Peggy doesn't come home.
x
Of course, she's thought about it: kissing Peggy Carter.
While they've spoken, she's gazed at her lips and wondered. Nothing has necessarily stopped her from kissing the girl. Except the fear of Peggy's rejection.
She's thought about kissing Peggy Carter, and she's thought about Peggy Carter not kissing her in return.
Tea. Peggy prefers hers without milk. Angie rebels, and sits with her during a shift. If her manager catches her in the act again, she'll get in trouble. But with Peggy, Angie likes taking risks––it makes the whole thing that much more exciting.
Peggy is ranting. She's ranting about work, and midway through her thorough explanation as to why her boss is a "pigheaded pain in the arse", Angie drops her gaze to Peggy's lips. They appear soft. The colour of scarlet (or blood). Deliberate. Peggy wears her femininity because, although it holds the appearance of weakness, her femininity is frightening.
It is her weapon.
During the moment, Angie doesn't know how she concluded something so bizarre, but it makes sense. Viewing Peggy this way. Because even if Peggy insists she works for The Telephone Company, Angie believes otherwise.
Everybody has their secrets.
At one point, Peggy smiles, and it's startling. Her beauty radiates, and Angie realises she's been gazing for too long.
When she looks up, Peggy is still smiling. But when Peggy raises her mug to her lips, her hand trembles slightly and Angie blushes.
Her secret is out: she's falling in love with a woman who'll offer her nothing but death.
x
In order to forget––or distract herself, at least––Angie decorates the mansion.
She chooses flowers.
Colourful flowers: purples, blues, reds, the whole lot.
She decorates Howard Stark's mansion in flowers, in prettiness, in fragility and a love she's desperate to share.
It takes up her entire day.
Evening arrives, and she knows for certain Peggy isn't coming home.
Not today, not tomorrow. Not this week.
Maybe she shouldn't be surprised.
Peggy can never keep promises.
So why does she cry into her pillow that night, and wish her tears will drown her?
x
'For the moment, I would rather have you only. In due time, you are more than welcome to invite your friends to rent a room, but, uh––'
'Pegs, it's fine! Stop your worryin'! Anyway––' Angie is grinning, ear-to-ear, and Peggy is certain she's never seen the girl so happy, '––as if I'd wanna share you in the first place.'
Is it too much?
Too forward?
Peggy blinks, and then sort of sighs, as if relieved. 'You're sweet, dear. I'll arrange Mister Jarvis to collect you and your belongings around midday tomorrow. I shall meet you there.' A beat. 'Thank you, Angie. For everything.'
The smile doesn't waver, and Angie's eyes glisten with a thrill, but Peggy's words are a jab.
Sharp.
For everything.
Thank you for being patient, for waiting; thank you for being my friend.
'Don't know what you're talkin' about, English.'
Peggy plays along, and smirks. 'I'll see you soon.' Angie doesn't invite her inside her room. Instead, she allows Peggy to walk away this time. She doesn't cling, she doesn't frown, she doesn't fuss and ponder and even if her mind screams, she lets Peggy go.
To stop caring about Peggy would be the best decision Angie ever made.
But loving her has never been a choice.
x
A customer arrives. Tall, gentle face and smart. Angie recognises him immediately, and the moment he sits at one of the booths, she walks over and takes his order.
Her heart is racing, and her pulse resonates in her ears.
When she returns to him with his tea, she says, 'Anythin' else for you?'
'No, thank you.' He chuckles (nervously), and Angie doesn't walk away. He looks up at her, eyebrows raised.
'Heard from Peggy?'
'I'm sorry?'
'Peggy. Thought you and her were close. Haven't heard from her in a couple a'months.'
'Ah.' Mister Jarvis doesn't drink his tea. 'No, I haven't heard from her.'
She doesn't know if she believes him or not. 'I know Peggy is one to keep secrets, but I can't contact her, and…' I thought I was her friend. But if I was her friend, she'd, at least, give me her temporary address so I can write. '… and I'm worried.'
'Don't be,' Mister Jarvis eyes are warm. 'Miss Carter can manage.'
That's not what Angie is worried about.
'It's not nice, y'know? Having a big house to myself.'
Mister Jarvis doesn't reply. Angie inhales and finally leaves him alone. She doesn't cry at work; she's a professional. She does her best when she needs to.
But the moment she steps in through the door too big for somebody so small and insignificant, Angie starts to weep.
x
The photograph is faded.
It slips out of Peggy's purse and Peggy doesn't realise.
Angie realises.
She picks it up, and the photograph is of a cute, skinny boy. He wears a white t-shirt too big for him. Angie lowers the photograph. The boy is Steven Rogers, but he's different. He's not big and powerful and strong and handsome.
He's just a boy.
'Is this yours?'
Peggy has set her purse aside and is pouring themselves a cup of tea.
She looks towards Angie.
Then the photograph.
And the colour in Peggy's cheeks drain away, and she snatches the photograph from Angie as if she's insulted her. As if her touching the photograph is the greatest crime of all. Angie takes a step back, and widens her eyes.
It takes a moment for her to register the terror coursing through her body.
Is that how Peggy makes her colleagues feel?
(Her targets?)
Peggy folds the photograph carefully and returns it to its rightful place. She has her back turned to Angie for a long time, and Angie remains frozen in place. She waits for Peggy to find her voice and scold her, yell at her, something like that.
Because yelling is usually how things develop.
Peggy doesn't yell.
She faces Angie, and her expression has softened, and her eyes are warm and sad.
'Thank you. If I had lost that, I wouldn't know what to do.' She reaches for one of the mugs. 'Tea?'
Angie doesn't waste a second in accepting her drink, but she stays silent. Now it's not so much Peggy's manner which concerns her, but more the boy in the photograph.
Peggy's love.
Angie doesn't drink her tea. She allows it go cold and doesn't speak again for the entire night.
Of course, her best friend notices but Peggy being Peggy––she decides not to speak either.
Sometimes silence is best.
And, sometimes, silence is just another way to scream.
x
The phone rings.
Twice.
Angie runs so fast, she trips over her own shoelaces and the phone dials out the first time.
The second time, she's careful and picks up, slightly out of breath, knees bruised. Peggy's voice is worn out, dry and affectionate.
'Is that you?'
'It's me! Oh, Peggy, you're okay! I'm so happy––what took you so long?'
'Darling, I do apologise. It has been mad here. Who knew business abroad could be so damned hectic?'
Angie's heart drops.
'I hear business abroad gets bad… yeah…'
'Sweetheart?'
'You coming home soon?'
'Uh, I am, but I can't say when. How are you?'
Something tears. Angie can feel it; a rip through her chest and she flinches.
She's not okay. Not without Peggy. Without Peggy, Angie is not okay. Without Peggy, Angie feels lonely and lost and unloved and troubled and miserable. Without Peggy, the skies are grey, and life is lifeless, and nothing has meaning.
Angie swallows back a cry.
At least over the telephone, Peggy can't hear the tears.
'I'm okay… just miss you…'
Peggy exhales. Angie inhales.
One of them sighs.
'I miss you as well, darling. Can you hold the fort without me for just a little longer?'
'Mm! 'Course, Pegs.' Angie clears her throat (cuts through the wail). 'Come home soon, yeah?'
'I shall. Good bye.'
'Bye.'
'Bye.'
A click, and Peggy is gone.
Angie keeps the telephone pressed to her ear, and scrunches her eyes shut.
On the other end is a hazy quietness.
Her entire body aches.
x
The day has been excruciating and Peggy is home before her. This has become typical now, and Peggy isn't too pleased her dear friend works longer hours than she. But Angie insists she's fine. She needs to work double shifts in order to keep up with her rent.
Angie should not have mentioned that.
'You do not have to pay for your rent. I told Mister Stark that you are renting out a room, free of charge. Angie, what are you talking about?'
'Pegs, I can't live off you like that. It ain't right. And I don't feel comfortable sleeping in a room I'm not paying for. What kinda deal is that?'
'The sort of deal a friend offers you.' Peggy's hands are on her hips, and she's giving her that look. The sort of look Angie hates. The look Peggy gives when she's looking down on her, because Angie is young, so much younger, and she doesn't know any better.
Angie understands. Peggy has fought in the war, she has loved more; she's older and she's wiser.
But Angie doesn't appreciate being looked down at.
Like an infant.
'Keep your wages from now on. I'll have Mister Stark know that you shan't pay a single––'
'Peggy––'
'This home is yours. I don't want you working like a madwoman just to stay in it.'
'All the more reason for me to pay my rent. Peggy!' Angie grabs her wrists and squeezes. 'You gotta let me help you. I know you just mean well, but I'm your friend too, and friends help each other out. I can't sit back and let you haul the money in. You do enough as it is.'
'As do you.' Peggy stops frowning. A wave of sympathy shadows her face. 'Sweetheart. Look at you: you're exhausted.'
'I'm okay.'
Peggy's fingertips feel like feathers across Angie's cheek.
Angie's breath catches. She's been touched before, but not like this; not with such softness and care.
Peggy touches her as if she might shatter any second.
'I don't want you falling ill.'
'Not me! I'm a tough gal.'
'Well, even the toughest have their down days.'
Peggy's eyes are dark, as warm as sunshine; cosy. Peggy's eyes reflect a love Angie has never been witness to. Never endured. And she's envious of any man who has the honour of witnessing them everyday. Every morning. Every night. She's jealous, and it's a disgusting jealousy which dominates her whole.
Then Peggy's breath is tickling Angie's lips, and Angie's lungs cease working.
She's imagined it before. The sensation of somebody's lips on her own. Hands in her hair. Her arms wrapped around their waist. She's imagined love, in its most innocent form. A love where it's simple and perfect and calm.
She's imagined the rush and ecstasy of sex. A woman's palms massaging her breasts. Their tongue inside her. White sheets, throbbing bodies, clenched fists and gasps.
She's imagined the intensity of love.
A warm, heavy, torturous wave gathers below her stomach.
Peggy smells of lavender.
'Get some sleep, my love.'
Angie's eyes are too blue; too delicate. A sharp contrast to Peggy's.
Peggy's are old, wise and broken.
'You too, English.'
Peggy's fingertips slip from Angie's cheek, and Angie thinks about it: grabbing Peggy's collar, slamming her mouth onto hers, clinging, grasping, moaning––
––loving her.
She turns away, and hurries to bed.
Runs.
x
One o'clock. Morning.
The telephone rings and Angie jumps in bed, frightened.
She grabs the telephone. 'Hello?'
'Miss Martinelli?'
'Speaking.'
A hospital, only a couple of yards down the road, has a patient Angie needs to meet. The patient is close to her, and she's severely injured.
And this friend has been asking constantly for an Angie Martinelli.
The girl is out of the door and at the hospital in less than half an hour. A nurse escorts her to the desired ward, and even though it's past visiting hours, Angie is allowed inside. As long as she's quiet. The ward smells of blood.
Peggy Carter is conscious, and smiling when Angie shows.
A black eye, broken nose, busted open lip.
Shattered ribs.
Broken arm.
But alive and smiling.
'Oh, thank God, you're okay,' Peggy says.
Angie nearly drops.
Her knees almost give way.
She turns restless and emotional and her face is soon wet with tears. Angie grabs for Peggy's hand, and pulls. 'What the hell happened to you?' It's difficult to maintain a whisper, and her voice squeaks and cracks and Peggy's eyes water. 'Peggy, who––? Who did this? Why would they do this? Peggy, what––?'
'Shh. I'm all right.' Peggy wipes away a tear trickling down Angie's cheek. 'Please: I don't want you to cry.'
'Fat chance a'that,' Angie snivels. She lets go of Peggy's hand, and furiously dries her tears with the back of her sleeve. 'You keep secrets from me, Pegs, and sometimes I dunno if I'm your friend. You don't tell me anything.' She inhales, pained and hurt and too emotional for Peggy to comprehend. 'Why are you hurt?'
'I'm sorry, my love. I assure you, I'm perfectly fine. Just a small incident that occurred.'
Angie can't believe what she's hearing.
'Darling, I wanted to see you. I'm sorry I––'
'This. This isn't small.' Angie jars her teeth, desperate to keep her voice down to a minimum, but her eyes are pouring with tears and when she inhales, a cry nearly escapes. 'Peggy.' She wipes her hands down her face. 'Why d'you keep doing this to me? Why d'you keep hurting me this way?'
'Angie?'
'I can't handle seeing you injured. It hurts me too much, and I––I can't breathe when you're not safe.'
Peggy reaches out and grabs Angie's hand. She grips onto her, and Angie stops; their eyes meet and she sees the regret, the guilt; all of these rotting secrets Peggy has allowed to slowly kill her. Angie cries silently, effortlessly, and, suddenly, Peggy isn't able to handle this amount of emotion. Not directed at her.
Because it's always been the other way around.
Always Peggy showering others with love, concern and worry.
Tears.
A plea for them to stay close.
'I asked the doctor to call you because I need you with me. Will you stay? Close to me? I don't want to be alone tonight.'
She's almost begging and Angie's heart shreds into pieces.
The girl throws herself at Peggy, holding her in such a tight, protective embrace, the two of them can barely breathe. Peggy feels her body weaken, her heart slow, and she falls into Angie's arms. She leans on her, and lets Angie hold her for the rest of the night.
By dawn, Angie's arms are still around Peggy's waist, and Peggy never wants her to let go.
x
It is sometime in the afternoon when Peggy leaves without a note.
Not a goodbye.
Nothing.
As if she's a dream; an image, captured in Angie's frantic fantasies.
It doesn't take long for Angie to start crying. That's all she can do. Cry. She doesn't necessarily cry for her loss, but for Peggy. She cries for Peggy, because Peggy is so damaged and haunted, that she doesn't think Angie will care about her absence.
Will not notice her absence.
And she cries because she loves a woman who cares so little for her own life, she's willing to walk into fire alone.
The whole night, Angie clings onto her pillow, pressing it to her face and chest, and thinks about Peggy Carter. She thinks about Peggy Carter, and she thinks about kissing Peggy Carter. Holding her face, and kissing her lips; kissing her like no one else has before. Kissing her with a promise to stay. Kissing her with such passion and need.
She thinks about grabbing Peggy's hand before she leaves their home, and kissing her.
Every single time.
x
So, that is what she does.
In fear that Peggy may disappear forever, in fear that Peggy may forget she is loved, in fear that Peggy may walk away, Angie does what she should have done the moment she met her.
She kisses Peggy, and it's a kiss Peggy has never been given before.
It is sweet, soft; demure.
Riddled with a plea for each other to stay. And to stay close.
When Angie's lips touch Peggy's, Peggy reacts immediately. Colour reaches her pale cheeks, warmth cascades through her body, her skin heals, her mind calms, and suddenly she's alive. When Angie kisses Peggy, the world stops and she hits a final haven.
An asylum of tender silence, in which only they share together.
They kiss again. Angie's senses are ecstatic with everything that is Peggy; her scent, the lavender perfume, is everywhere and then Peggy's hands are in her hair, then her body, her lips, her fingertips, and Angie holds onto her so tightly her knuckles turn white.
She's thought about it: kissing Peggy Carter.
But never this way. Not when they're soft and breathless and happy.
Not the way it is.
x
Angie reminds her she's loved, she's needed; she's missed. Just before Peggy leaves for work, wherever that may be, Angie pulls at her sleeve and kisses her.
Each time, every time, Peggy will always come home.
author's note: Hi. I wanted to take this opportunity to announce that my second novel has been published on Amazon. If you would like more information, then please visit my Tumblr: wreckofherheart.
Thank you so much for reading! I apologise for the severe lack of updates. It has been a busy winter term, but hopefully I shall start writing more often over the holidays. See you soon!