Title: Of Flowers and Dances
Author: AoN (bellalinguista)
Word Count: 3,800
Summary: "Oh, you should have seen the bouquet of flowers she gave me when I made my Broadway debut," Angie told Steve with a faint smile. "I wanted to return the gesture when SHIELD was established, but they don't really do bouquets for founding a government agency."
Notes: Based off the conversation between Steve and Angie from my fic, Lapses.
Chapter Two: Dances
The subway would have sufficed, as it had for every morning and late afternoon commute to and from the SSR offices, but Peggy opted for a taxi home instead. After all, it was not everyday one received a promotion.
She could have called Mr. Jarvis, who would have probably complied with her request, but this was her quickest option to get her back home to the mansion. There was one person she needed to talk to about this new development and something told her that Mr. Jarvis was probably already well aware of it.
Honestly, now that the thought crossed her mind, Peggy was a bit surprised that her dear friend hadn't been waiting outside the telephone company, car waiting.
The taxi stopped in front of their building. After paying the driver and climbing out of the car, Peggy made her way inside. Per Angie's request, made a couple weeks after they had moved in together, Peggy unlocked the door as loudly as she could and made a point to close it behind her with a pretty decent slam.
Peggy was a rather quite person – something that was required in her line of work, naturally. It was also something of which Angie was not a fan ("Listen up, English, I really don't wanna jump out of my skin every time you come home from God knows where").
She dropped her keys with a clatter onto the edge of the rosewood console table in the hallway. They landed next to Angie's, signaling to Peggy that she was indeed home.
"Peg? That you?"
"Yes, darling," Peggy called back. Although, would an intruder admit otherwise? As she reached the end of the hallway that lead into the living room, Peggy spotted Angie peeking over the sofa where she probably had been lounging with a book, if Peggy were to guess. It was just another typical day off for Angie, her one day off a week to recover from tackling an eight-show schedule.
Angie frowned, "You're home awfully early."
No matter how the office events unfolded, Peggy was certain this would have been the end result either way: home just a little before noon, leaving the boys to pick up their own lunch orders for once. The new chief hadn't exactly been pleased with her adventure from the night before, but Peggy also wasn't pleased to be reduced to a secretary. Again.
"I am," Peggy confirmed, walking around the couch.
Angie leaned against the armrest again, returning to her lounging. Peggy gently nudged her legs off the opposite end of the couch so that she too could take a seat. Peggy glanced at the coffee table where she spotted a book, just as she had expected, but she didn't catch the title – not that it mattered.
What did matter was the fact that Angie could always grant her a sense of normalcy to balance out her own work life.
Speaking of work…
"How was the show last night?" Peggy asked. "Did your cousin and her husband enjoy it?"
"They enjoyed it, yeah," Angie answered quickly. "Came back to an empty house, though, and I didn't hear you get in – late night at the office?"
"One might say so, yes," Peggy replied, but offered nothing more. There were still some secrets between them and there would always be, given how often Peggy dealt with classified government information. There were others, however, that Angie now knew about – secrets that Peggy slowly revealed about herself.
No, she did not work for the telephone company, for starters, as Angie had accused after pulling her in through the window of the Griffith Hotel.
She worked for the government.
She was an agent – a spy – for a prime covert agency.
She started working for this agency – the SSR – during the war.
She often worked along side Captain America.
It had taken Peggy a bit longer to admit that he had also been her last love.
With every revelation, Peggy braced herself for an interrogation, but Angie's questions never crossed a line and in the case of the last reveal, they were not existent, perhaps out of respect. Whereas a whole nation mourned Captain America, much fewer mourned Steve Rogers.
"Not anything you can talk about?" Angie asked.
Talk about a mission that required three to five agents yet Peggy went off on her own regardless? No, Angie did not need that kind of worry – or to know that Peggy was actually that stubborn, but Angie probably was well aware of that fact already.
Nor could she really tell Angie that she went after a crime organization the SSR had been tracking down for a while, or that she recovered a mystery serum from said crime organization and that was why she had a rather late night yesterday.
"Not entirely, no," Peggy responded.
"And that's why you're home early, right? Your fathead new boss finally realized what an asset you are and gave you the rest of the day off?" Angie pressed on.
With a hum, Peggy frowned and looked away from Angie as she contemplated just what she should say, how she was going to answer. Perhaps she should have taken the subway home, or even taken a stroll through Central Park before returning to the mansion – anything to have given herself a bit more time to formulate a decent response.
There was no question about it – Peggy was more than thrilled to be leaving the SSR and to be joining Howard at SHIELD, excited even, and Angie would be as well, but another though did cross her mind. This promotion, although not distinctly stated, would involve relocation. She would have to leave New York.
And Peggy had, for all intents and purposes, already accepted the job.
"Um, no," Peggy began. "In fact, I believe one has to be employed by an establishment in order to have the rest of the afternoon off from it."
Angie pushed herself up with her elbow and exclaimed, "What?!" She scooted over, closer to Peggy.
"There's no need to fret-!"
"No need to fret?" Angie repeated, eyes narrowing. "Listen, Peg, I'll march down to that pseudo phone company myself and give 'em all a piece of my mind."
Leaning forward, Peggy placed her hands on Angie's shoulders in an attempt to calm her little Italian firecracker down. She could only imagine the havoc Angie would wreck on those poor SSR agents, especially Agents Thompson and Sousa. Tears were one thing –rage was another and Peggy wouldn't wish it upon them.
"That won't be necessary, dear, truly," Peggy tried to reassure. Perhaps she should have gone about this another way. "Howard called the office," she explained, failing to mention she had been in the midst of being reprimanded for doing her job better than all the other agents combined.
"Did Howard get you fired?! After everything you've done for him-!"
"He offered me a promotion," Peggy interrupted. "To help him better establish and lead SHIELD."
Under her hands, Peggy felt Angie's shoulders fall slightly. Good. She was calming down a bit. "Aww, Pegs, after everything you've done for him…" Angie's tone was suddenly gentler. The feisty Italian temper was once more at bay.
Crisis adverted.
Good work, Agent.
Well, no longer Agent – Chief? Director? Co-Director?
"And, I mean, you practically named it yourself," Angie added.
The memory made Peggy smile. It was only a couple months ago, in this very room, actually. She and Angie were sitting as they were now whereas Howard had occupied the armchair to Peggy's right. They had each had a generous glass of bourbon or two. Peggy and Howard had been sliding a piece of paper back and forth on the coffee table.
"Does it really have to spell shield?" Howard questioned again, staring down at the paper with a frown. "I don't think Steve would mind-"
"It has to," Peggy replied, tone final. "Let's see what you got."
Howard extended his arm out, placing the piece of paper in Peggy's hand. Her nose wrinkled as she read, with Angie hovering over her shoulder.
"That's the best you can come up with?" Angie was the first to comment. "Aren't you supposed to be a genius?"
"You can't rush genius!" Howard snapped as he leaned forward to try and snatch the paper from Peggy's grasp. She pulled it out of his reach. "Let's see you do any better!" he challenged.
"That's quite enough bickering from you lot," Peggy remarked. "I'm sure Angie was only trying to offer a bit of constructive criticism – weren't you, dear?"
With a clank, Angie set her nearly empty glass down on the table and picked up her own pencil that was on top of her worn script – something or another about going over director's notes, about which she wasn't pleased. During her last glance at the thing, Peggy spotted some rather colorful words in Italian under the director's name. Angie, pencil in hand, reached around Peggy to draw a line through a word.
"First thing's first, the word 'supreme' has to go otherwise you'll sound like a bunch of fatheads," Angie pointed out.
Peggy took the pencil from her and circled two things, "And I rather like Enforcement and Division. They can stay."
Howard lifted his glass up and stared at the little amount of liquid inside. He was contemplating another refill. He was contemplating many things for that matter. "So, we're the Law-Enforcement Division," he said, emptying his glass.
"I like 'enforcement,' not 'law-enforcement,'" Peggy calrified.
"What's wrong with espionage?'" Howard asked.
"I've had my fill of espionage, Howard, thank you," Peggy said dryly, holding out the paper to him.
Ange pointed out "'International' and 'headquarters' won't work either. You'll sound like-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Howard mumbled, snatching the revised paper from Peggy. He set his glass down on the coffee table. "I get it. Mind filling her up again, Peg?"
"Howard, that's your third glass-"
"How about we make the 'S' stand for 'strategic?'" Howard interrupted. "In honor of the ol' SSR. We have to honor our roots somehow, right?"
"Better than 'supreme,'" Angie noted.
He scribbled in the corrections and handed the paper back to Peggy. Howard then scooted to the edge of the armchair's cushion to reach for the base of the near empty bottle of bourbon. Peggy quickly grabbed it by the neck.
"This is a bunch of gibberish," she pointed out, waving the page in his face. "Did you write the first thing that came to mind?"
He mocked offense, "Of course not!"
"Well, if you add an ampersand, it makes sense," Angie remarked, once more reading over Peggy's shoulder. "Right here," she indicated.
Peggy, letting go of the bottle to which Howard then helped himself, leaned back, resting herself against Angie comfortably. She scribbled in Angie's suggestion, but something was still off. "I'm not fond of the word 'hazard,'" she said.
"Ugh, no," Angie agreed.
"Any other ideas then?" Howard asked after a sip.
It took a moment, but it came to her. "Yes, actually," she said, sitting up straight. "How do we feel about 'homeland?'"
"Better than 'hazard' and 'headquarters,' I'll tell you that," Angie replied. "I mean, that's what I'd prefer if I were a super secret spy, but I'm not-"
"A super secret spy would deny being a super secret spy, wouldn't they?" Howard questioned.
Angie nodded, "And they'd tell cute waitresses at diners that they worked at the telephone company."
"So, we all agree on 'homeland?'" Peggy repeated, speaking up just a tad bit louder.
Biting back a laugh, Howard grinned and nodded, "Do we have our SHIELD then?"
"I believe we do," Peggy replied. "The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."
With a light chuckle, Peggy shrugged her shoulders. "Honestly, I think that was more of a group effort than anything else," she reminded.
In return, Angie flashed her a small smile, very much aware of who suggested that much needed ampersand. She didn't say anything else – there was no witty remark, just silence. She was waiting, they both were, for what had to be revealed next. Whereas the SSR had multiple branches and offices throughout the world, SHIELD, an up and coming intelligence agency, did not.
SHIELD only had one office.
And it was not in New York City.
"It's, uh, the job," Peggy clarified. "It would be in D.C."
Peggy waited and watched for a reaction, any form of a reaction, from her, but nothing changed. Angie still had that small smile. It did thin a bit, but nothing more. Angie took Peggy's hands into her own and gave them a gentle squeeze.
"We should go dancing!" Angie stated.
"Angie-"
"We'll figure it out later, English, okay?" Angie said. "But right now? Nah, we got to celebrate. This is big! Broadway debut big! But I don't think I can walk into the local flower shop and ask for a bouquet for my girlfriend who's gonna go run a government intelligence agency. What type of flowers would you even give for something like that? Doesn't matter – I can still take my girl dancing and that's exactly what I'm gonna do."
Peggy looked down at their intertwined hands. The corners of her lips tugged into a smile. Her thumbs gently messaged the back of Angie's hands. She couldn't exactly say no, not that Peggy wanted to, but this conversation wasn't going to continue. She knew Angie wouldn't let it. Angie was right – this was something to celebrate.
Everything else, they would worry about later.
"You're amazing, you know that?" Peggy said softly, looking back up at her.
"You're not so bad yourself, English," Angie replied, pulling Peggy into a kiss.
xxxx
They had decided to go to their usual jazz club downtown – why stray from tradition? Peggy remembered the first time they came together, not too soon after she revealed she loved dancing one night in Angie's room at the Griffith while they were conversing over leftover pie Angie had taken from the automat. Yes, she loved dancing, but she hadn't been since before the war. When Angie had asked why not, Peggy had given a simple answer.
She'd been waiting for the right partner.
Angie had teased that maybe she could be that partner.
Peggy had played along, unable to bring herself to talk about Steve to Angie just yet. So, Peggy had well though out excuses for the first few times Angie had invited her. After the fourth 'sorry, I can't,' Angie had stopped asking altogether and probably had accepted that they probably never would go, that there would always be an excuse.
It wouldn't be until after they had moved into Howard mansion that Peggy had finally brought up working with Captain America, being so close to Steve Rogers, and their promised date.
8 o'clock, on the dot, at the Stork Club, a Saturday that had never happened.
So Angie had been a bit surprised when Peggy had asked her to finally go dancing and Peggy had known she had been surprised – there hadn't been any sassy or witty remarks, no projected stubbornness. Angie had understood how big of a step that had been for her.
Peggy had known Angie was a good dancer. Angie often practiced in their living room, but not Peggy (not until after their dance together anyway). Angie had been impressed ("well, look at you, English!") as they had gracefully moved from one style of swing to another.
By the end of the night, neither of them had been able to remember the last time they had laughed so hard or had moved so much. They had returned back home, not entirely sober either. Angie claimed they had been very intoxicated, but Peggy insisted they had been tipsy, no matter how much Angie claimed that she would have been able to unlock the front door had she just been tipsy.
Since then, they returned as often as possible, sometimes just because and other times because of special occasions, like tonight. They took their familiar spot on the dance floor – off to the left. Angie would love to be dead in the center, under the lights, but Peggy was never one who wanted to be the center of attention. Not usually, anyway.
Sometimes, it was fun, actually.
Naturally, Peggy was a bit surprised when Angie didn't want to be in the middle of the dance floor. She wasn't herself. Something was off.
Not that Peggy could blame her, not after the news she came home with. They should be talking, not celebrating – and certainly not dancing.
The fast pace of the music came to an end. They lingered for a moment, as did everyone else, waiting for the next tune to begin. Normally, when the band started to paly something slow, as they did now, both Angie and Peggy took it as a sign to retreat, to stop off the dance floor for a break and overpriced drinks.
But this time…
"And may I have this dance as well?" Peggy asked, almost teasingly in her attempt to get a rise out of partner.
She expected a headshake, followed by an eye roll and an accompanied witty remark ending with 'English.' Instead, Angie gave her a sweet, small smile and a nod. "I'd like that, English," she also added.
As Angie snaked her arms around Peggy's waist, Peggy rested her forearms on top of Angie's shoulders. They swayed back and forth to the music together, eyes locked on each other as they paid attention to no one else.
It was nice – perhaps they should slow dance more often. Even at home, it was a rare occasion.
But then Angie glanced down and then to the right, struggling to make eye contact again. Peggy frowned. She felt her heart drop. This was it, wasn't it? This was the moment where the gravity of the situation Peggy had put them in finally made itself known, refusing to be ignored any longer.
"Ang-"
"Listen, Peg," Angie cut her off. "I gotta say something."
"Perhaps we should have this conversation at home?" Peggy suggested.
"Perhaps," Angie agreed. "But, English, I have to say it now before I lose my nerve so, uh, don't interrupt."
"Darling-"
"Please?"
Falling silent, Peggy nodded.
For a few short moments, they did not speak and feigned to enjoy the band as they continued to rock back and forth. Angie was looking down again, leaving a frowning Peggy to her own thoughts and assumptions.
"I ain't no Captain America and I won't ever be."
At once, Peggy stopped moving. Angie stumbled slightly and looked up, finally meeting Peggy's eye again and witnessing her confusion.
"Then again, I don't think anyone could," Angie went on with a small shrug and a faint, grim smile. "Compare to him, I mean – and I don't wanna be," she added.
"Angie," Peggy spoke up again. "What is this about exactly?"
She shook her head. "Now what did I tell you about interrupting me?"
Not to do it, Peggy reminded herself. She wasn't very good with orders, however.
"Come on, now – dance with me, English," Angie said softly, taking a tiny step forward and bringing herself closer to her dance partner. Angie took the lead and they started dancing again.
This time it was Peggy who needed to look away. For a moment, Peggy was glad that they were here. That they weren't dancing by themselves in their living room where Angie had a tendency to rest her head against Peggy's shoulder as they embraced and held each other tightly. Peggy was certain if Angie had been any closer, she'd be able to hear Peggy's racing heart.
It took a lot to make Peggy Carter nervous. She was probably even a bit afraid. She was unprepared for what came next.
"Everyone's says we have to continue with our lives, you know, "Angie began. "It's over – the war, I mean – and we should go back to how things used to be. We should move on, as though the things that happened, as if they haven't changed us, didn't affect us. They did, y'know? I'm rambling and I'm terrible at this. I don't know what I'm doing."
Since she wasn't allowed to interrupt, Peggy just nodded, earning herself a snort in reply.
"I guess… I guess what I'm trying to say," Angie tried again. "is that I wanna continue on with you. I wanna be a part of your life for as long as you'll let me because I knew – God – I knew from the first day you came into the automat that I was in trouble. And it had nothing to do with your secret double agent life," she quickly added, lowering her voice.
Peggy found herself looking at Angie once again. Although she sighed a heavy sigh of relief, her heart was still racing, but now for an entire different reason. Angie's sheepish grin was followed by a light laugh. She was probably enjoying the dumbfound expression on Peggy's face.
"I was in trouble," Angie continued. "Because for the first time in my life – and hopefully the last, if you let me – I was falling in love and, Peggy, I haven't stopped. I don't care if it's New York, D.C., or, hell, the frigging moon, for all I care – I wanna be a part of your life. For as long as… well, I'd be happy with forever. …What do you say?"
They stopped moving on the dance floor again. Peggy felt frozen in place, felt as though her surroundings were disappearing, that they were all alone, just the two of them. The music faded. Peggy could no longer hear the live musicians over the loud ringing in her ears, over her own heartbeat. There was a lump in her throat and stinging tears in her eyes that blinded her slightly.
Blinking furiously, Peggy attempted to reel in her emotions. It wasn't often that she was sideswiped like this. Then again, it wasn't often that the person one truly cared for confused their love either.
She could feel Angie shift on her feet uncomfortably, waiting for an answer.
"I hear the theatre is rather shite on the moon," Peggy tried to say seriously, with a straight face. "But, darling, if that's where you want to spend forever, then I will be at your side."
End