:.:
It is sometime after midnight when Peggy returns.
Anxious, scared and upset, Angie hurries down the staircase the moment she hears the door open. She is ready to scold her, to demand where she went; that it is completely unfair of Peggy to leave at night without a note.
She stops dead.
Peggy is painted in blood which does not belong to her. A nasty cut travels from her eye to her cheek, and her beautiful face is littered with grazes. Peggy sways in the doorway, and manages to step inside, but Angie grabs her sleeves, and her eyes beg to know what happened, but Peggy is in no mood to talk.
Instead, Peggy falls into Angie's arms, and holds her. Angie can feel her exhaustion. They don't speak. Angie cuddles Peggy, squeezing her ever so tightly. She allows Peggy to rest into her, allows Peggy to collect her thoughts, to calm down. Angie may not know what happened, but she doesn't need to. Explanations can wait.
Angie gently runs her fingers through Peggy's hair, her other hand trailing up and down her sore back. Peggy sighs, a heavy sigh, and when she pulls away only slightly to see Angie, she considers apologising. It is unfair of her to leave without a note, it is unfair to make Angie worry like this, and it is unfair of her not to tell Angie what is going on.
They stand, so close to one another, Angie can feel her chest rise as she inhales. Angie's hands caress Peggy's arms, find her hands, and their fingers intertwine, squeeze, captured. It's remarkable how Peggy can appear so dangerous, yet warm all the same. She is so sleepy, so worn out, and Angie wants nothing more than to wrap her in blankets, hold Peggy to her, and allow this broken soul to fall asleep in her embrace.
Looking down, Angie pulls off Peggy's right glove, blood stained and slightly muddy. She then pulls off her left glove. Once Peggy's hands are free, Angie claims them again. Her thumb travels across Peggy's knuckles, and, still, they allow the silence to speak for them. Angie looks up at her, blue eyes curious, sympathetic, and heavy with affection.
She does the only thing which makes sense.
Angie kisses Peggy.
So tenderly. The world stops. Her lips hover over hers, hesitant and waiting. A welcoming shade of scarlet blossoms across Peggy's terribly pale cheeks, and she's alive, she is living, and when Angie leans in to kiss her again Peggy sort of just––
––breathes.
Afterwards, everything flows. Effortless; as if they have been this way since the beginning of time.
When Peggy retires from being the hero, Angie discards her armour.
She unbuttons her jacket, lets the heavy material slump to the floor. Angie rises to her toes, slips out the band holding Peggy's hair in place. While she does, she presses her lips to her cheek, her hands smoothing across her shoulders, past her stomach, reaching Peggy's belt around her waist. Unbuckling it, Angie rids of the monstrous thing, holds Peggy's hand and escorts her upstairs.
Takes her to where it is safe.
Peggy sits on the edge of her bed, wipes a hand across her bloody face, conscious of Angie untying her shoelaces. Angie chucks Peggy's boots aside. She stands up straight, watching Peggy in their little light. Peggy's eyes are sad and wonderful and sorry. She reaches over, carefully grasps Angie's wrist, and brings her forward. Angie sits beside her. Peggy's eyes say everything she needs to say. Angie doesn't ask, she won't ask. Tonight, she is her friend, her only friend, her best.
A few tears are shed. Angie moves in so their hips touch, her arm around her shoulders, her other hand holding her face. Peggy's fatigue has zapped all energy out of her; she can't bottle in her secrets anymore. She cries quietly, and she cries. She cries about today, about the people she has had to hurt, but never really wanted to; she cries about Steven Rogers, about James Barnes' missing body, about the war, and how magnificent and devastating it was; and she cries about Angie, who is so perfect, so patient, so lovely and so good for her. The only person on earth she'll cry to.
Their hands stroke each other. Angie kisses her cheek, her tears, her lips, again, and again.
When the tears stop, and Peggy's heart beats, and her hands no longer tremble, they lie back together, veiled beneath the sheets. Angie fits behind her, like a jigsaw puzzle, wrapping herself around her. Peggy's shield for the night. She finds Angie's hand, holds it at her stomach, and nestles into Angie a little more.
She whispers, voice coarse.
'Don't run away.'
Angie smiles, drowsy. Her words are tender, that of a dream.
'Not on your life.'
:.: