keep her for leverage if they manage to find out that her Bucky is still alive and in District 13. That can't happen.

[whatisay]

"Shut up," Jason says to Linden, all the more insulted that this apology is only coming as a feint for an actual conversation, as artifice as if to taunt with the absence of earnestness. It's like Linden can't help but be snide and passive-aggressive, and Jason is a bloodhound for it and for seeing the worst. He makes a 'zip it' gesture with his hand, then takes the napkin and crumples it without even reading it. Instead he watches Peggy, eyes hard and merciless on hers as they meet.

He raises his eyebrows as Peggy mentions the blind spot, and then they fall again into a glare. He feels that twitch in his jaw again, and his next words rip up out of his throat, even as they're quiet enough to keep from being caught on the microphones. "And you brought them here to my doorstep?"

He gets up and shoves his chair aside, pacing like a trapped animal around the table.

"What have you done? What in God's name did you do to get yourself into this? Did he do it?" He rounds on Linden, although at least this time he knows better than to touch Linden unannounced. "Did you drag her into this?"

[dead_black_eyes]

He sets aside the pen when Peggy makes it clear that the blind spot is a confirmed one, audibly as well as visually. That being said, he still has to bear the brunt of Jason's rejection, which a part of him absolutely expected, and to his credit, he does so without a parrying retort or loss of temper. It doesn't matter that the apology sounded earnest (and might have been to a surprising extent), it matters that Jason feels used in this desperate situation.

Linden's eyes follow Jason as he rises from his seat and starts manically pacing, and he stiffens when he rounds on him, but doesn't otherwise react. The effort is a conscious one, concentration required for this amount of control.

"You know what I did," he says quietly. "What you said to Phillip about my whipping was public and it was fairly clear that you're informed. I've made my peace with death and I was ready to stay behind to help Peggy, but... for whatever reason... she wouldn't leave me. So here we are."

[impaledqueen]

"I never wanted this to affect you, Jason, but I didn't know where else to go." For once she's allowed to be honest, and the first thing she feels herself wanting to say is that she didn't fake any of their friendship. She's genuinely afraid that she might have put Jason or Derek into deep trouble by associating with them right now, but she couldn't think of anything else. She doesn't try to justify it by telling him that he's the least likely of anyone to be scrutinized because of his name and how well established he is. That doesn't make it right for her to put him at risk.

She wants to reach out to Linden. To hold his hand or something to help keep him from lashing out, because she can see how difficult it is for him to keep his mouth shut, but right now, all three of them have struggles they have to face on their own.

"Linden didn't do anything to get me into this," she says quietly. It feels like she's swallowed a hook and is trying to drag the truth out of herself with the line, ripping apart her insides as she does so. "Everything I did was by my own decision."

Tea. She sips the tea, continuing to look at Jason because it's what she owes him. "I'm a spy for the rebellion. I have been for years. I don't know if I got sloppy or someone sold me out, but they're coming for me." And that's possibly why they're coming back for Linden too after his release, maybe expecting that since he runs with her that he also must collude with her. She's not sure. Either way, she's had enough of dead friends and doesn't want to add Linden's name to the mental list.

There are a lot of things she could say, but it's hard to find the right words. She's not going to jump to defend herself. She's not going to tell Jason that he has to help her. "I'm sorry for lying to you, Jason." Not to the Capitol. Not to the Victors. Not to anyone else. She's sorry for lying to Jason.

Honestly, she wouldn't blame him for spitting in her face and throwing them both out the door, but she knows he won't. Or, well. She knows he won't throw her out the door, but who knows how he'll respond otherwise.

[whatisay]

At first he talks over her, protests in a vicious whisper, "didn't you learn from Barnes not to get involved with traitors-" except then she drops that bombshell as she identifies as something he never expected from her. And he stops talking. He just lets her words not wash over him but run him down like a train and drag him.

He paces again, this time avoiding Peggy's eyes, even forgetting that Linden's even here, grabbing at his hair and kicking at the legs of chairs, breathing heavy, the truth of the matter sinking in. It's a blow he hadn't expected to ever have to bear because he was stupid, because even though he would never trust a Districter somewhere along the line Peggy began to stand as her own separate category for him, unsullied by the presumptions and paranoia and prejudice that so defined the limits of the former boundary.

And then he lunges to her and hits her as hard as he can in the face, the kind of blow that will bruise his hand as much as the side of her head. Come tomorrow, his fingers will be ringed purple like he's squeezed a sponge full of paint. He grabs the arms of Peggy's chair and leans in, face to face with her.

"How long?" The years he's known Peggy - nearly a decade, maybe more, who's been keeping score - snap up like a roll of film, across which he can only see his own trust in her, his foolishness, the word 'SUCKER' emblazoned across each miserable day in which they only found some consolation in each other, from her Reaping to the days only a week ago where she tended him through grieving the only family member who ever loved him.

Peggy and Linden

[dead_black_eyes]

Life has been a bizarre, pelting maelstrom since the last mini-Arena. Appearances aside, few if any of the classic Victors had been happy about going back, most likely to their deaths. Linden hated to say goodbye to his life after working so hard to get clean, but he didn't hate it nearly so much as being pulled back from the brink after he'd accepted the ending of his story and a chance to finally escape. The pain of resuscitation aside, it was all another reminder that he was property, owned and orchestrated and used for the purposes of a bureaucracy he's grown to loathe.

He'd started to think about it all at Peggy, Phillip and Anna's shared Crowning, compulsively chopping meat alongside Signless and wearing a brave face while talking to Phillip, all while hoping that his stitches didn't come undone. The contamination and filth the Capitol's opulence belies, the poison in everyone's veins and bellies, whether or not they're addicts. Though the act had been called idiotic and insane, he doesn't regret looking into a sea of young eyes and seizing the chance to tell the truth about his home, recognizing that he might not have another opportunity.

Then there had been Stark's eyes, met just before his fantastic brain had had a bullet put through it. Linden had been forced to watch, bound and bleeding after imprisonment and torture, and then released like a child who had been merely slapped on the wrist. The fallout from Celebrus notwithstanding, it had seemed like that was all. He'd be left in peace to recover and resume his duties as a Mentor, the implication being that the state of his thin back was enough of a punishment.

However, Linden isn't that naive. He knows that the other shoe is going to drop, which is why he's been keeping to himself, not venturing out, avoiding reporters and even his own suitemates. He's been in one of his room's blind spots for days, sleepless and grim, sanding a broken-off leg of his nightstand into a sharp point. In an empty liquor bottle, he has compiled a fetid mixture of Foxy's urine and droppings, rotten meat and anything else he can find that can breed bacteria. He's soaked the pointed tip of his makeshift spear in it, letting it dry, then soaking it again, layer upon layer, never letting go of it. If they come for him, he won't get whipped again. He'll go down fighting, leaving anyone even scratched by his weapon with a case of poisoned, septic blood to remember him by.

His chessboard stands untouched since the game, his and Scorpii's, that he'd finally allowed Phillip to change the outcome to. As far as he's concerned, his important affairs are in order.

He stiffens at the knock on his door. "Are you alone?" he calls back quietly, rising, fingers tightening around the furniture leg in his hands. "Did you come by yourself, Peggy?"

[impaledqueen]

He knows. He knows exactly what's coming. Frankly, he'd be stupid not to, but she didn't expect him to understand the immediacy of the threat.

She deliberately keeps her tone light. The Peacekeepers probably know that Linden expects them, but they don't know that she does, and for her sake as well as Derek and Linden's, she'd like to keep it that way. "Of course, Linden. I was hoping you'd come and run some errands with me. We might as well take advantage of our Tributes' absence for now."

It could be mistaken as concern over his recent trials and wanting to help reintegrate him with the world. She's done things like that before. She hopes the Peacekeepers buy it.

[dead_black_eyes]

His heart beats fast and hard under his ribs as he presses his back against the wall next to his locked door. The lightness in her tone sounds genuine, but it's still possible that there are Peacekeepers at her shoulder, silent and waiting with guns and tasers drawn.

Slowly, he reaches for the deadbolt, unlatching it and wrenching open the door, holding his pike at the ready just in case it is a ruse and she's being forced to say these things to lower his guard.

Wide, dark eyes meet hers, set in a gaunt face that's been ravaged by inadequate food and rest. "Errands?" he asks, arm falling to his side and grip loosening on the pike. "If... you're sure..."

He glances back into his room, stale and musty with its destroyed furniture and claustrophobic, tomb-like atmosphere.

[impaledqueen]

Oh fuck. Is he getting ready to attack someone? To resist arrest?

That will look bad. It will look bad if she doesn't comment on it. She really needs them to keep up appearances right now. "I am sure, Linden. Would you like to take a moment to prepare?"

And by 'prepare', she means take a shower, get rid of the pike, and make himself look somewhat presentable for the public. Appearances are all that is keeping them alive at this point, possibly. She can't realistically bring him around if he looks like he's ready to kill the first threat he sees.

[dead_black_eyes]

There's no one else outside. It looks quiet and peaceful right now, with no sign of anyone to resist. He nods jerkily, automatically setting the pike aside even though he's been holding it with such a death grip that his fingers ache and burn.

But actually preparing, to get ready to leave a room he thought he wouldn't alive again, leaves him feeling and looking like he's been casually asked to scale a mountain. Nothing in the world is harder right now than looking presentable for the public and wearing that appearance of serene normalcy that Peggy has mastered. Just because he can see through it at times doesn't mean it's not very good. The challenge is reigning in his own hopeless resignation long enough to give a damn for someone he cares about.

"OK," he decides, the simple agreement sounding heavy. He turns, peeling off his shirt, the healing whip wheals on his back promising to scar badly even when the redness fades. The shower spurts to life, and though he can do this much, it's likely that Peggy knows him well enough to realize that he'll be at a loss when it comes to putting together a "presentable" outfit. Many of his clothes are soiled or crumpled on the floor, and while options do exist in his drawers and wardrobe, asking him to decide will only torment him and hold both of them up.

[impaledqueen]

Under usual circumstances, Peggy would wait to be invited inside his room, but propriety is pretty far from her mind at the moment. Instead, she slips inside. The smell is rancid, but while it would make a Capitolite nauseous, she lived in District 10 and through two separate Hunger Games. After you've smelled melting flesh and bone, there's little that can disturb your stomach.

She steps around the soiled clothing and opens up his dresser, pulling out a full set of clothes and laying them out neatly on his bed. She makes sure that they're nice, but not so nice that they draw attention.

Then, perhaps out of respect for the propriety she just ignored, she steps out of his suite and waits in the common area for him to get dried and dressed.

[dead_black_eyes]

Considering what he's been stewing and breeding in this room, the smell is somewhat rancid. It doesn't help that he's been failing to care for himself since he was whipped, apathetic and unconcerned with bathing and making sure his wounds don't get infected.

When he emerges, the welts on his back red and angry from being disturbed by hot water and soap, he sees the clothes laid out for him on his bed. He tilts his head, considering for only a brief moment before stepping forward and dressing himself. They hang off his frame, but to be fair, most of his clothes are exceedingly ill-fitting right now.

When he's finished and something like presentable, he pockets his strand of knucklebones and, after a second of thought, the black King from his chessboard. Then he steps out into the common area.

"Peggy..." he says softly, unarmed and wide-eyed. "I'm ready. We should... we should really talk, shouldn't we?"

It's his way of saying they need to find a blind spot ASAP.

[impaledqueen]

She made sure to pick clothes that are easy to move in. Just in case he needs to run from something. (Although if he has to depend on running, then he's already lost. Linden is not hardy enough for running.)

"Oh, don't worry, Linden. We can speak on the way if there's something you'd like to get off your chest," she says, still in that deliberately light tone of voice, as if she doesn't understand any kind of hidden meaning he might have. "Oh, and your collar is crooked. If you don't mind--"

She goes behind him to fix the back of his collar, leaning in as she works so her hair falls in front of her face and she can whisper, "Peacekeepers will come soon. Follow my lead and trust me."

[dead_black_eyes]

In Linden's experience, hearing "don't worry" was an excellent reason to do just that. Not that he has any doubt about this current situation; as she goes behind him to fix his collar, she confirms what he'd suspected, and he swallows.

"I don't mind," he says softly, the dual meaning heavy. It sounds like he's allowing the adjustment to his garments, but under it is a hopeless message.

"Peggy, let me... Don't trouble yourself with this." His voice is hoarse as he reaches behind his neck to smooth his collar.

[impaledqueen]

"Nonsense. If I let you handle it on your own, you'd go outside looking like a scarecrow." Her hands linger on his shoulders, her gaze heavy on the back of his neck. "Victors help each other, and that means making sure you look at least somewhat neat."

She's not going to leave him. She's not going to leave another friend. She squeezes his shoulders before propelling him towards the door. "The errands will be quick. I'm just picking up a few odds and ends before we pay a visit to a friend. Maybe a spot of shopping will help you rebuild your image. I was planning on buying some new clothes for myself anyway."

Essentials. Clothes without trackers, water bottles. What they need to run without looking like they were preparing to run. And she can pick up her bug out bag and hide it in her purse on their way.

[dead_black_eyes]

You'd go outside in a body bag, more like. His shoulders curl forward under her gentle touch, head and eyes lowering at her words, and he realizes that whatever he says, whatever he insists, he's too tired to uphold it. His legs move under him as she nudges him toward the unknown; his eyes are wider than usual and staring, and anyone close to him can tell that his heart is beating like a bird trying to batter itself to death on the bars of his ribcage, but outwardly, he does a passable job of appearing placid, calm and normal.

He's good at this. They've both had to be.

"Rebuilding my image?" he asks. "You really think that's possible at this point? Celebrus doesn't seem to."

Obvious small talk, maybe the kind that can be productive and allow Linden to glean more details of whatever Peggy is attempting.

[impaledqueen]

"You know Celebrus. It focuses on one thing before focusing on another. People will forget as long as you make amends and stay out of trouble."

She links her arm with his, looking to the world like a woman who is worried for her recovering friend's health, but really she just wants them close so she can whisper in his ear in a pinch. Or in a bigger pinch, she can pick him up and run.

"Someone else will slip up. Someone will have a scandalous affair or someone else will have botched surgery and that will be all anyone can talk about."