[ midnight is nearing. just shy of quarter-to, actually. she taps a red fingernail against the watch face, barely hearing the dull clink under the din of the crowd and the pleasant rush of her own blood pumping. she's too busy with a half-dozen other games to notice the look on his face -- or recognize that her careless manipulation of his hand, his wrist, might have sparked anything.

she's too busy fighting with herself over whether she should or shouldn't encourage another dance. too busy paying attention to the scratch of his beard against her jaw. too busy guiding him between one couple and another -- avoiding obstacles and landmines and pitfalls aplenty. there seem to be a lot of them, tonight. if they're nimble enough, they just might make it to the new year while remaining intact.

-- well, as intact as they'll ever be.

but there's rip hunter giving her the fight she'd been anticipating. late, but certainly not too little. her shoulders square; she doesn't break step, although her wrist certainly twists in his hold. no matter her composure, peggy carter's first instinct is to resist. ]

So soon? [ just shy of quarter-to. she's got time to be difficult. ] About half-a-song ago you were set on enjoying multiple dances. And here's me, trying to give you exactly what you want.

[ the words are soft, aloof, and careful above all. ]