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Lost in Austen with Peggy Carter

From the nexus, it looked like an adequate setting for a rest cure. A big house, surrounded by a lot of land; sunny days, clear nights. A few more amenities than Merry Olde England, which she'd also considered for the purpose, but no shelling, no gunfire, and no planes flying overhead. Peggy stepped though the doorway with little hesitation.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," someone said from down the hallway, "how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."

Peggy flinched and froze, her thoughts immediately jumping to Steve. But the conversation continued, Steve was still dead, and Peggy was done jumping at shadows. She continued down the hall and settled into a chair in the parlor. That proved to be a mistake.

The room soon filled with young women, chattering about a Mr. Bingley. They took Peggy's presence without blinking, but oddly, insisted on calling her Lizzy. She did her best to fade into the background as the conversation circled endlessly around the question of marriage. It hit her on a raw spot, all the talk of marriage when the only man she'd ever thought about in that way was dead, but she had endured far worse. Her smile never cracked, her eyes remained dry. She found the door back to the nexus with some relief.

The next time the nexus threw her into Longbourn, they family was about to leave to attend a ball. Peggy had never been to a ball; she tagged along. She even danced a few times, but she didn't mind that it wasn't more. Afterwards, the cozy talk with Jane was a nice bonus. Peggy found she enjoyed a little sisterly gossip.

She came back a few more times after that -- to talk to Jane, she told herself. To encourage Lydia in her little rebellions against the social limits. To run interference for Mary when she wanted to play the piano. Just to get a good night's rest. It was half way between the rest cure she'd been looking for and picking at a scab. The talk of marriage, the constricted choices reminiscent of the childhood she'd fled at the first opportunity -- but the sisterly chats, the quiet nights... and the knowledge that whatever troubles any of these people had, none of them were going to die. It was more than she knew about anyone back in the War.

And then, today happened. Peggy arrived, and as usual, no one noticed that she'd been away. "Have some fish, Lizzy," Mr. Bennet said, so Peggy did. It came as a complete surprise to her when Mr. Collins, the family guest, asked to speak with her.

Five minutes later, she found herself breathing harder than usual, her voice a low growl as she threatened to gut Mr. Collins with a fish fork if he didn't learn to listen to what a woman was actually saying instead of only to what he expected to hear. She was not going to put up with this.

She stalked out without looking back, trusting Mr. Collins to come up with some explanation for the rest of the family. He didn't seem like the type who'd admit that a woman had frightened him.

Peggy took a seat in the garden, feeling pleased with herself, and just a tiny bit guilty as well. Good thing she hadn't done that to any of the more annoying men at home. But when she heard someone approaching, she turned to greet them with the dangerous smile of a woman who had just let loose, and was willing to do it again. "I think the next step in this situation is Meryton. Steal a uniform. Find a war. Want to come with me?"

[The only thing I'm taking from the miniseries "Lost in Austen" is the basic concept. Peggy knows who she is, but none of the NPCs do, they think she's Lizzy Bennet and react to her as Lizzy Bennet, don't notice any discrepancies, etc. Replace any and all Austen characters in the same way (don't feel like you have to follow the Austen plot, either), arrive as as an era-appropriate version of your character (no Austen double required), or simply have them show up as themselves, no door changes (though for the sake of not getting stuck on details, let's just say that the NPCs aren't going to freak out about them not belonging or anything, these are some really accommodating NPCs!) Just please be clear about what choice you're going for, and feel free to drop me a line if it gets complicated :)]

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The whole affair is distinctly aside from anything Victor would imagine himself enjoying. For one, he is far more a fan of romantic poets and though Austen is a capable author in the romantic era, her stories end far too happily for Victor, who has come to expect tragedy in all his romance. He is, thus, incredibly uncomfortable finding himself in a situation that can only be Pride and Prejudice, and now there is a woman addressing him and suggesting they actively seek a war.

"In this version, would Darcy then become a battle-weary soldier? Die young and leave his money to Elizabeth in a fit of pique?"

Now, then. If the story were to end that way, he can only imagine reading it more often.

Peggy was not a great reader of novels, though she'd read her share of the sort of romances that nurses tended to keep around to while away a boring shift. That had not included this particular classic, so the idea of a version didn't spark any understanding in her.

But Peggy was used to being confused by the things the nexus dealt up.

"Oh, do you know Mr. Darcy?" she said, feeling her way along. "Are you a friend of his?"

The image that he conjured up of Darcy, however, didn't amuse her. When she'd suggested finding a war, she'd imagined some kind of historical war, hardly a war at all, not in this place of safety. She hadn't considered for even a moment a situation leading to battle-weary soldiers and dying young.

"However much pique may be found in his character, he doesn't seem likely to die any time soon, I'm pleased to inform you," she said tartly.

"I wouldn't necessarily call us friends," Victor says, trying to suss out the woman and whether she's a figure in the novel. The way people turn to her with such attention does bring to mind the protagonist, but Victor has been disappointed before. "I'm more the romantic poetry type," he says. "Wordsworth, Clare," he explains.

But then, if she is just a character, this will mean nothing to her. "And why is it you're after a war?" he asks. "Surely bloodshed should be avoided by such young ladies of the time?"

Peggy relaxed a little. There were enough clues in what Victor said for her to classify him as definitely nexus, which meant that she didn't need to work quite as hard on being understood. Though the locals were very forgiving, in general, they didn't always make the effort to bridge the communication gap.

"I read some Wordsworth one term," she commented slowly, working though the implications. "I can't remember a word of it. Does that have something to do with Darcy?" A sudden horrible suspicion entered her mind. "He doesn't write poetry, does he?"

The question of the war was a little bit more complicated. "Won't you sit down?" Peggy said, remembering her manners, and gesturing toward the other end of the garden bench. This could take a while. "I guess you can take the soldier away from the war, but you can't take the war away from the soldier?" she suggested as a first approximation. "I'm not really from around here," she added, an understatement.

"Quite frankly, war seems more civilized than some of the local customs, if my recent experience is any guide."

His manners may be fine from growing up in a rather large estate akin to Pemberley, but lately, London has been his gritty, dirty, unpleasant home and places like this are far more civilized than he's really used to. "Where are you from, then?" he wonders, seeking out clues in both her manner, her speech, and her ways.

He's a clever man, but at times, can be very oblivious to human nature. Science and ephemera are his wheelhouses more than people and it unfortunately does cause trouble at times.

Peggy gave Victor a long look, then smiled and refused the gamble of telling all. "I'm from a place where men and the occasional woman are fighting and killing each other even as we speak," she said instead of anything more specific. "But we're doing it in defense of our homeland, against a tyrant who wants to conquer everything."

She was very aware of how many places -- how many times -- that could describe. "I'm not talking about Napoleon," she said, eliminating just one. "But I'd certainly rather defend this country than live in it right now. I am not Elizabeth Bennet, and I don't think I can manage to put up with her life for much longer."

She gave Victor another long look, then asked, "And what about you?"

The only tyrant that Victor has ever known has been the fervent oppression of his passions, not to mention the ever-harsh poverty that follows him around because he's been unable to make his studies known. His wry smile is an echo of these thoughts as he regards the not-Elizabeth and affords her a proper nod of his head. "How do you do?" he properly greets her.

"I'm from a time when the world is only beginning to burn with gas lamps and electricity is a drudging thing in England, to my great disadvantage. But the exploration is possible and I am a man of science and poetry. There is much for me to do and much to discover."

"I do quite well, thank you," Peggy said, briefly amused. "As do you, I'm sure, if you enjoy exploration." The nexus would be like a dream come true, if that was what this man wanted out of life.

Science and poetry, now... She smiled. "I've known some very dear scientists in my time," she said. "Though I sometimes wonder if too much science fosters impracticality." She certainly didn't count poetry as practical, though she refrained from sharing her opinion there...again. "What is it that you--" She paused, held up her hand, listening to something on the edge of her hearing.

From inside the house, someone -- it sounded like Mrs. Bennet -- was calling out for Elizabeth.

Victor casts his head head to the side at the sound of a rather anxious woman bleating at his companion. Victor regards her with disdain as the voice grows nearer, speaking to his companion about a trifling affair and of proposals and of tedious items that he hasn't thought of in years. He fears that she will be spirited away, so Victor does the proper thing.

He bows and extends his hand politely. "May I extend my offer for a walk?" he requests. "I'm sure we could take a lovely turn of the property." And it will allow escape, if so wanted.

Edited 2016-01-22 03:27 (UTC)

Peggy gave Victor a brilliant smile, all for show, but it was the kind of smile that stopped Mrs. Bennet's words instantly, as she gaped at the unexpected expression.

"Mama, you know Mr. ... " She grabbed a name from recent memory. "Mr. Clare. He's a friend of Mr. Darcy, most eligible."

As Mrs. Bennet's mouth flapped, Peggy took Victor's hand. "Quick, before she thinks of anything to say," she said, too low for Mrs. Bennet to hear.

But not quickly enough. "I will speak with you later, Elizabeth, and you'd best make the most of this opportunity," Mrs. Bennet called after them. "Make the most of it, do you understand me? For if you do not..."

Victor permits his arm, having been taught this much in manners. Unlike his brothers, he has always felt himself a more sedate sort, given to walks in the park and conversation rather than sport and more manly affairs. "I would never wish to cause unrest in her mind," he quips, sure he could do such damage with only thirty seconds of conversation, if given the opportunity.

"I believe she thinks you ought to secure my hand," he notes. "I'm partial to Shakespeare and the Romantic Poets, if you wish to woo me with gifts."

Peggy sighed, loudly. "Don't you start too," she told Victor. After the incident with Mr. Collins, she was angry on the subject, but Victor's comment was light enough that she could almost see the funny side of it.

She averted her eyes from the spectacle of Mrs. Bennet. "I can only hypothesize that she would want me to secure your hand if you were a walrus, so long as you were an eligible, unmarried walrus of good social standing, which is not very far from being a description of the last man she thought I should marry," she said. "Trust me, we wouldn't suit--"

She gave Mrs. Bennet a cheery wave, and walked a little faster, her grip on Victor's arm more of a warning. "Besides which, I'm not planning on getting married," she added with a great deal of asperity. "Ever."

The thought of Steve did cross her mind just then, making the last word just a little less certain than she'd meant it.

"You've little to concern yourself with over my virtue and hand," Victor is quick to assure, given that his own goals are lofty and do not include marrying, for it would only serve to slow down his progress within the sciences. True, his loneliness bears difficulty in living, but not enough that he would stop his plans. "I assure you I am not in good social standing, nor eligible in any manner of speaking. My bank account bears more resemblance to a threadbare cupboard than wealth of fortune."

Still, he does not mind saving this woman from her unbearable mother. There are far too many of them these days.

"It seems rather firm to consider yourself virtuous and unmarried for life at such a young age, though perhaps you're like me and have your career in mind to place focus upon."

"What's virtuous about being unmarried?" Peggy asked with rash curiosity. "I've always heard it the other way around, to be horrifyingly frank. Not that everyone I know is as avid as..." She threw a glance over her shoulder, a raised eyebrow sure that Victor would follow her thought. "But...there is a certain expectation.

"That's why--" Peggy hesitated. "Let's just say that I have engaged in the expectation of marriage more than once," she said. "Of my own volition, no less. But that does not mean that I am available to all and sundry, so it's just as well that you're not hanging out for a wife."

It was hard and easy at the same time to talk about this. Hard, because the memory of Steve was still fresh, but easier than she'd expected, because Victor was a stranger, and because under the circumstances, it was easy to be frank. Marriage was the universal preoccupation around here.

"But you're right, I'm not in a line of work that's very kind to ... relationships." She looked down, realizing that easier was relative. What she'd had with Steve had been unspoken, but the memory was suddenly all too close, all too difficult.

"The unmarried are not pressured to tea and dinners, to small talk and the aggressive necessity of asking how one's home is in order," Victor notes with mild disdain. He has seen what the married world has to offer and while the companionship might be a soothing balm to his loneliness, he cannot imagine the incessant drudgery of such tasks.

"You seem to be in the wrong universe if you're not in the line of work kind to relationships," he remarks. "Do you think it some kind of cosmic joke?"

"You mean they're not pressured by their spouse," Peggy pointed out. "For the very good reason of not having one. Their mothers, fathers, friends, aunts, uncles, and so on... The unmarried do not all live apart from all society."

She laughed at the idea of it all being a cosmic joke, but unconsciously slowed her pace as the idea took hold of her. "No, I think it's a welcome cosmic reminder that I won't actually miss it," she said finally. "Not too much."

"And speaking of society, I usually find it congenial," she admitted, more briskly. "In small doses. It makes a good break from...weightier concerns back home."

Having gotten the impression that Victor held himself apart from society as well, she added lightly, "Have you tried it?"

"If you've become as talented as I have, you can live without any of those things through sheer avoidance of one's brothers," Victor promises, for he bears no desire to see his father or his brothers, who mock him for his cerebral nature rather than the physical, but he pays no mind because he knows himself to be engaged in higher purpose.

"Have I tried relationships? Ah, no. Familial is complicated, friendship is few, and romance is...not for a man like I. Women do not want the poor penniless doctor."

"Women," Peggy pointed out crisply, "Aren't all motivated by the same thing, any more than men are. You might be surprised." She wasn't flirting, she wasn't anywhere near ready for that. She was just pointing out the obvious.

"I think you're making yourself more lonely than you have to be," she added seriously. It was her impulse to solve every problem she came across that made her say it. And it did seem to her that Victor might have a problem. Isolation was hard to deal with, she'd experienced it often enough as a woman in a man's world.

"You're charming enough, you know," she added with a bit of an encouraging smile.

"My work comes first," Victor says simply, though a touch curt, "and where I come from, very few women could understand the work I do." Miss Ives has been the only one he's met with such experience and he feels more of a brother to her. It does not help, of course, that there is a demon that lives in her and knows all of Victor's secrets, every one more shameful until they reach the worst of all. "Unfortunately, I am never lonely," he adds, with a ruefulness that is begotten from experience.

"Most lives have a little room for something in addition to whatever comes first," Peggy said quietly. "And would be poorer if they did not."

She wasn't thinking of Steve, this time. She was thinking about the Howling Commandos, and the camaraderie of being part of a group. "Friends are just as valuable," she said. She tilted her head to the side, considering Victor's statement. "How is it possible to never be lonely?"

"I have somehow come into possession of a rather eclectic group of friends," he admits, "I assure you, I have no idea how I managed to come by them." Except, perhaps, he does, and can place the blame firmly on an Egyptian man with skin that peels off and hieroglyphics tattooed across his chest. "And before, I had company." Company of a sort he had run from, but he had been young and frightened, his creation a monstrous thing and so far from the poetry he had been expecting.

And yet, he still pursues it because he is older and knows he can do better. He had, had he not? Proteus had been a shining example, until the Creature had taken him from Victor.

"The best kind, of course," Peggy said firmly.

Somehow company sounded a bit ominous. But, "As long as you know who your friends are, it's hard to go wrong," she said. "And take good care of them," she added with a bit of a smile.

As they strolled into the village, Peggy turned to thank Victor for his company.

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Lost in Austen with Peggy Carter

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