1963-11-06 - Not a Job Offer
Summary: After a day of trailing Liv and two great recommendations, Peggy decides to do everything but make Liv a job offer. That's saved for tomorrow morning.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
liv peggy 


A day in the life of Liv Sigrunsdottir apparently involves a lot of walking and talking. At least, it does right now. Since breakfast, the tall blonde has been rather methodically making her way throughout the city — starting at the Daily Bugle and then ranging outwards, moving in starts and stops, showing a photo to anyone who would stop long enough to listen.

Unfortunately, it doesn't appear to be getting her anywhere. By lunchtime, she seemed to be ready for a break… which, for some reason, has brought her here. To a bar. In Harlem. Where, most curious of all, she actually seems to feel entirely comfortable and welcome.

Liv has claimed a small table for herself near the office. Rather than alcohol, there is a large mug of coffee sitting on the table in front of her. Next to it, she has allowed herself to slump forward to rest her forehead against the smooth wooden surface, her arms dangling limply at her sides. Ugh.

*

Tailing Liv has been a rather enjoyable past time for a weekend — occasionally even Peggy likes to keep up her old skills and this was a good bit of practice. Still, it seems the woman has finally stopped and Peggy is certainly turning a few heads, daring to walk into a place like this. She arches a brow, keeping shoulders squared and head up. The sort of confidence she can project will, hopefully, get her past the door. But it wasn't a place for her to drink alone, never the less.

So, finally deciding that she's had enough observation, her high heels carry her over in the blonde's direction. She lingers near to the edge of the table, brow arched as she studies the other. "…Waiting for someone? If not… mind company?" Peggy asks smooth and openly as if they'd been old friends. Her accent is still clipped British, smooth and proper.

*

"Muh?" Apparently, Liv had not been expecting company. She lifts her head enough to turn it and look towards the unfamiliar voice, her brow furrowing in mild confusion as her eyes travel upwards to find an entirely unremarkable brunette. …no. Not unremarkable. She's not sure what it is, exactly, but there is something about the woman that soon has Liv sitting up straighter and running a self-conscious hand back over her own braided hair to tidy it.

The fact that there are plenty of open tables at this hour does not stop Liv from nodding to the seat across from herself, watching Peggy with a curious smile. "By all means. Would you like one?" she asks, pointing down at her mug. "…or tea? If Luke has any to serve, anyway."

*

Indeed, initially, any look of Peggy would probably find a rather unremarkable woman in her middle age. Brunette, but there's some clear gray coming in at her temples. An older fashioned sort of hair style, slightly plump frame contained beneath a trench coat. But within a few seconds there is just simply something stalwart. Energetic. Professional. Something odd and strong beneath the surface. It isn't dilluted at all by her smile. If anything, it seems to sharpen.

"…Thank you, that would be lovely. If there is tea. Your company will suffice otherwise." Peggy clips out with a tone that says she most likely knows far more about this woman than the other way around. She's done being subtle. She then unbuttons and shoulders out of her trench coat, revealing a dark navy dress beneath cut in such a way that chances are she's not plump, but somewhat pregnant. Even at her age. She folds the coat over the back of the booth and then slips in smoothly herself. "Margaret Carter. You may call me Peggy, for the moment." The woman offers a hand with that.

*

As soon as she hears the name, recognition flashes in Liv's eyes and her expression brightens. "Oh, that explains it," she muses to herself, cracking a broad smile as she reaches across the table to take the offered hand for a shake. There is nothing remotely feminine in the gesture, coming from her, but her strength is very carefully measured. She's sure she doesn't need to give her name, but it's only polite. "Liv Sigrunsdottir. It's an honor. Heather speaks very highly of you," she says warmly.

*

That smile warms just a touch more when Liv seems to recognize her. "Heather, among other people, speaks quite highly of you also. And she is… absolutely an invaluable member of my staff. So, I consider her opinion sacrosanct." Which, coming from Peggy Carter? Is about the highest praise anyone can receive. Heather must have worked miracles for this woman. She settles into the booth and does return the handshake just as professionally business as Liv — she's not some delicate waif either — even if she might not realize how much the woman is holding back. "So… how are you holding up without the UN?"

*

"I'll let you know as soon as I figure that out," Liv replies with a tired laugh, loosely folding her hands in front of herself. "I'm just grateful to have roommates who are understanding when I tell them the job hunt can't take quite the priority I had been planning on. Life just… keeps happening." Her smile quirks and, for a moment, she allows a little bit of frustration to show around the corners of her eyes.

A quick shake of her head dismisses it, and Liv draws in a slow, steadying breath. "The work there was good, and it was steady, but the office was… well. They appreciated me even less than they appreciated Heather," she says in a low, wry voice, pointedly arching an eyebrow. So, not at all, then.

*

Jean arrives from Harlem.

*

Jean has arrived.

*

Jean leaves, heading towards Harlem [O].

*

Jean has left.

*

The older woman tilts her head a touch as Liv mentions that the job hunt cannot take priority. "…And why has been taking priority instead, if I might ask?" This isn't exactly a job interview, but then Peggy never really did things in any traditional sort of way either. The questions might seem out of left field, however, the look in those dark eyes says that Peggy has a few, calm, completely put together plan and sitting in this booth in the middle of Harlem was a part of it. Maybe she's always that confident and collected.

She does make a small sound in her throat that is less than approving of the way the UN was operating. She just shakes her head a hint, "Their loss." She offers, a hint quieter. There is a weird line of pride to those words, though, that almost ends with 'My gain'.

*

For a moment, Liv actually hesitates. But then she goes rummaging in her leather jacket, eventually coming up with the photo she had been showing around town, and offers it across to Peggy. It's a cheerful-looking brunette in her early teens. "Mattie Ferguson — her adoptive father is the editor over at the Bugle. She's gone missing. Mrs. Jameson called me yesterday to ask if I could look for her," she explains, and she sounds… tired. "The police think she ran away, but that's just not her."

*

The dark haired woman reaches out for the photo, something changing in her face as Liv goes forward with telling her. It's a quiet touch of approval, but also a more solemn look, something serious and professional. A woman who is always ready to get to work, even if it's over tea at a bar. She accepts the photo and looks it over, studying for several heartbeats before she gives a little nod and passes it back. "A noble thing to… assist. But why you? Why assist this woman? What puts this on your shoulders?" Peggy is now studying Liv's face far deeper than she did the photo.

*

"She asked. And Mattie's a sweet kid," Liv replies just a touch helplessly, dropping her gaze towards the photograph as she accepts it back. Suddenly, she's looking self-conscious again. "When I wound up on the front page — which I still don't think I deserved, by the way — it was her that I was carrying. She tracked me down afterwards to thank me, and was just. Kind. You know?"

She makes a face at herself as she returns the photo to her jacket. "I sound ridiculous. But she's a good kid and if she's in trouble, somebody's gotta get her out of it. And if the police won't, why not me?"

*

A slight nod, not judgmental. If anything, it seems a little approving. Peggy sinks back into the booth a bit deeper, crossing her legs beneath the table, settling in for a longer conversation. Tea has been forgotten. "And what makes you think that she didn't run away? What other… evidence do you have? Or just instincts? Any suspects?" Her gaze doesn't waver in the least. This is partially about the little girl but, mostly, it's about Liv's thought process.

*

"Honestly, it's mostly my gut and her parents' word," Liv replies, returning her gaze to Peggy herself. "They're out of their minds worried about her. Going two days — three, now — without so much as a call? They say it's not like her, and that seems about right to me. She adores her folks, I could barely get her to stop gushing about her dad to get a word in edgewise," she murmurs, a smile briefly tugging at one corner of her mouth.

After a moment, Liv leans forward to rest an elbow on the table and props her chin up in one hand. "I /wish/ there were suspects. And looking for missing persons is… I am so far outside my expertise right now," she admits, her expression almost pained. "I just hit things really, really hard. I'm making this up as I go along."

*

"Was there anything…Remarkable about the girl? You will have to forgive me, I've not been following the larger news stories as of late. We have… so much going in the office, it's a bit of madness sometimes. We're completely understaffed. But, I've certain you've been in such a position before…" While the casually dropped comment of being understaffed seems unplanned, chances are it's all a very careful set up. Peggy does nothing casually, in truth. But she also seems quite interested in this case now, or Liv's interest in it. So, she keeps asking the right, probing questions, probably helping lead Liv along a proper investigation trail, even if the woman isn't experienced.

*

"Heather did mention that you've been keeping her pretty busy. No specifics," Liv is quick to add, cracking a smile and raising a hand as if to quell any worries. Not that she expects Peggy would have any, but, habit. "But I'm not surprised. Even before the Hellmouth opened up, it felt like the world had started to turn upside-down, and then it just got worse."

She lightly drums her fingers against her jaw as she mulls over the question, her brow creasing. "Honestly..? Not remarkable at all, at least near as I can tell. That's part of why I'm at such a loss. Just a fifteen year old kid whose dad runs a newspaper. Little naive, but that's normal at that age."

*

"…Dad runs a news paper. I'm guessing he… He's probably got more than a few enemies out there. I wouldn't be surprised if a ransom letter, or some sort of black mail, came following. If you want to continue to pursue the case, I'd go back and talk to him. See who he may have pissed off recently. Have you asked him that yet?" Peggy doesn't comment on the office again quite yet, the case sparking more of her thoughts. While she might be a manager now, probably not much in the field, it's clear that she still has that spark. A love of the chase, the cases. One can't take the Agent out of the Director, even if she's far from her starting days.

*

"It's the Bugle. All he's bound to tell me is that Spider-Man is responsible, even if there's photographic evidence that he was across town rescuing babies from an on-fire orphanage," Liv replies in a wry tone of voice, shoulders rising in a heavy sigh. "…but, I can try asking the people who work for him. See if they get any hate mail that raised their eyebrows," she allows. "That might be more reliable."

*

"Seems like that might be a good lead for your next step. I wish you luck with it, truly… For the girl and her family." Peggy then relaxes just a touch more, her hands folding before them on the table. "…If you didn't seem quite so busy with this… I might be quite tempted to offer you a junior position with our agency, you know? You'd need training — it isn't always just about being strong — but it seems you already have a sense for these things. But… I'd hate to take you away from this case." Peggy almost is mock protesting there, knowing she is dangling a tempting offer. Or, at least, hoping she is.

*

Oh, she is. And it isn't just because Liv could really use a job to help her make her share of the rent on time. "If you were to offer, believe me, I would be quite tempted to say yes," she muses, finally shifting to once again sit up straight. "From what little Heather has told me, it really does sound like a better fit for me than anything else I know of. And maybe the training would make me better equipped to actually bring Mattie home safe."

She falls quiet for a moment, studying Peggy thoughtfully across the table. Her fingers tap-tap-tap against the tabletop. "…but she isn't the only possible complication. I haven't been back in a very long time and consider this my home, but I am from Asgard," she notes in a low voice, pitched so that it doesn't carry beyond the table. "I have no idea what they would say if I took a position with your agency. I'm not sure I care," she adds, head tilting to one side. "But I wouldn't want to make your life difficult."

*

If Peggy is surprised by the fact that Liv is Asgardian, she makes no show of it. Possibly she already knew or, more likely, she's just good at taking that much information in stride. She's seen and done it all. That comment does, actually, just make her smile a bit more. "I suspect it would not be an issue. I've met a few of yours… One Thor and one named…Freddie, I do believe? Or, that's what he was going by. Good gentlemen. They seemed more than content with our agency's activities. Mutual respect, you could call it. And yes… we would give you better training for these sorts of situations. But, any independent cases you would have to pursue in your time off. We can't devote agency resources to pet projects." At least, not ones which have no supernatural or world threat to them.

*

Thor's name is one Liv obviously knows, her head bobbing slightly when Peggy mentions him. Freddie, however, just gets a slight furrow of her brow. That one, she's not familiar with. Ah, well. "If you're sure it wouldn't be an issue, then I'd very much be interested — if you were to offer," Liv teases, a twinkle in her eye. "If it would keep me from looking into Mattie myself… I can call in a favor with a few friends to pick up my slack, for when I can't be out there myself. They're honestly probably better suited to it than I am."

*

"Well. I am not certain a bar is the proper place to make a formal offer, but if you are genuinely interested, I'd love to speak further tomorrow morning at the offices. 0900 hours sharp." Peggy reaches into her coat pocket behind her, pulling out a small silver card case and tapping one free. A pen follows and she writes down a simple address of a noodle shop in China town. "Just go through to the back room and ask for the braised duck. They'll handle everything from there." She does NOT write down the braise duck part. She slides the card across the table. Other than the hand written address, it simply has 'Margaret Carter, Director, SHIELD' on it and a single phone number.

*

Ah, there it is. Whatever tiny bit of tension Liv had been carrying in her shoulders finally vanishes, and the smile on her face seems just that little bit more relaxed. "0900 tomorrow," she repeats, reaching out to take up the card once it gets slid her way. "I can certainly do that. Thank you, Peggy. I hope dressing as I am would be alright," she says with a glance down at herself. Jeans and a t-shirt, with a leather jacket for warmth. "All I have other than this right now is, well. Armor and a sword. That might make me stick out a touch."

*

That makes Peggy's brows arch, "…Ah, there is a dress code for regular service, but we can work on getting you an advance if you decide to sign on, so you can get a few things before officially starting. This should be alright for tomorrow, at least." Though Peggy does seem to appreciate the warning, since there are standards in SHIELD. Casual workplace isn't a definition the agency really knows. "…Do you have any other questions? Otherwise, I will see you in the morning." It seems Peggy probably isn't staying for tea, but she has accomplished her goal for the night.

*

"If I do, I'll make sure I take care of it first thing," Liv promises, and of all the things for an Asgardian to do, she sketches a cross over her heart with a pair of fingers. She considers the question for a moment before she shakes her head and, since Peggy sounds like she's preparing to leave, she slides to her feet and offers her a hand. "Nothing comes to mind, no. But thank you again. It really is nice to finally meet you."

*

Being the weekend, Peggy actually should get home for dinner time. It's probably only respectful to her poor husband. As Liv slides to her feet, Peggy does the same, her back popping in a few areas. It's been a long, tense week. She takes the hand for another brief, respectful pump before she shrugs into her coat. "The pleasure has been mine, Liv. Heather is one of the most brilliant women I know and you also had a recommendation from my oldest friend. Neither of those people are easy to please so… It speaks volumes about you. I'll be proud to have you on the team." She then gives a brief, curt nod. "See you 0900 hours."

*

The fact that someone other than Heather vouched for her seems to take Liv by surprise. She blinks twice and tilts her head to the side, returning the shake in kind before dropping her hand to her side. "I — really? Huh. Well, it's nice to be thought of so well, I suppose," she murmurs, sounding utterly baffled. She gives her head a quick shake in order to regain her bearings, and just smiles. "Yes ma'am. I'll be there."

*

"…Yes. Steve Rogers. He's nearly impossible to please too. I don't know what you did to get his attention, but… good job." With that, Peggy gives her one last grin, pulls out a ten dollar bill from her pocket, puts it on the table, and then turns on the ball of her foot, heading for the door. She leaves the night a little warmer in her wake, even if there are a few uncomfortable murmurs at the white woman just walking out of the bar without ordering. At least she left a good tip.

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