Peggy Carter was going out of her bloody mind. Ever since The Incident – she refused to call it anything else – happened, she'd been a prisoner, first at the hospital and now here at her and Angie's home in the mansion Howard Stark had basically bequeathed to them after she'd helped clear his name of treason.
If she were to be totally honest, it was galling to admit how close to death she'd come this time. The assailant's knife had narrowly missed her lung, instead nicking her pulmonary artery, resulting in a rather massive amount of blood loss. Of course, she didn't know it at the time, as she had passed out fairly quickly once it happened. But in her more lucid moments during a two-week hospital stay, she'd managed to gather the facts from Angie, who practically lived in the room until the hospital staff forcibly sent her home each night, and from Jarvis – sweet, doting Jarvis – who ensured she and Angie were well stocked with tea and foodstuffs from Anna to help offset the terrible gruel that passed for cuisine at Bellevue Hospital.
When the doctor finally cleared her to return home, Peggy was forced to reside in one of the bedrooms on the lower floor – the doctor insisted she avoid stairs for at least a week, maybe longer. Although every room in Stark's mansion was well appointed, Peggy missed being around the familiar furnishings of her room.
In the beginning, the downstairs confinement wasn't so awful – after all, she spent the first few days alternating between sleeping and talking to Angie, who made it a point to sit with her throughout the day. Peggy had initially protested, especially when she discovered Angie had missed three – three! – auditions simply because she refused to leave the older woman by herself, but Angie brooked no argument and resolutely informed her she was staying at home.
Secretly, Peggy could admit she enjoyed the younger woman's calming presence. There were several times Peggy had stirred from a fitful sleep to feel Angie's hand resting gently on her forehead or Angie's fingers sweetly stroking her disheveled curls. It was comforting, and although Peggy wasn't sure what she'd done to deserve such fondness, she savored the affection so freely given.
By the beginning of the second week, though, Peggy – who was able to move around a bit easier – was growing restless. After furtively glancing around to ensure Angie was nowhere nearby, she sat up and threw the covers to the side of her bed. She'd just managed to get one bare foot on the floor when a shrill voice rang out from the doorway.
"Margaret Carter! What do you think you're doing?!"
Peggy scowled. Damn! Honestly, how the woman managed to thwart her at every turn was unbelievable! Once again, the thought that Angie missed her true calling as a headmistress flitted through Peggy's mind.
"I'm trying to escape this prison you call a bedroom so I can sit in my office for a short while," she grumbled, swinging her other foot toward the ground.
"You'll do no such thing, Peggy," Angie informed her, scurrying to her side.
Peggy rolled her eyes and sighed. "Angie…"
But Angie was having none of it. She placed a hand on Peggy's chest and forcibly pushed her back down to the pillows, eyes blazing.
"I will physically tie you this bed if I have to! In case you hadn't noticed, English – you were stabbed, for God's sake!"
Peggy shut her eyes, wincing at her roommate's blistering tirade. "Honestly, Angie. I'm fine."
"Sure you are, and I'm Florence Nightingale!" Angie retorted, eyes narrowed and arms folded tightly across her chest.
Peggy gave her a nonplussed stare, but the Italian spitfire shot one of her own right back at her and continued undeterred.
"The point being, English, neither of those statements is true. You're hurt. I know it kills you to admit weakness, but there's blood dripping down your side, because you're too stubborn to stay put and let your body heal." She shook her head in exasperation. "What's it gonna' take for you to realize you're not in the best of shape, girl?"
"It's not the first time I've been stabbed," Peggy muttered petulantly.
Angie shot her a look of pure murder. "I swear to God, Pegs, if you say 'and it won't be the last,' I will suffocate you with your pillow." She threw her hands in the air and scowled. "Quit being so stubborn!"
Peggy's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."
Angie crossed her arms and glared back. "Try me."
Peggy grumbled something about tiny Italian busybodies sticking their noses into other people's business, but settled back down beneath the covers as Angie continued to glower at her. While she didn't really think Angie would resort to violence, she was angrier than Peggy had ever seen her before. Why tempt fate?
"You bloody idiot," Angie muttered, borrowing one of Peggy's phrases. Clearly, living with a British roommate had rubbed off on her. Peggy momentarily wondered if she had incorporated any Italian phrases into her vocabulary and made a mental note to research that later. She watched as Angie lowered herself to the edge of the bed and sat beside her.
"Look, I know it's killing you to realize you're not invincible," Angie sighed, "but you gotta' let people help you, English. And by people, I mean me. Are you listening? Even the great Peggy Carter needs assistance sometimes."
Peggy groaned. "I'm not an invalid, Angie."
Angie leaned over and tweaked her nose, taking Peggy by surprise. "Actually, you kinda' are, Pegs."
"How many times do I have to assure you, I'm–" she broke off her protest as a large yawn escaped her lips.
"Tired," Angie smirked.
Peggy scowled, realizing she'd inadvertently given her roommate the upper hand.
Angie stood and gave Peggy a pointed look. "You need to sleep. When I come back to check on you, you'd better be in the bed, sleeping. No escape attempts."
Peggy watched as Angie retreated from the room. Honestly, the waitress was one of the pushiest people she'd ever met, and coming from an office full of government agents, that was truly saying something. But now that Peggy thought about it – another yawn fell from her lips – she was a bit tired. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to close her eyes for just a little while.
When she next opened her eyes, the room was dark. She must've slept longer than she realized. Peggy contemplated making her way to the bathroom, but just as she was about to remove the blanket covering her, she heard the doorknob to the bedroom door turn. Quickly lying back down, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep as Angie's footfalls drew nearer to the bed.
A moment later, Peggy heard a relieved sigh echo throughout the quiet room. She felt Angie's fingers gently brush a limp curl away from her face before sensing the young woman leaning down over here. Only her years of training as an Agent kept her from jumping when she felt Angie's warm lips softly press against her forehead.
"Sweet dreams, English," Angie tenderly murmured before straightening.
Peggy couldn't help the soft sigh that escaped her lips when Angie's fingertips ghosted over Peggy's hand, but apparently the younger woman didn't notice. She followed the sound of Angie's heels softly clacking as she made her way out of the bedroom and opened her eyes only after she heard the heavy door close with a soft thud.
She lay there for several minutes, silently replaying what had just occurred. Peggy felt a pang of guilt course through her as she realized how difficult she'd been these past few days. The tenderness and concern she'd heard in Angie's voice only amplified that feeling. While Peggy had been wallowing in self-pity, she'd neglected to consider how all of this was affecting Angie.
She'd been a terrible roommate and an even worse friend and Peggy knew she needed to make it up to Angie – do something to let her know how much she appreciated the concern and affection she'd been shown.
She closed her eyes and smiled. Tomorrow. Everything would be different come tomorrow morning.