MARGARET SHAW ( vmaeved )
she remembers BEING HIM, once ( before she’d been drenched in gasoline whiskey & burned by an errant spark catching along the corner of her violent edges that caught her down to the crisp ). idealism, the determined, bone-deep urge to do something, to make a difference.
“ yeah, that’s it. ” the only way to make a difference is to get up the ladder, & that has a perilous cost come from carving public perception until it fits the right mold, until it’s painted with acceptable colors & underscored by the perfect soundtrack, following all the predetermined steps that go along with this particular dance. she’s here for one reason & one reason ONLY: to manipulate the public’s telescopic zoom in on steve rogers so that he can get the job done without sacrificing himself the way that she has. “ don’t get your briefs in a fucking twist about it. ”
her heart is a battleground razed & smoking but that doesn’t mean HIS has to be, too. the only thing she’ll bring him is ruin. so, she pushes herself out past the blockage of his shoulders without thinking about what the shape of it would feel like under her palm, crests her fingertips through the tipple of a curl at her temple, & tugs down at the tails of her shirt as though she could smooth out what this is between them.
“ we’re adults. you’re a good guy & a nice piece of ass but that doesn’t mean we have to fuck up our working relationship over a KISS. ”
it’s mean ( & she doesn’t mean it ) but he’s TOO GOOD to get it on his own. they can’t do this, not now & not ever if he wants to climb his way to the top to slay the dragon from the head down. she reaches past him at the tumbled-out papers shifted all over the desk where they’d started to tumble toward a tryst & snatches the corner of analytics prepared ahead of tomorrow’s press junket. she doesn’t need to read it, has each line committed to precise memory, but she can’t handle turning to see that shattered optimism cracking the blue out of his eyes right now. “ ——– you’d do better in the polls with some hometown prom queen anyway. ”
it had been foolish of him to think, when he'd started out in politics, that he wouldn't let it change him. she'd known him then, but perhaps the memory was distorted with time and the man that he'd become. the man that stood before her now. that first race for public office, he'd stayed up late drinking beers with bucky and sam and waxed poetic about how he was going to change the system, not change for it. a fiery idealism that had burned low with each campaign trail he traveled. yes, he still believed he could make a difference, but he knew now that it didn't come without concessions and compromise.
holding the next office and fighting the next battle used to be a future he saw as a fixed point, but it was no longer true north. instead it was something he'd be willing to set aside in order to walk another path.
scorn colors her rebuke and her words start to feel like death from a thousand small cuts. there's a stormcloud of emotions brewing in his chest, shame and sorrow paramount among them. it had been a long way to fall from the illusion he'd built, crafted in fine detail over the years he'd pined for her. how could he have been so wrong about everything? it was her job to help ensure his victory and she had her work cut out for her because clearly he was clueless.
watching her turn away makes him take another step back, not wanting her to feel boxed in, but not sure he could just walk away without saying anything.
they were adults after all, and he'd just claimed an ability to remain neutral in the face of rejection — now he had to make sure that hadn't been a false promise. so he lets the sting of everything sink into him, absorbed to be numbed later with another few drinks at the hotel bar. ❝ — the polls, ❞ he echoes with a light scoff, unable to keep hold of disbelief as he crosses his arms over his chest. ❝ prom queen? wow… that's great advice ms. shaw. you know any? ❞