author's note: Important: Please make sure you have read Scarlet Cross and its sequel In Bloom before continuing.

Thank you very much for the wait! The vast majority of you were very keen for the final instalment (?) to this series, so here it is. I hope it exceeds your expectations. This story shall revolve mainly around Angie and Peggy's family, but God knows what else shall happen.

Please do leave kudos and/or feedback! Updates shall be spontaneous, I'm afraid, due to part-time work and University, but this story shall be prioritised.

Until next time!

A Darkling Plain
1.

'I'm afraid it's a little far from the theatre district.'

'I can live with that.'

Anywhere is a little far, what with Howard's cottage being located in the high lands of Scotland. There is nothing for miles, except hills, water, greenery and a vast horizon of mountains, the tips covered in either snow or fog. Scotland possesses an atmosphere impossible to discover in America, and it has been some time since Peggy has ever felt so at home.

The war has deserted them for now. They are not in danger of being attacked by the bombings, and, if anything, this is the safest place one could be. Which works perfectly for Peggy. Safety is a challenge for her, mainly due to her lifestyle and work. However, she is fortunate to have a friend like Howard, even if she's not too sure if his furniture is as "clean" as it appears.

Peggy doesn't even want to imagine where and how Howard has been in this lavish home.

Despite his wealth and determination to show off said wealth, the cottage he's given to Peggy and Angie is small. Two bedrooms, a small bathroom on the ground floor, a cosy kitchen, and a back room, which Peggy guesses is the living room. It is snug, well-kept, and hidden.

Exactly the type of property she was seeking.

Hated fathers and deranged Nazis will not find them here.

'If the occasion calls for it, on the other hand––' Mister Jarvis says, '––the two of you will have an escape route.' Hitting the floorboard with the heel of his foot, Mister Jarvis hears a hollow knock. He crouches down and removes a part of the floorboard. 'Climb down here, walk through the tunnel Mister Stark created, and you'll find yourself outside. A decent, if not slightly distasteful, getaway.'

'Quite, Mister Jarvis, but it is very much my intention that such escapes routes will not be of use.'

'Of course, Miss Carter. Might I also add that Mister Stark has left me at your disposal, so to speak. If there is anything the two of you may require, I shall be close by. My wife and I inhabit a home several miles away.'

'Thank you. You're very kind.'

Mister Jarvis smiles, and bows his head out of respect, before turning away and leaving both women alone. Now that they have their privacy, Angie drops her bag and clasps her hands together in excitement.

'This is amazing, Pegs!' Bouncing in her step, she hurries over to Peggy and pulls at her sleeve, 'I want us to live here for the rest of our lives!'

Peggy can't help but grin at Angie's enthusiasm. 'You never know, dear. Your wish may very well come true.'

'Oh, you must take me to all the sites in Scotland! I gotta climb at least one of the mountains too.' She releases Peggy's sleeve, proceeding towards one of the windows. She points out at the view, 'Like that one! Christ, English, I'd never miss the theatre at all with a place like this.'

'I doubt that. You'll gradually grow accustomed to it all, darling. I'd hate for you to be rid of your hobbies.'

'As if that's gonna happen. You should stop worryin' over me, Pegs. You've done enough.'

'There is still much more for me to do.'

'But ya can stay a while, can't you?' Angie forgets about the view, now focussed entirely on Peggy. 'You don't have to run right back to the war again. Ya gotta have some time with me first.'

'I will, I promise. A few days.'

'Then you'll come back?'

'I don't have any other plans, Angie.' Peggy smiles warmly. 'In fact, my only plan is to keep you safe.'

Angie flushes. 'You should know by now, English, that I can take a'myself.'

'I know, but, even so, that doesn't stop me from worrying.'

'Hey, believe it or not, I worry about you too. Doesn't mean I can keep you all to myself, though.' She twitches a little smile; reluctant. 'Just––I'm just one small person, Pegs; can't have this whole place alone, y'know? I need you here with me.' She inhales, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve. 'Ain't got a home without you.'

'You're sweet. The feeling is mutual, dear. I think that's why I wanted to take you here; take you to England with me. Here, I know you'll be all right.' Peggy stops herself from speaking any further. She could babble on as to why she chose England, Scotland to be exact, but her purpose is pretty clear.

She comes over, an arm wrapping around Angie's small waist. They embrace each other, and, for a moment, Peggy is absolutely certain everything will go as she wants it to. Finally, things seem to be looking up. Finally. She has Angie, and she's managed to drag her away from her abusive father. And even though she's scared Dmitri may or may not somehow discover where his daughter has fled to, at least she has the security in knowing that Angie will always be too far for him to reach.

Perhaps Angie's wish will happen. Perhaps, when the war is finished, when England wins, victorious and powerful as it is, Peggy can return to Angie and that will be that. No more battles, no more wars. Just themselves and their small cottage, with only the mountains to keep them company.

It all sounds like a dream.

Too perfect to be true.

But she hangs onto that dream; if Peggy has to hang onto anything in order to keep going, it's knowing Angie is waiting for her. That even though Steve is gone, she isn't alone. She is still loved; still cared.

The ring, originally given to Angie by her potential husband, is still in Peggy's possession. Neither she or Angie have the intention to remove it until it is absolutely necessary to. Although the ring's purpose was to indeed promise Angie to a man, it's purpose has changed considerably.

It is still a promise, but a promise to come home.

Remind Peggy that she must come home.

Angie dreads that, dreads when they'll have to depart, but she refuses to delve into that right now. Peggy is here. She won't waste a second mourning over the fact she won't be here for much longer.

Together, they unpack the small amount of belongings they have. It's a surprisingly soothing manoeuvre. Angie is a creative soul, and chooses where most things should be placed. While her father was absent, she did manage to sneak back into her apartment and take a few things which belong to her.

The photograph of she and her late mother, which Peggy hasn't seen in some time, catches Peggy's eye and, without asking, she props the photograph on one of the mantelpieces in the living room.

When Angie catches her doing that, she endures a rush of affection for the woman. Peggy, out of the blue, asks if Angie would like any tea to which she confirms. Angie pauses, and follows Peggy into the kitchen. She wraps her arms around her while Peggy fills the kettle, and Angie presses herself against Peggy's back.

'You never talk to me about your parents.'

Peggy stiffens. 'I suppose not.'

'Where are they?'

'Deceased.'

Angie feels her insides go cold. She squeezes Peggy. 'I'm sorry.'

'It happened a few years ago; they were killed in the London bombings. My sister, however, survived. I have yet to write to her that we are here.' Peggy cocks a brow. 'Angie, you should meet her.'

There's something about meeting Peggy's sister which puts Angie slightly on edge. 'How am I gonna introduce myself?' She loosens her grip. 'Pegs, I don't think your sister's gonna like it if I say we're involved.'

'And why not?'

'Well…' Angie is stumped.

Peggy chuckles. 'Oh, darling, you must calm down.' She turns, and brushes the back of her hand across Angie's cheek. 'My sister doesn't take much interest in the gender of my partners. She's aware of my "scandals", as she so puts them. Just be yourself around her; she'll take to you warmly. I did, after all.'

'Yeah, but that's different.'

'Angie. I'd never introduce you to somebody who would mean any harm. Have a little faith in me, dear.'

'I do! Peggy, I do!' Angie grabs her hand, 'I've just lived my whole life knowing that I'm damaged and can't be fixed. I can't really imagine anybody else thinkin' otherwise; I ain't exactly likeable in that regard, Pegs.'

'It doesn't matter if you like women or men, Angie. What matters is who you are, as a person. I didn't develop feelings for you because of which gender you felt more affectionate towards. I developed feelings for you because you are a generous, kind and beautiful young woman. That's all that matters. To me, anyway.'

Angie pulls at the lapels of Peggy's jacket and kisses her. 'You are the only thing that matters to me now,' she mumbles, 'I can't lose you.'

'You won't.' Peggy smiles faintly. 'As long as I don't lose you.'

'Where would I go?'

'I'm not sure. All I know is that I am fear of you leaving everyday. Maybe not purposefully. I don't want you to be taken away from me.'

'That's not gonna happen again.' Angie's fingers delicately brush passed Peggy's ring. 'We promised, remember?'

'I remember.' Peggy's downcasts her gaze, and sorts through her mind the things Angie has said. One sentence sticks out the most. 'Please, don't ever call yourself "damaged" or "broken" or anything like that again.' Angie blinks, and narrows her brows. 'It hurts, when you say such awful things about yourself. You are the very opposite of damaged.'

'I'm sorry,' Angie breathes, 'It's a hard habit to break.'

'But you aren't,' Peggy insists, softening her voice. She inches closer, pressing her lips to Angie's cheek. 'You are the opposite.' She trails her lips to her jawline, breath hot and sweet against Angie's skin. 'Perfect.' She kisses Angie there, lightly scattering several kisses down her neck. Angie's eyes flutter closed, and she lets out a small moan. 'I know damaged, darling. I have seen it. You are not that.'

'Kiss me. Peggy.'

Of course Peggy obliges. They kiss passionately, and even though they are more than well acquainted with each other, every time Peggy's hands smooth down Angie's back, up her arms, hands squeezing her shoulders, Angie is lost in her desire and love for this woman.

It is the sort of emotion, the sort of sensation, Angie will never get tired of. There are those nights when they do nothing but kiss each other for hours, and there is not a single second in which Angie takes it for granted. Even when they're not touching, simply gazing at each other, or in each other's company, Angie is the happiest girl alive, and she cannot believe her luck that somebody, a wonder like Peggy, found her. How fortunate she is that Peggy walked into her life when she did.

She could love this woman until her last breath.

And she will.

She knows that. Whatever happens, Angie will never stop loving Peggy, even if her love for this woman ensured her fate.

Together, they finish unpacking, and when Howard's cottage is their own, Peggy tells Angie the names of some of the mountains; how tall they are. What gorgeous places they should visit here in Scotland, where Angie should travel to when Peggy is absent. They don't delve into the latter topic for very long, and Angie even interrupts Peggy's explanation with multiple kisses.

Peggy sees the telegram first, her name scribbled onto the paper, her alleged death announced in cold, blunt words.

'You kept it,' she says, surprised.

Angie refuses to even look at the telegram. 'I thought about throwing it away, but––I don't wanna jinx anything, Pegs. I just want it gone; I don't wanna see it unless I really have to.'

'I understand.' Peggy returns the telegram into its bag, 'I'm sorry you ever received the damned thing.'

'I don't want another.' The corner of her mouth twitches, and a split second of agony passes her expression. 'I can't let you die again. Otherwise I'd have to follow you there.'

Peggy shudders. 'If I died, I'd hope you would keep going.'

'I think people like that do exist,' Angie shakes her head, 'But, I don't think I'm one of 'em.' Tears sting her eyes, and she struggles to hold back a cry. 'Pegs, I don't wanna talk about this anymore.'

'We don't have to.' Peggy widens her eyes, 'Angie, I'm sorry.' She retrieves a handkerchief from her pocket and wipes Angie's tears away. The younger woman flinches slightly at her forwardness, and blinks up at her. Their gaze holds. Peggy tries to smile, but trying only makes it worse, and her voice wavers. 'We don't have to talk anymore.'

Words have never done her any favours.

Angie raises herself and they're kissing again, but this time with no intention to stop. They kiss and hold each other, trapped in a fierce embrace neither wish to break. Angie is confident and warm in her approach. Her fingers rake through Peggy's hair, allowing a few bobby pins to clatter to the floorboard. She exhales, arching her back at Peggy's lips on her neck, hands undoing the buttons to her cardigan.

They find each other, move into each other, kiss until their lips are sore.

Hidden away in their small cottage, they both consummate what they have together. They consummate their love three times before reaching the bed, and it's gentle, tempered, and soft.

Everything is how they've always wanted it to be, and this fulfilment, this home they've offered one another, is plenty.