The problem with making plans involving teenage spies and secret time travelers is that they can get derailed real fast. Especially when one of them is the billionaire playboy son of a billionaire playboy and probably never learned phrases like "hold your horses."
Tony Stark, still laid out on the foyer, moans. Just like any fella knocked unconscious and coming to is like to.
Peggy sighs in a very put upon way. "I suppose we should tie him up. Can you be a dear and fetch some rope?"
Angie coughs. "We won't need to."
That gets a raised eyebrow, "Oh?"
She hopes to God she isn't flushing, because Peggy could interpret that all wrong. "No. I kind of sort of know him."
Her eyebrow shows no signs of going down. "You know him."
"I do."
Peggy keeps staring.
Finally—"Biblically?"
"What?! No! Jesus Peggy—"
"I just thought they way you were talking—you know him. What else am I supposed to infer?"
"I'm so queer my ma tried to get a whole river blessed so she could dunk me in it. Why on earth would I sleep with—with that?" She points her finger down at the unconscious fella.
He moans again.
Peggy nudges his cheek with her toe. "I haven't the foggiest. But you can't blame me. You did sleep with half of Hollywood while we were apart—"
"The girl half—and you said you were okay with it—"
"I am—"
"Doesn't sound like it. You bring it up all the damn—"
"Dietrich Angie. And Garbo. I may be extraordinary but that's an awful lot of gorgeous iconic woman to compete with—"
"They compete with you you lunk. Half the reason me and Greta ended things was I said you're name while we were—"
"Really?"
"Yeah!"
And Angie isn't even gonna get into the bit where Peggy said "while we were apart" like she wasn't the reason—all going off to martyr herself to protect Angie.
She's breathing fast and Peggy's grinning like there's been something missing and now she's found it again.
Then she seems to remember the unconscious Tony Stark. And the grin sort of wilts. "So how do you know him?"
"Peggy I'm trying to sleep," he mumbles.
She looks down at him like he's especially interesting mold on some cheese. Than back at Angie, "More importantly how does he know me?"
While a lot of Angie failing to tell Peggy about Steve has to do with him being Steve Rogers, another part of it is the whole line about time travelers.
"He's a Stark," she says carefully.
Peggy blinks. "Howard hasn't got any family."
"Yet."
Now she just looks amused. "So what? This," she jabs him with her toe again and he makes an ouch noise. "This is his son from the future?"
Give the woman a prize.
"You can't be serious."
She appraises the unconscious fella, "He kind of looks like him. And you yourself said the watch and helmet weren't like anything you'd ever seen."
"That doesn't mean—time travel isn't possible."
"Neither was blue death rays or super soldiers Peggy."
That gets as close to a harrumph as Peggy's ever gonna do. "Fine, get his feet."
Angie, still in her fancy evening gown, grabs Tony Stark's feet and Peggy takes his shoulders (and most of his weight) and they walk him back towards the other side of the house with a lot of grunting—from Angie because the fella is heavy and from Peggy because she's having to do it one-handed.
"So what precisely do they feed them in the future?"
"Too damn much," Angie wheezes.
She figures out what Peggy's got planned when Peggy slides the back door open with her hip, and while she's inclined to protest, she's also irritated enough with Stark to keep her mouth shut.
"On three," Peggy says, and she swings one side of him and Angie swings the other and then they chuck him in the pool.
Smooth as butter Peggy's got a gun out of where she's squirreled it away in her sling and aims it at the man who comes out of unconsciousness with a lot of thrashing and spluttering.
He stops, sinks a little and then calmly treads water when he realizes who's looming over him.
"I'm guessing you explained," he asks Angie.
She shrugs.
"She's telling the truth," he tells Peggy.
"So you're Howard Stark's son from the future?"
"2015."
"And you just happened to travel back to—"
"Stop some HYDRA baddie from doing something very naughty."
"And you brought—what—Steve Roger's clone?"
He looks back at Angie, "You didn't tell her?"
"Tell me what?"
He glares at Angie and she wants to dissolve. Then he goes and wrecks everything Angie's built. "Steve Roger's took a seventy year nap Peggy. That guy you whacked with his shield was the real deal."
A Stark's inability to gently relay sensitive information must be genetic.
Peggy's aim waivers. She looks at Angie. Then back at Tony. Then back at Angie.
Then she throws her gun at Tony Stark's head and stalks into the house.
When Angie tries to follow her—because that's what you do when someone you care about is upset—Stark calls after her. "She'll be okay!"
She rounds on him because the bastard and is surprised to find he's pulling himself out of the pool and ignoring the welt on his forehead. "This kind of emotional trauma's nothing to her," he says. He grunts and spins to sit on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, "I mean it will be. She just needs to sort it out."
"And you know this—"
"My mom never talked to her siblings and my dad never had family. All those holiday dinners were spent with the two of you."
"So you know us."
He's looking out towards the lake that's glowing from the fat moon overhead. "I do." Then he pats the edge next to him. "Want to sit for a while. She needs a break and I need some quality time with my favorite godmother."
"I don't think you're supposed to have a favorite." She sits anyways.
"Peggy was always my dad's friend first and he—"
Angie can only guess what kind of father Howard Stark would be. Attentive at first. Affectionate. But she could see him forgetting sometimes. Getting distant and distracted.
She fiddles with her fingers, "So whose friend was I? Jarvis's?"
He laughs, "Sure. But mainly my mom's. You two were," he laces his fingers together and Angie feels awful about all the past tense he's using to describe a friendship between her and a woman she hasn't even met yet.
"And spoilers," Angie has no clue what that means, "Having a godmother who could rebuild engines with her eyes closed and dance as good as Fred Astaire was a pretty big deal for me as a kid."
"As good as Fred. I'll have to let him know."
"You guys do a movie in a year or two. You always talked about how you hated the romance because he's old enough to be your dad, but it was worth it for the dance numbers."
"Tony?"
"Yeah?" He kicks the water with his foot. The violence of it distorting that smooth surface.
"You keep talking about me in the past tense."
"I do." He doesn't elaborate, but his hand finds hers and he gives it a squeeze, eyes still on the lake or the moon or anything but her. "I missed you."
She squeezes back. "How good are these dance numbers," she asks, "people talk about them like him and Ginger?"
Tony shakes his head and laughs.
#####
The sun is nearly on the horizon when Angie finally heads upstairs. She's left Tony curled up on the couch hugging a cushion and she's called Nat and been told "Roger's is gonna be asleep for days." Which isn't the best news in the world but at least keeps things nicely stalled.
Angie wishes time wasn't one of those things that just kept on marching forward. She wishes it could slow down or stop all together. At least for a few days. Hours.
Years.
Sky's getting brighter in the windows and soon there'll be a little pink.
Peggy's still awake too. Only she's not in their bedroom, where the bed's untouched. She's back in the study and she's standing on the balcony and looking at the lake and not even shivering from that early morning chill that can drive deep into your bones.
Angie expects Peggy ought to be pacing and smoking, or staring at the shield, or maybe racing across the countryside to be by Steve's side.
But she's at the balcony just…musing.
Angie doesn't know what to say. Couldn't say anything even if she did know.
Her foot falls on some board in just the wrong way and it creaks and even though Peggy probably heard her coming up the stairs now any chance of them both pretending Angie's not in the room is gone. Peggy whips around and those eyes of her are as dark as Angie's ever seen 'em.
She's spent a lot of nights and days trying to sort out Peggy Carter. The woman's a spy—a spy master and she's damn good at concealing just about everything. A girl only gets a glimpse of who she is on account of Peggy wanting her too.
So when she doesn't—when she's had a rough day at work or a bad mission somewhere else Angie's had to learn how to see through all that careful armor built up to read the lady underneath.
And it's hard. Especially in times like this one when Peggy's gone so deep into her own head Angie's like to need a crane to pull her out.
But when Peggy whips around to look at her with dark and impossible to read eyes she leans back and her good hand grabs the rail and her knuckles go all white from how tight she's holding it.
She's not saying anything. Putting up a shield as potent as any Captain America could use. But that hand on the rail.
That's all a big scaredy cat like Angie needs to know what she ought to do.
And what she does is cross all that big looming space between them and cup the back of Peggy's head and pull her into a kiss. A long and loud kiss. The kind that has her pressing to Peggy like the world's all cold and she's the only warmth. Breathing through her nose and then her mouth and doing everything she can to keep touching Peggy and keep breathing too.
And Peggy. She responds. After what seems like minutes but what must only be seconds that hand stops holding the rail and slides across Angie's cheek and holds her still so Peggy can kiss back and kiss back proper.
Then she's pushing on Angie, guiding her back until she's got to hold onto the couch arm so she doesn't flip over onto the couch itself. She leans into wandering lips that trail down her neck and sighs at that hand that's found her waist and is splayed across it.
Then maybe she moans.
No. There's no maybe about it. Peggy nips and Angie moans and the spell all woven real quick is broken. The hand's still on her waist but now it's just resting there and Peggy's still pressed real close. But she's stopped kissing.
Just panting now. And not looking at Angie.
At least Angie thinks she isn't. She can't look at her. She's stuck looking up at the ceiling as that's where she was looking when she moaned and she's worried that if she looks anywhere else—if she moves—than the last bit of the spell will be all gone and she'll be alone.
Then Peggy's fingers are at the zipper of Angie's dress and she's pulling it down and Angie's stepping out of it and Peggy's not looking at her. She's kissing her way down Angie's front and very much invested in that. In carefully dragging Angie's underwear down and ignoring her stockings and burying her face between Angie's legs and—
For a while Angie's just all sensations. All feeling Peggy's tongue and fingers and hot breath. Her own hands have to keep hold of the couch so she doesn't fall and even that's just instinct.
Her eyes are closed and she's muttering "Oh God" like a mantra.
That's when it all goes wrong. She opens her eyes and looks down and one hand's flying off the couch to comb through Peggy's hair but she's opened her eyes see? She's looked down and she's opened her eyes. So she sees the way Peggy's looking up at her, mouth between her thighs. She sees the way she's watching her with—with reverence.
And the thing is Angie's grown accustomed to this particular look. She's a god damned movie star. She's got an Oscar and has worked with some of the greatest directors and actors working. She goes to premieres and she sees this look. She shakes the hand of fans and she sees it.
Like they're trying to commit every damn second of the meeting to memory. Like it's something so important they never want to forget it.
She's accustomed to the look, but never from Peggy. Peggy looks at her with love and affection and sometimes anger, but never like this.
Angie sobs.
Sobs and comes all at once and it is awful. Peggy climbing up her and dropping gentle kisses on her shoulder, cheek, then lips can't even help.
It's only that ardent kiss that tastes like herself that gets her to stop.
Her limbs are as rubbery as old tires and Peggy moves her so she's lying on the couch. She doesn't stop touching Angie. Hand in her hair. Ghosting across her skin.
Doesn't stop touching Angie until she does. Until she's up and gone.
Downstairs a car roars to life.
Outside the sun's up and the sky is pink.
