Originally posted on Ao3. Posting it here because I'm bored and need something to do!
"Please come home."
Peggy's fingers clenched the receiver; her breath caught in her lungs like a mouse in a trap. She'd answered the phone with more pep than usual, her painted nails tapping Reveille into the manila folder on her desk. As Angie's voice shattered like good china, they froze, incapable of even a funeral dirge.
"What's wrong?" Peggy's chair squeaked as she surged out of it, and the phone cable wrapped about her as she spun toward her hanging coat and hat.
"Just… just come home," said Angie, and the line clicked dead.
The phone clattered to the floor and the agents of the SSR whirled at the noise; by the time they turned back to their desks, the front door had long since slammed behind Peggy's heels.
She swore as another cab hurtled past her and turned her glare to the next one, daring it to pass her by. It crawled to the curb and she yanked its door open, throwing herself into the backseat. She spat out her address like a hail of gunfire and anchored her fists in her lap.
New York rolled past, pedestrians and lampposts and buildings streaking through her vision. Peggy stared, teeth grinding, the shards of Angie's voice rattling in her head with each jolt of the taxi beneath her.
"You okay, lady?" asked the driver, his eyes peeking at her in the mirror, his bushy eyebrows raised in question.
"No," she said, returning her gaze to the window.
Her hands shook as she found her key, and her heart thudded against her ribs like a 12-gauge slug.
"Angie?" She rocketed into the house, slamming the door behind her. "Angie, where are you?"
Dropping her purse to the floor and kicking off her heels, she hurried from room to room, choking on her own pulse as each one lay empty. "Angie, please," she said, palm catching a newborn sob before it could break free. Her eyes squeezed closed and her fingernails ripped tracks into the nearest doorjamb.
Those fingers curled into a fist, slamming against the wood, and as her knuckles throbbed she turned away, hurtling toward the front of the house once more.
"Her mother's…" she muttered, arms stiff and swinging at her sides. "Must be… called from there… I'll murder anyone who…"
The front door creaked.
Her feet carried her to the foyer before she could think, and then she stood, heart twisting, pattering like it did not dare make a sound. Angie shut the door behind her, set her purse on the ground and turned to Peggy.
"Hi," said Peggy.
"Hi," said Angie, and her face crumbled, shoulders shaking, and Peggy's arms looped around her.
A clock ticked. Angie sobbed, pressed into Peggy's shoulder, tears blotting against Peggy's jacket. Peggy rubbed her back, pressed a kiss to her temple, but the words racing through her head found no exit, her mouth thick with worry.
Angie paused, drawing whooping breaths, and Peggy pulled back. "Do you want to sit down?"
When Angie nodded, Peggy anchored Angie to her side and led her, step by step, to the nearest couch. They sat side-by-side and Angie leaned in, temple resting on Peggy's shoulder, and burst out in tears again.
"My dear," said Peggy, palm surfing the crests of Angie's shoulder blades, "what on Earth happened?"
"She-found-out." Angie curled, elbows on her knees, face in her hands. "Oh God."
Peggy waited for the stream of unintelligible Italian to end.
"Who did? What did she find out?"
Angie jerked beneath her like a cat surprised from sleep, whirling to face Peggy. Her eyes swelled, wet with tears, pink and puffy. "I... I can't tell you."
"Angie..."
Angie shook her head, burying her face in her arms again.
Peggy slid from the couch to her knees in front of Angie, working her hands through the tangle of hair and limbs to encircle Angie's wrists. "Angie," she said. "Please look at me."
Tears burned in her eyes as Angie obeyed, peeking at Peggy through the curtain of her curls. Peggy breathed, her lungs shivering, and her thumb brushed the inside of Angie's wrist. "You can tell me anything. I'll take your secrets to the grave, and I will never, ever judge you."
Angie sniffed. "Yeah, you will. I'm a freak."
Peggy's eyes narrowed and her brows curled. "Who told you that? Your mother?"
"Her. Everyone. Me. If I tell you... you'll think so, too."
Angie tried to pull away but Peggy squeezed, drawing Angie's hand to her and clasping it between her own. "Let me make my own judgments, Ms. Martinelli. You owe me that much."
The clock ticked. Angie resisted Peggy's grip again, but Peggy held firm, and Angie sighed.
The clock ticked.
"I'm... I'm a queer, Peg."
She held Peggy's gaze, breaths tumbling through her open lips, fingers tightening in Peggy's grasp. Peggy's heart burst like gunfire in her chest and in her ears.
"Oh, Angie," she said, pulling Angie down and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. "Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry you ever thought I would judge you for something like that."
Angie's hands floated in the space between them and she whispered into Peggy's shoulder. "You... you don't think I'm..."
"Heavens, no," said Peggy, pulling back to frame Angie's face in her palms. "Absolutely not. You are not a freak. You aren't broken. You may be a sinner, but there isn't a person in the world who can claim to be otherwise."
Angie's fingers brushed Peggy's knuckles and curled around her hands, and tears bubbled in her eyes again. She launched herself at Peggy and seized her, falling to her knees with her. Peggy caught her and held her, and Angie burrowed into the curve of Peggy's neck and Peggy rocked with her while Angie's breath burned her skin.
"What'd I ever do to deserve a friend like you?" asked Angie when she pulled away, scraping away the tracks laid down by her tears.
"You were yourself," said Peggy, lifting them both back to the couch. "You smiled at me when my mind was troubled and you insisted on befriending me despite the fact that common sense should have told you to stay far, far away from me."
Angie laughed, the sound muffled as through molasses, and Peggy fished out a handkerchief for her. Angie blew her nose, eyes twinkling over the fabric. "You needed somebody, English. And I figured… well, I figured it might as well be me."
"And I'm forever glad you did." Peggy wrapped her arm around Angie, and Angie laid her head on Peggy's shoulder.
Silence settled around them, punctured only by the distant clock and the sounds of living: falling breaths and shifting clothes, the tactile sound of beating hearts. Then Angie's breaths died quicker, harsher, and she turned her face into Peggy again, and Peggy's once-dried jacket grew wet with tears once more.
"Her eyes," said Angie, shaking her head into the fabric, "I ain't never seen hate like that before. I never… she looked at me like I wasn't even human."
Peggy's teeth ground and her skin snapped tight over her temples, blood beating beneath like a war drum.
"She said I ain't her kid anymore. Said she didn't raise me to be like that, wished she knew sooner so she coulda… coulda fixed me."
"That," said Peggy, staring straight ahead, "is bloody ridiculous." With her free hand, she dragged burgeoning tears away from her eyes. "You are a wonderful, loving person and she should consider herself lucky to have you as a daughter."
Angie raised her face to Peggy, sniffing. "Thanks. That's sweet."
"It's the truth," said Peggy, attempting to raise the corners of her mouth in a smile. The result was a grimace, as Angie faltered and could not contain her sobs.
Peggy sighed, pressed a kiss to the crown of Angie's head, and led her from the couch to her room. Angie made a beeline for the bed, slipping beneath the covers, fully clothed. Peggy switched off the light, and her fingers had just brushed the doorknob when Angie's voice shivered over her.
"Don't go."
Peggy's fist tightened around the doorknob but refused to move further; she felt as though she had lived her life underwater and now, suddenly, was expected to survive without its buoyancy.
"Please?" whispered Angie, and Peggy turned, just a little, opening herself to Angie, to the woman collapsing under the weight of her grief. Like a foolhardy voyager in a science fiction novel, caught within the radius of Angie's sorrow, she shifted toward the bed, steps swelling as she drew closer, until the blankets billowed in welcome and her body slipped around Angie's.
"Is this all right?" Peggy's words broke like the skirt of the sea on Angie's skin, Angie's loose curls dancing in the current. Her hand rested on Angie's arm.
Angie shifted, forcing her fingers between Peggy's and drawing them over her stomach, holding Peggy's palm flat over her shirt. "I'm okay if you are."
Peggy snuggled closer, eyes drifting closed. "Never better," she said.
She awoke to rumpled clothes and an empty bed.
After making the bed, drawing the sheets so tight she could—and did—bounce a dime on them, she headed to her own room to change. She neither saw nor heard Angie as she walked, but a glance out the window showed that the car Angie had appropriated from Howard had not gone anywhere.
She fixed herself a cup of tea in the kitchen, then wandered the house, peeking into each room. The tea warmed her fingers as fog settled outside, rolling against the windows and painting the grass with a layer of dew.
At the back end of the house, a pair of double doors opened onto the lawn. Stone steps stretched toward the grass, and Peggy's shoes clicked as she stood over Angie.
"I wondered where you went," said Peggy, settling onto the step. Angie, a bathrobe draped over her body, pulled her knees into her chest.
"I didn't sleep so good. Woke up early. Had to wander. You know."
"Yes," said Peggy. She took a sip of tea; Angie's coffee mug sat empty on the step beside her feet.
"I keep thinkin' it was just a dream." Angie's eyes slipped to Peggy, then back to the fog-coated landscape. "Ma findin' out, Ma yellin', goin'... goin' home and turnin' into a puddle in front of you."
Peggy sighed. "I wish I could tell you it was all a nightmare."
"Thanks." Angie nudged Peggy with her elbow. "It's all right, though. It doesn't feel so bad today." She ran her fingers through her hair, straightening her sleep-mussed curls.
"It will get better. And you'll always have my support."
"I know." Angie played with the ties on her bathrobe. "Sorry for last night, though."
Peggy raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Angie drew the robe tight and pressed her face into her knees, half-hiding it behind her folded arms. "I... I dragged you into bed with me. I shouldn't've done it. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."
"Angie," said Peggy, brows furrowing. "No. You didn't force me to do anything. In fact, I'd like to see you try."
It was Angie's turn to let her eyebrows leap, and Peggy shook her head as color bled into her cheeks. She shrugged. "You're my dearest friend. I told you I wouldn't judge you, and I meant that. This is part of you, and it's as natural as the color of your eyes. You..." Peggy blinked; Angie peered up at her over her arms, eyes wide and shimmering with the first mist of tears. Peggy gulped.
"You will never," she said, breaths even and identical, pulse held firm at her resting average, "ever, make me feel uncomfortable."
She dragged her gaze back to the lawn, and like a snapping dog loosed from a chain, her heart leapt into action and her breaths shook like the bars of a mad prisoner's cage.
Then Angie leaned in, resting her head on Peggy's shoulder, and the motor inside Peggy's chest revved and shifted into a gear she hadn't known existed.
"Thanks," said Angie.
"Of course," said Peggy, then, in a whisper, "I am too."
She felt Angie shift on her shoulder, felt her turn her face upward, imagined the line of her jaw and the curve of her lips as she parsed Peggy's words.
"What?"
Peggy squirmed. "I am, too. Attracted to women."
Angie pulled away, squinting. "You are?"
"I am."
"Huh." Angie looked her up and down. "I gotta say, I never would've guessed."
"Most people don't."
"Anyone else know?" Angie settled back on Peggy's shoulder, fingers slipping out from under the sleeve of her bathrobe to rest on Peggy's forearm.
"Howard. Some acquaintances from my past. Honestly, it doesn't usually matter. I hardly have time for a relationship."
Angie laughed. "You'd waste your whole paycheck on 'sorry I stayed late at the office' flowers."
"Exactly." Peggy chuckled and squeezed Angie's hand. "I make for a terrible girlfriend."
"I didn't say that. I think you'd be all right... you don't think there's some girl out there who'd be happy to be kissin' you every day?"
Peggy bit her lip; something bubbled in her stomach and for a moment, she felt lighter than air. "No, I don't. Why?" Her mouth moved, words tumbling out before her mind could catch up. "Are you volunteering?"
Angie's fingers froze, then thawed, and she pulled her hand out of Peggy's grip even as she sank deeper into her side. "I shouldn't."
"I... of course. I'm so sorry, Angie, I shouldn't have said that. I hope this doesn't make you feel uncomfortable, I-"
A hand anchored itself over her mouth, and her words crashed into it, dying without a sound.
"Shut up, English. You talk too much." Angie pulled her palm away, and the rest of her followed; she watched as Peggy caught her breath. "I shouldn't, but... God, if you asked, I couldn't say no."
She looked at Peggy, head dipped to the ground but her eyes lifted, teeth sinking into her lip, and Peggy forgot to breathe.
"You couldn't?"
"I'm only human. No girl in her right mind could say no to you."
Peggy reached out, her fingers finding Angie's, knitting them together. "Flatterer."
"That's what I was going for." She glanced at their woven hands, grinned, and lifted Peggy's knuckles to her lips, eyes holding Peggy's as skin met skin. "So?"
"So?" Peggy blinked.
"So..." Angie rolled her eyes. "Are you asking?"
"Yes," whispered Peggy, and her fingers tightened around Angie's, and her body leaned in, a victim of Angie's gravity.
And Angie mirrored her, grin spreading as their noses bumped, as their lips brushed without closure. "Good."
Then Angie was there, right there. Their lips searched and found. Peggy's fingers slipped behind Angie's neck, her thumb drifting over the line of Angie's jaw.
Peggy shifted closer. Their legs brushed. Breaths snapped between them like tiny sonic booms as they broke apart and rushed back together.
When they slowed, when Angie pulled away from the vice of Peggy's teeth with a grin, they leaned in, each of them a pillar supporting the other. Angie tracked the ridges on the back of Peggy's hand, and Peggy mapped the rise and fall of Angie's collarbone.
"I wasn't joking before," said Angie into the din of racing hearts and whirring minds.
"Hm?" said Peggy.
"The flowers. The 'sorry I stayed late' flowers."
Peggy's fingers crept along the curve of Angie's neck. "I never pictured you to be a flowers sort of girl." Peggy's lips followed the newly marked trail.
Angie gasped. "I'm not."
Grinning into the shivers beneath her lips, Peggy hummed. "Hmm. Well, I suppose I could be counted on for a bottle of 'forgive me, darling' schnapps."
With a laugh, Angie captured Peggy's lips again. "I'm likin' the sound of this arrangement, English."
"Yes," said Peggy. "I am, too."
A/N: My wife-to-be just came out to her mother and it went poorly. I needed to write something to deal with my anger and worry. But I still wanted this to end on a note of hope. In reality, it seems, this sort of thing lingers and hurts for a while. But it's getting better.