Angie Martinelli knew Peggy Carter was an accomplished agent. After all, she'd seen her in action a few times when her roommate's work life inevitably bled over into their home life. Admittedly, it didn't happen too often, but still, watching Peggy summarily dispatch a bad guy while wearing nothing but her bathrobe was been a bit of a turn on, and Angie always revisited those scenes a few times at night when she was safely tucked away in her room, far away from Peggy's excellent hearing.
However, Peggy's finesse apparently did not carry over to home repairs.
Angie discovered this fact when the water pipe below the kitchen sink seemingly clogged, and she suggested they call a repair man or at least notify Howard since it was technically his house, but Peggy thought otherwise.
"Honestly, darling. It's a holiday weekend, and we have the necessary tools here," she said with an easy smile.
"Yeah, but I'm no plumber, and last time I checked, unscrewing water pipes isn't exactly up your alley either."
"I had my hands buried in Jeeps throughout the war," Peggy scoffed. "How much trouble can one little pipe give me? Be a dear and go retrieve the toolbox?"
The only good thing about the whole ordeal was that Peggy had changed out of the summer dress she'd been wearing and donned what looked to be her old army trousers and white t-shirt. Not that Angie was complaining. The shirt had to be the thinnest, not to mention snuggest, thing she'd ever seen Peggy wear. The cotton fabric stretched tightly over her roommate's ample bosom, and when Peggy bent down to crawl under the sink, Angie silently sent up a prayer of thanks to the U.S. Army.
However, that was three hours ago, and Angie was now doing her best to avoid the kitchen and Peggy's wrath. The last time Angie had peeked in, Peggy's upper torso was hidden inside the cabinet and all Angie could see were her trouser-covered legs splayed across the floor. A few choice words floated across the kitchen, and Angie wisely withdrew to the study.
She would've been content to stay there, too, if she hadn't just heard a horrible clanking followed by the sound of rushing water and then, "Bloody hell!"
Running to the kitchen, Angie slapped a hand across her mouth to stifle the laughter that threatened to bubble over when she saw Peggy emerge from beneath the sink, completely drenched, along with a rather large portion of the kitchen floor covered in water.
When she managed to contain her giggles, Angie looked at Peggy and arched an eyebrow. "Everything under control in here?" she asked, amusement coloring her words.
Peggy scowled and reached for the nearby dish towel and mopped the water from her face, before pulling herself up from the floor. Angie suddenly found it difficult to breathe when Peggy turned to face her. She could clearly see the woman's bra through the translucent fabric now, and she swallowed when she caught a glimpse of two visible peaks.
Peggy, for her part, seemed totally oblivious to the peep show she was currently providing and scowled.
"Very funny."
Tearing her eyes away from Peggy's chest, Angie fixed her gaze on the calendar on the far wall and swallowed. "Do you, ah, you need any help?"
"What I need is for Howard Stark to stop tinkering with every bloody thing he owns," Peggy growled. "The fittings on this pipe are unlike anything I've ever seen, and when I finally managed to loosen them, the pipe slid right off and water went everywhere!"
"I can see that," Angie nodded, glancing around the kitchen. She navigated around the impromptu lake, and ducked in the pantry closet to retrieve a mop. Returning to where Peggy stood, she thrust it in the older woman's hands.
"You start mopping. I'll grab some towels from the bathroom," she informed her. Practically fleeing from the kitchen, Angie made her way upstairs and quickly retrieved several towels. She ducked into Peggy's room and rummaged through the woman's clothes until she found another shirt, this one a bit larger than the last, and forcefully quelled the small voice inside her head that was screaming for her to enjoy what Peggy was showing for as long as she could.
Angie sighed as she headed back to the kitchen. It wasn't as if she didn't like what she saw – hell, she loved it – but Angie wasn't sure she could control herself much longer if Peggy didn't get into something a little less… restrictive. And transparent. And…
"Breathe, Angie," she told herself as she entered the kitchen. "Breathe."
Peggy looked up from where she stood with the mop. "What's that?"
"Oh, nothing," Angie assured her, laying the towels on the counter and extending the dry shirt toward Peggy. "Here, thought you might want this."
Peggy flashed Angie a grateful smile. "How thoughtful! Let me just finish up here, and then I'll change," she said leaning back over and flicking the mop back and forth across the floor.
Angie stood for a few agonizing moments, watching as Peggy's arms flexed with each pass. She valiantly tried to ignore the bounce that also accompanied each movement, but after another minute passed, she finally spoke up.
"Um, you sure you don't maybe wanna', I dunno, change shirts? Now?"
"In a minute, Angie," Peggy said. "It seems rather silly to put on something dry when I'm trying to clean up a mess."
Angie bit her lower lip in frustration and stared at the thin white shirt that now clung to her roommate's curves even more. She could clearly see the outline of Peggy's nipples, and it was simply too much for her to take.
"Ah Pegs, look," she piped up again and took a step forward. "I don't quite know how to say this, but you're ah… well…"
Peggy halted in mid-sweep and glanced up at Angie with faint irritation. "Oh honestly, Angie, what seems to be the problem?"
Angie's eyes involuntarily flickered to Peggy's breasts. It took a minute for the British's woman to follow her gaze, but when she did and realized what all was on display, her lips parted around a surprised, "Oh, dear."
Turning her head, Angie cleared her throat and thrust out her hand, dry shirt dangling loosely from her fingers. "Um, yeah. So, uh, shirt?" she coughed.
Peggy snatched the material from her and tossed it on the nearby cabinet. "Don't turn around," Peggy instructed, and Angie heard the distinct sound of wet fabric being pulled away from skin.
There was silence for a moment and then Angie heard a muffled, "Bloody hell."
Angie stifled a laugh. "Problems?"
When nothing was said, Angie ventured, "Peggy? Everything okay?"
"No, it's not, actually," Peggy sighed. "I'm afraid I require your help."
Angie turned and her mouth fell open at the sight that greeted her. Peggy had managed to remove her shirt partway, but it was obvious the combination of wet fabric on the already tight shirt had been problematic for her. Angie fought to stifle both a laugh and strangled moan as Peggy stood before her, arms poking out from one hole while the rest of the shirt covered her head, obscuring her face but leaving Angie with a front-row seat to the Peggy-Carter-in-a-lacy-black-bra show that left little to the imagination.
Angie took a moment to silently congratulate her imagination for its rather accurate portrayal of Peggy's best assets and then took another moment to blatantly ogle said assets as they strained precariously against the satin cups covering them. Then, the reality of the situation she was in hit her, and she felt her heart begin to pound inside her chest.
"Oh, for cryin' out loud, English, are you trying to kill me?!" she practically wailed.
"I can assure you this is not an ideal situation for me, either," Peggy hissed, but the words lost some of their impact with a shirt wrapped around her head.
Gritting her teeth, Angie stomped over and gripped the offending material, roughly yanking it up until the material slid over Peggy's head, and she was finally free.
Shaking her head, the British woman spared Angie a grateful glance. "Thank you, Angie. That was rather uncomfortable." She reached over and retrieved the dry shirt from the counter and looked back at Angie.
"I must admit, this is somewhat embarrassing," she chuckled, holding the shirt in her hands. "I can't believe I actually–"
"Peggy, I swear to God if you don't put that shirt on right now, I'm going to strangle you," Angie almost screamed.
Peggy stepped back, apparently startled by the vehemence in her voice, but honestly, how did the woman expect her to act when she was standing there, half naked, in their kitchen?
She watched as Peggy glanced down at her partially exposed chest and then at the shirt in her head. When she looked back up at Angie's pained expression, her friend burst into laughter. "Oh honestly, Angie," she chastised. "We're both women here, and it's not as if I don't have anything you don't."
Angie cocked her head and gave Peggy an assessing stare, pointedly dragging her eyes down to Peggy's ample chest and lingering there for a moment, before meeting her gaze again. "You got a lot more than I could ever dream of havin', Pegs," she informed her, and felt gratified when a faint hint of pink bloomed on the other woman's cheeks. "Now," she continued, "ya' gonna' put that shirt on any time today, or do you plan on standing around in your skivvies for the rest of the afternoon?"
Peggy mumbled something Angie didn't quite catch, although she was pretty sure she heard the words "bossy" and "Italian" in there somewhere, but hastily slipped the shirt over her head and pulled it down until it finally covered her toned stomach.
"Satisfied?" she asked with a roll of her eyes.
"Hardly," Angie scoffed, "But that's not the point." She walked over and picked up the wrench that lay on the floor where Peggy had dropped it earlier and deposited it in the open toolbox. When she turned back around, her mouth was drawn into a tight line. "You're calling a plumber, and you can just close your mouth, 'cause you don't get a say in it."
She took the toolbox in her arms and headed for the kitchen door. "I'm gonna' go put this back up where it goes, and then I'm going upstairs to take a shower. A cold one. When I come back down, you're gonna' be anywhere but under that sink. Got it?" she asked, leveling Peggy with a glower that brooked no room for argument.
Peggy stared at her for a minute before finally bobbing her head up and down, eyes wide in surprise.
"Good," Angie said.
Turning on her heel, she left the kitchen, walking away in measured steps. A satisfied smirk curled the corners of her mouth when she heard Peggy's clipped tones asking the operator for what was, undoubtedly, a connection to a plumber. She figured she probably had at least an hour before the man showed up, and she planned on making good use of it.
Angie had told Peggy she was going to take a cold shower, and that hadn't been a lie. She was. Right after she finished a long, hot one, with the radio in her room cranked up on high, so she could feverishly work at banishing the swirling emotions coiled deep inside her.
And one of these days, Angie decided as she made her way up the stairs, she was gonna' figure out a way to get Peggy actively involved in the whole process instead of simply being just the catalyst.