Angie had initially begun waiting for Peggy to return home when they both lived at the Griffith, and noticed when Peggy had shown up at breakfast the next day sporting a fat lip and a bruised eye Angie could clearly see even under the meticulously applied makeup. Peggy hadn't answered her door the evening before when Angie knocked before bedtime, and then later, Angie could've sworn she heard a window opening and closing outside her own. After that, Angie made a point to make sure her friend arrived home safely every evening, regardless of the hour.
Once Angie and Peggy began living together in Howard Stark's penthouse and Angie knew what Peggy really did for a living, her concern only increased and she took to waiting downstairs in the library or keeping her bedroom door pushed open until she heard the telltale squeak of the front door opening signaling Peggy's safe return.
If she was in the library whenever she heard the key in the front door, she scurried upstairs from the library to her room and slipped beneath her covers, pretending to sleep until she heard Peggy's door close next to hers. It was only then she allowed herself to sigh in relief and fall asleep.
After a solid six months of waiting up and Peggy none the wiser for it, Angie felt pretty confident in her routine. But then she started pulling double shifts at the diner and, despite her best efforts, she started losing track of Peggy's comings and goings.
It was on one of those evenings – another double shift – that Angie gratefully plodded through the front door of their penthouse and sighed in relief as she peeled the shoes from her sore feet. It had been a long day and all she wanted to do was get out of her stained work uniform, put on pajamas and slip between the cool sheets that she knew were waiting for her up in her bedroom.
"I'm home, Peggy!" Angie called as she looped her finger underneath the straps of her shoes and began making her way up the staircase to the second floor where she and Peggy's rooms were situated.
Silence greeted her. She cocked a curious ear and tried again.
"Pegs, you up there?"
Still nothing.
Angie bit her lower lip as she reached the landing. It was Thursday. Peggy was usually home by 9:30 on Thursday nights. It was already half past ten. She hadn't mentioned anything about a late evening to Angie when they'd visited over their cup of coffee earlier that morning.
Concern briefly flitted across Angie's features, but she tamped it down just as quickly. Peggy probably just lost track of time working on a case file. She had a tendency to do that. Angie couldn't count the number of times she'd come downstairs in the wee hours of the morning for a glass of water only to find Peggy still up in the study, poring over an open folder, unconsciously nibbling on her lower lip as she tapped a pen against the lacquered finish of the desk.
Usually, Angie would scold her and then convince her to retire for the night with the admonishment that "those folders ain't going nowhere, Pegs, and a girl needs her beauty sleep."
Of course, privately, Angie didn't think Peggy needed any help in the beauty department. The Englishwoman had that in spades, and boy did Angie know it. But despite the reassurances to herself, Angie couldn't stop the tiny niggling of fear at the back of her mind. After all, Peggy was a secret agent, and she'd had her share of close calls.
Walking through her door, she briefly considered phoning Mister Jarvis to see if he knew anything, but after another moment's thought, Angie decided it against. It was late, and if there was nothing wrong, she'd get an earful from Peggy for fretting over her.
Realizing there was nothing she could for now, Angie gratefully changed out of her clothes and into the comfortable, yet unnecessarily attractive, nightgown her ma had given her this past Christmas. She wasn't quite sure why her ma had thought it necessary to give her a fancy nightgown considering she hadn't brought a man home in… well, Angie couldn't actually remember when the last time she'd brought a fella home… but her ma had given her a wide wink when she'd opened it, and Angie had flushed in embarrassment when she realized what she was holding in front of her entire family. Apparently, her ma had decided that helping Angie along in the relationship department took precedence over some of the Catholic upbringing that'd been drilled into Angie as a young girl.
Still, it was a lovely nightgown, and Angie figured she should get some use out of it, even if Peggy Carter had been oblivious every time Angie had worn it.
Grabbing a blanket from her bed, Angie headed back downstairs to the library and arranged herself on the sofa. She would give Peggy another half hour before assuming the worst and calling Mister Jarvis. Between now and then, she could rest her tired dogs and maybe work on some lines for that audition next week. Settling in, she began reading, but soon, the quiet hum of the radiator, exhaustion from too many long days and warmth of the blanket proved too much, and the script floated to the floor from her fingers as Angie drifted off to sleep.
XXX
It had been a long day. No, scratch that. It had been a long week. Peggy Carter trudged through the front door at a quarter to midnight looking somewhat haggard. A mission that'd gone awry had forced her and Daniel to stay at the office for almost three hours as they wrapped up the case file and made certain all the necessary documentation had been submitted to Washington, D.C. Frankly, she thought it a bit ridiculous, but the brass liked their paperwork, and Peggy liked what she did, so compromises were made.
The house was dark, save for a shaft of light peeking from beneath the closed door of the library near the staircase at the end of the hall. Hanging her hat on a rack near the door, Peggy made her way toward the room, silently hoping Angie hadn't waited up on her. She'd meant to phone the diner and let her housemate know she'd been running late, but silly bureaucratic requests had sidetracked her, and she'd forgotten until now.
Although Angie was never visibly waiting for her when she strolled through the door on late nights, Peggy had the sneaking suspicion the younger woman did so covertly and on a regular basis. Peggy based this opinion on the faint sound of footsteps that always greeted her when she unlocked the door. After the first few times, Peggy had taken to loudly jiggling the doorknob for a couple of seconds before inserting her key. After all, there was no need for Angie to break her neck flying up the stairs on her account, and it really was a rather sweet gesture when it came down to it.
Standing before the door, Peggy reached down and turned the handle, allowing the door to quietly swing open. When Peggy peered in, she couldn't contain the smile that lifted the edges of her lips or the warm feeling that spread throughout her chest.
Angie lay ensconced in a blanket on the sofa with the remnants of a script on the floor by her side. Her long hair, normally well coifed, spread about her face, and her mouth was open ever so slightly.
It was, perhaps, the most adorable sight Peggy had ever seen, and it was confirmation that she had been correct in her earlier assumptions. Angie had been waiting up for her. Sweet, adorable, concerned Angie. That dear girl.
Peggy wasn't sure what she had done to deserve the affection of someone like Angie Martinelli, but she thanked whatever deity had deigned to send her it way.
Creeping silently across the floor, Peggy inched her way through the room until she was standing beside the younger woman. Her eyes traveled over Angie's sleeping form, and she felt her heart catch in her chest.
Angie was beautiful. There had been so many times it had almost slipped out of her, but so far, she'd caught herself, even if a part of her hadn't wanted to do so. There was much too at stake right now and it was unfair of her to bring Angie deeper into her world than she already had.
Leaning down, Peggy brushed a stray curl away from Angie's face. The waitress turned into her touch and smiled in her sleep, shifting just enough to cause the blanket to fall from Angie's hip and expose the crimson red nightgown she wore beneath.
Peggy swallowed hard and tore her eyes away from the creamy expanse of skin that was now exposed. Angie truly did have the most exquisite legs, and it was torture every time she chose to wear this particular nightgown. Peggy momentarily wondered if the younger woman did it on purpose before deciding she didn't care either way. The red number was enthralling, and Peggy was grateful to Angie's mother – despite her reasoning behind it – for gifting it to her.
Shaking her head from her dangerous thoughts, Peggy briefly contemplated allowing Angie to stay on the sofa for the evening before deciding that the poor girl deserved a solid night's rest in a comfortable bed. After all, she had been keeping such long hours lately. She leaned down.
"Darling," Peggy whispered, allowing herself the luxury of the intimate term and bringing a gentle hand to stroke the hair back from Angie's brow.
A sigh escaped Angie's lips and she turned her slightly.
"Mmm, Peggy?" she murmured sleepily. "What time's it?"
Peggy smiled affectionately at her. "It's almost midnight, dear. Well past time for you to be in your own bed, I'd say." She watched as Angie struggled to wake herself up and hid a grin when Angie was aware enough to realize just how much bare skin she was showing at the moment.
With a squeak of embarrassment, Angie pulled the blanket back over her thighs and then looked up at Peggy, an adorable blush spreading across her cheeks. She glanced around and noticed the script on the floor.
"I was, uh, just practicing my lines," she said, her words practically tripping over each other. "I must've fallen asleep here on the couch while practicing."
Peggy nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Of course."
"Yeah," Angie continued. "Just practicing my lines. What other reason would there be for me to be down here this late at night," she continued.
Peggy folded her arms and tilted her head. "Indeed. What other reason could there be?"
Angie peered up at her with a sheepish smile. "You know me, Pegs."
A smile tugged at the corner of Peggy's lips. "Indeed, I do," she agreed. She held Angie's gaze for a long moment and watched as nervousness flitted across her best friend's features. After another agonizing minute, she decided to give in and let the woman keep her supposed secret.
Flashing her a brilliant smile, she offered Angie a hand and said, "Your dedication to your craft is something I've always admired about you."
Peggy could swear Angie deflated as she exhaled a long sigh of what suspiciously sounded like relief.
"Yep, that's me," she agreed, "Dedicated. I'm a regular Cary Grant. But without the trousers," she joked as she took Peggy's hand and rose from the couch. "Thanks for not letting me crash here all night, Pegs," she said, her usual confidence seemingly restored. "My neck would've hurt something bad come tomorrow morning."
"You're welcome," Peggy smiled. She extended a hand and inclined her head teasingly. "After you."
Beaming, Angie pulled the blanket tightly around her as she began to walk toward the door.
With the studied casualness of a secret agent, Peggy allowed her foot to catch on the blanket that trailed Angie, and smiled in satisfaction when the material jerked away from Angie leaving her clad only in the crimson nightgown and affording Peggy a generous view of Angie's legs.
Angie squeaked in surprise and reached down to retrieve the blanket which afforded Peggy an even better view than the previous one.
"Oh dear!" Peggy fretted. "How awfully clumsy of me, Angie. I do apologize!"
But the gleam in her eyes and satisfied smirk said otherwise.