New York is a new and exciting place. It's loud and brash, and somewhat uncaring yet compassionate in a way that Angie Martinelli quickly finds herself falling in love with. She loves its busyness – she loves that it's dirty and rough and, well, big, compared to the suburbs she had previously migrated out of.
She loves her tiny, well-worn apartment. She doesn't have anything against anyone on her floor of the building. She loves the hustle and bustle of the city in the morning (and the afternoon and well into the night).
What she doesn't like, however, is the shitty waitressing gig she managed to score at a corner food joint. The staff is nice and they help her out when she needs it, but some of the people that walk in are rude and ignorant (and it doesn't help that her boss has the employees wear a cute little blue ensemble to ensure authenticity and a little oldies charm).
Angie manages to just ignore the annoying old men that come in an eye her up like a piece of steak in the mornings, but today, she's not having it.
This young man, probably not over the age of thirty, has been trying to talk her into seeing him since he waltzed in here this morning, and while he's an attractive man, Angie isn't having his pushiness nor his disbelief when she politely said she wasn't interested.
Apparently, he isn't getting it through his thick skull that pestering her and harassing her is making him even less and less appealing. If it were up to her, she'd have bashed his head in with a frying pan already. But, she needs the money (rent is not cheap, unfortunately), and she doesn't think she'd be on the job much longer if she murdered one of the customers (despite him being the absolute definition of asshole).
She just has to deliver his check, and he'll be out of her hair.
She has the paper in her hand, puts on the brightest smile she can muster up, and heads over to his table. She thanks him for his business, and is about to turn away when he grips her wrist with considerable force.
She lets out a yelp of surprise and pain; he's causing a scene, but no one seems to be doing anything about it.
"Sir," she says calmly, not wanting to aggravate him, "please let go of me."
He replies with something vindictive about how she was the rude one; how she should have agreed to going out with him, and how it was her own fault that he was being a blistering shit head because of her uniform. He's saying something about how she shouldn't have flirted if she didn't want the attention, when a woman stands up from her stool at the counter and punches him in the face with a perfectly executed maneuver.
"She's not interested, sir." She spits with a British lilt.
Angie would be lying if she wasn't a little turned on by this strange, beautiful, job saving woman.
"You alright…" she peers at her name tag, "Angie?"
"Yeah," she says shakily, "I'm fine; not sure how he's gonna be though." Angie looks to the man on the ground. A few people have crowed around him to see what's happened.
"His nose is definitely broken, but he'll live." The British woman shrugs. Angie takes a moment to assess the man on the ground. His nose is a bloody mess and he won't stop glaring at her. He looks like he's about ready to stand up and say something else terrible to her, when Clara, the manager (and co-owner) comes out and politely tells him to get the hell out of her restaurant before she calls her girlfriend to come and personally drag his ass into the ninth circle of hell.
(Angie can contest; she's met Missy before, and that woman is terrifying in a way that she's never seen before.)
Needless to say, he scurries out the door with a scowl painted across his face and a very broken face.
Clara is quick to give Angie the rest of the day off (despite Angie's blatant protests), and Angie finds herself being escorted out the door and to her apartment by the pretty woman that decked that jackass in the face.
On her journey home, Angie discovers the woman's name is Peggy Carter, she's been in New York for a few years, living with her cousin. She served for a few years in the British military before moving over to America (which is why she threw such a good punch). Her cousin is, apparently, moving to D.C. to train for the CIA or something of the sort, and Peggy explains that she's squatting at her friend Steve's flat until she can find a suitable place for her own.
Somehow, Angie decides that asking a total stranger to be her roommate is a good idea. Somehow, Peggy thinks it is too. By the next week, Angie finds herself neck deep in helping Peggy unpack all her belongings into her guest room.
Over the last two months, Angie's gotten a chance to really get to know Peggy, and well, she may or may not secretly want to make out with her roommate.
It's really kind of pathetic, honestly.
But Peggy is so kind, so willing to listen, so willing to joke around and just be a good friend that Angie really doesn't have the heart to act on how she's feeling.
And it's not like she can just hide from the woman she's living with. So, she sucks it up and continues to flutter about her days as if she's not pining for her roommate who is hot and British and so totally out of her league.
Angie does not, as it turns out, love New York in February. It's cold and miserable and that means everyone's bitterness gets turned up even more, the diner is even more crowded in the morning with people trying to warm up briefly with a cup of coffee before heading off to work, and of course, by default, the heat in her building fucking sucks some serious ass.
Which is how she ended up cuddling with Peggy under the blankets Angie's grandmother crocheted for her before she left for the city in pursue of an acting career (which she still hasn't managed to score.)
Angie actually thinks she's going to die. Peggy's pressed flush against her on the tiny couch by the TV as they're watching Star Trek together. She can feel the huffs of Peggy's breaths against her neck; Angie's eyes are staying pointed in the direction of the television (or at least, she's trying to get them to stay looking in that direction). She's almost positive that if she takes a moment to look down at the woman, she will want to run fingers through her hair in a way that's surely too intimate to be considered platonic.
Angie does not want to ruin a good thing.
Angie doesn't have to worrying about ruining a good thing, because at this moment, Peggy tilts her head so that she's somehow looking Angie in the eye. She's got a gleam of mischief all in her glance, and Angie suddenly finds herself blushing.
"What gives, English?" she asks, surprised to find her voice so steady. Peggy somehow gets her body even closer to Angie's.
"You've got really pretty eyes, Ange."
"I grew 'em myself, thanks" She replies cheekily. This earns a giggle from Peggy and, well, fuck the vibration is felt all through her body.
"No seriously though," Peggy elaborates, "they're the most beautiful shade of blue I've ever seen."
"That sounds fake, but you're a pretty reliable source – secret government job you won't tell me about and all."
"I literally tell you every day I work for SHEILD, what more could you possibly want?" Peggy groans.
"How about the inside scoop on the work place gossip that I totally won't understand but want to know anyway," she rolls her eyes, "like, I don't know, anyone special enough to catch your eye? Hmm, English?"
Angie watches Peggy close her eyes and bite down a smile; it doesn't last long, but Angie pays attention to all things Peggy and is able to catch it.
"C'mon, Peg, if you don't tell me I'll hog the blanket."
"You're already doing that, Angie."
"Doesn't matter!" she sing-songs; Peggy contemplates something quickly, but does eventually crack and give Angie some food for thought.
"So, you know I got this job like, two weeks after I moved in with you; and we'll there's this woman that I've been being blatantly throwing myself at for the last couple months and she's not getting the hint," Peggy runs a hand through her hair and lets out a huff of air in frustration; angie laughs; it's not often she sees Peggy disgruntled like this, "it's very annoying. She's also hogging the blanket despite me doing as she wished, which would be fine, but it's bloody cold in here and I'm freezing my ass off over here."
Angie pinches herself. this isn't real – there is no way in the fresh hell that Peggy Carter has been pining after her. Peggy Carter is smooth as fuck; Peggy Carter lets people know what's on her mind the second she thinks of it. Peggy Carter probably wants to kiss her.
The only coherent thought going through Angie's mind right now is how in the fuck; apparently, she's said that whole bit out loud, and now Peggy's laughing at her and how Angie's being worse than Steve right now. Angie has had about enough of that and decides to be more forward than Peggy's been and kiss her.
Angie sort of feels like her insides have been reduced to hot liquid. Peggy melts into the kiss, and the next thing she knows, Peggy's muttering oh thank God and Angie smacks her gently before kissing her again (and again and again).
Angie hasn't been this happy in a long time.
She feels even happier when Peggy suggests that they move this too her bedroom in fear that the couch might not accommodate what activities she has in mind. After all, Peggy has marvelous ideas (like making a good thing greater, and if kissing Peggy foreshadows how sex with her is going to be, Angie's in for a good night).
i got hit with the cartenelli bus the other day bc fuck i miss Agent Carter and idk i haven't written anything cute about them yet and idk i was just, feeling it.
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