Margaret Elizabeth 'Peggy' Carter is twenty-four when World War II ends.
"What did you do during the war?" she asks Angie five years later, when they're living in a mansion together that has a phone in every living and dining room, courtesy of Howard Stark. Angie had been terrified of living in such a large house, until Howard invited her to join Stark Pictures as a contracted extra for films, calling the house a benefit for both the job and because she's Peggy's friend. She needs more of them, Angela Noemi, don't let me down, now.
"Worked at the Laundromat, mostly," Angie replies, curled up on the sofa, curls soft and falling apart, head lying on Peggy's lap. "I did some charity work, at my family church, but not much. My pop works some unconventional jobs…well, he runs a business, anyway. That kind I don't think it'd be safe for you to know about, Peg. Sometimes, I dealt cards at his casinos and played hooky at pool tables. Not a lot, but sometimes. My brothers didn't like me getting all dolled up."
"I'd love to see it, sometime," Peggy smiles a little at her friend, who shuffles, turning to look up, smiling at the woman.
"Sure you would, English. I look like my namesake, every time." Angie's smirk turns slightly wistful as she stares at her housemate. "Wonder what you'd look like, all pretty for me…"
It's more the 'for me' that makes Peggy's heart race, rather than the prospect of having a friend to dress up with. Peggy dresses up all the time, using tailored clothes as her armour and bright red lipstick as a shield. Angie looks at her with that face, still slightly wistful, but there's something darker to her eyes and hungry. It reminds Peggy of Barnes – the way he used to look at Steve when he sparred with the other Howling Commandos, arms and chest bare.
The way he once looked at her, after she pressed him up against a tree and held her arm to his throat, chest heaving and eyes bright with victory.
Steve and I, we had a plan, he said to her while they scouted an enemy camp, watching how they worked and timing guard rotation. I'd get a doll and get married, maybe a doll who didn't quite like fellas the way you normally would. Steve would live with us, because he'd die if left alone, all to himself. That was before all this super-soldier shit, but still. Steve likes you. The thing is, he's not into dolls, not really. But he likes you, Queen Victoria and I like you as well, nice enough.
Angie sits up then, scooting close, hiking her leg over Peggy's thighs and Peggy lets out a gasp, staring at Angie with wide eyes.
"You…"
"I what, English?" Angie leans closer, casually rest her arms on Peggy's shoulders, as if they aren't so close that they're breathing the same air, but her voice shakes and she's so, so nervous, Peggy can tell. "Wanna hear a story, Peg? Not really a fun story, but I'll tell you it. I don't much speak to my family. I've got six brothers, a set of parents, three uncles and eleven aunts, all married except two, all with kids who range from my age to just-born last year. I check in sometimes. Not often. I'm my parents only baby girl, their little angela. They love me, but they don't approve of who I love, so they say that the devil will drag me down to hell and hand me the bread-basket at the same time."
"Who you love?"
Angie's lips are so close and they brush almost imperceptibly, before Peggy leans in, kissing her softly. Angie lets out a large breath before grabbing her hair, squeezing her thighs as Peggy puts her hands to Angie's waist.
"Thank god, I thought you were straight, 'specially after that doctor guy."
"I have a preference for people, not their sexual organs," Peggy says, before Angie smiles, dimples appearing and endearing Peggy even more than they had before – before, when she didn't let herself fall, when Angie was her best friend wanting to be on Broadway and not someone she could kiss and hold.
They kiss again, again, again and again.