author's note: Thank you Sabremaster7 and the [ Guest ] reviewer for sharing your feedback. That was very kind.

An early update! I was feeling generous.
This story may be split in two, so do expect a sequel.

Please follow me on my Tumblr for updates on this story, Cartinelli and rambles about my love for Miss Atwell. My Tumblr username is: wreckofherheart. See you over there!

Scarlet Cross
10.

Reaching over to glance at her pocket watch, Angie is stupefied to find it is five o'clock in the morning. The sun hasn't risen yet. And still, Peggy Carter wakes up naturally, and immediately starts dressing. Neither women say a word. Peggy probably doesn't know she's accidentally awoken Angie from her slumber. Leaning back on her elbows, the sheet barely covering her breasts, Angie watches Peggy button her trousers, throw on her blouse. Her hair has lost its usual style, now long, let loose, across her shoulders.

Angie sits upright. Peggy senses her movement, looks over to her, and smiles. 'Good morning, darling.' Before Angie can let a word out, Peggy adds, 'I have to hurry off.' She tucks her dog tags into her vest top, finishes buttoning her blouse and comes forward to Angie's side of the bed. 'I'll attempt at finding you this evening.'

'You will find me.' Angie tries to smile, but she can't. She doesn't want her to leave. Angie pulls at Peggy's collar and kisses her. 'I'll be at the Automat.' Where else? Angie releases her collar, a gesture that she is letting her go, although reluctantly. Peggy, however, is feeling a little too affectionate, and gives her a kiss of her own. They bring each other in for one more, but the war calls, and Peggy is on her feet again.

Boots on, Peggy is ready to leave. Their eyes meet, and in the dusky lit room, they feel like the only two people in the world. Peggy thinks that wouldn't be so bad. Just her and Angie; nobody else. That wouldn't be so bad at all. If she didn't have her own duties, she would still be in that bed. She would take Angie out of this house, take her to England, Peggy's home, and that'll be that. Simple. Sweet.

A lovely fantasy.

They're not pleased with the lack of conversation. They want to discuss last night, they want to discuss them. They want to ask what happens next, even though they know there isn't an answer. They want to ask so much in so little time, it's cruel. Angie slips out of bed, pulls on her gown, and takes Peggy's hand in her own.

She's about to guide her downstairs, when they both hear a clatter.

Voices.

Two men. Peggy doesn't recognise them, but Angie clearly does for she has stiffened completely, staring at the door in horror. A second passes. The voices are louder. The two men are talking downstairs. One of them has a distinct Italian accent, the other American. Peggy doesn't have an opportunity to analyse the voices farther. Angie turns to her, pushes Peggy back away from the door until she's at the window.

'You have to get out, you have to go,' she whispers frantically, eyes wide, constantly peering over her shoulder in case the door barges open.

It's her father, and the priest.

Peggy's heart skips a beat. Jesus. If they find Angie sharing a room with another woman at this time, the consequences will be brutal. And Peggy definitely isn't going to give Angie more problems than she already has. To Angie's relief, Peggy has an idea. She opens the window, and even though it's a narrow gap, she manages to slip through and step onto the ledge. Angie presses her hands to the windowsill, and swallows hard when she sees the fall. Peggy will have to climb down.

However, it's not the fall which scares Peggy.

Angie is taken by surprise when Peggy tugs at her gown. Her eyes are dark, serious, and Angie sees nothing more than a soldier. A broken, desperate soldier hoping for a better, brighter world. A poor woman who places far too much responsibility on her shoulders, it's a miracle her spine hasn't snapped from the weight. She sees Peggy's fear, her worry, her sadness that she has to leave one of the most important people in her life like this.

'Don't let him hurt you.' Short, strong words. Peggy kisses her roughly, and parts from her alll too quick. She looks at her, confident and sure of herself. 'I love you.' Angie stares, but isn't able to respond. Peggy is agile. She's broken in and out of homes before, obviously. Somehow, in less than ten seconds, Peggy has clambered her way down the brick of the flat, and jumped. She lands on her feet and disappears around the corner.

It's up to Angie now. She shuts the window, hides the Schnapps, the two glasses, and shoves them into her wardrobe. Her hand falls to the tea Peggy didn't drink. Angie brushes her fingers across the china. Peggy didn't drink her tea. It's cold. Peggy didn't drink her tea. It's barely been touched. Peggy didn't drink her tea. Peggy didn't drink her tea because of Angie, because she was distracted, because they, because they––

Angie's body shudders at the sin she has committed. There is a priest, downstairs, waiting to cleanse her. And she's––Oh, Christ! She slept with another woman. She slept with Peggy. She slept with Peggy. Angie's mind screams at her to move. In hurried movements, Angie strips out of her gown, pulls on her diner uniform, slumps herself in her chair to look in the mirror. Angie doesn't spend much time fiddling with her makeup, but she manages to neaten her hair, pushing her hairpins in, before she hears footsteps approaching her bedroom.

Three knocks. 'Angela?'

Angie smoothes down the sheets. Double checks to make sure there are no signs of Peggy's presence. Then, she dashes towards the door and opens it. Her father stands there, sober, hair combed back, wearing his best suit (and it's hardly flattering––it's in desperate need of an iron). Behind him stands a taller man, skinny, wearing a clerical collar and black attire. He smiles, sympathetically, at her.

Angie decides to ignore him. She looks at her father, stepping back to welcome the two men inside. 'Have you been travellin' all this time? You must be tired! Lemme go make you some food.' It's a trick to escape which fails. Her father gently grabs her by the wrist. Angie pretends she doesn't know what's going on. Pretending helps. She doesn't want to think about what will happen, she doesn't want to think that Peggy has abandoned her, and now she must face this all by herself.

But she will. And she can.

At least––at least somebody out there loves her for her. At least Peggy loves her.

She thinks about her kisses. That's when her father speaks to her, voice soft. He speaks Italian, and Angie doesn't understand why. The priest won't know what he is saying, but she agrees to converse in their first language. Her father mentions her "disability", and that he has found the right man to cure her. He then comes forward, rests his hands on her shoulders, assures her that it'll all be fine. He'll make sure of that. And, afterwards, he gently encourages his daughter into an embrace.

It doesn't occur to Angie that he will leave this priest and her alone. Not until he lets her go and makes his way for the door. Finally, Angie looks up at the man who will supposedly cure her, fix her, make her stop loving a woman who is the only person to ever love her. Angie's throat narrows. The door closes. And, suddenly, the room she and Peggy made love in is haunting, ugly, and she is hated.

This home is no longer home.

A waitress she hasn't seen before serves her. Peggy asks for Earl Grey. The usual. The waitress raises her brows. 'Oh, sorry, we don't have that anymore.' She shrugs. 'Guess no one liked it. Think there was a customer before who used to, but––Anyway. Uh, we have normal tea, if you want?'

Has it been that long? Peggy frowns, and doesn't answer straightaway. The Automat have stopped serving her favourite tea because the only customer who drank it stopped appearing. Until now. Peggy nods. 'Yes. Anything you have will do.' She doesn't sit at the front. Peggy goes for subtle, and subtle is essential currently. She sits at a table in the furtherest corner of the diner, and reads a lengthy newspaper while she waits for her tea to arrive.

She's not reading. More, hiding. Possibly self-conscious, she's not sure. Regardless, Peggy isn't herself. Today has been challenging. Not only has Angie been on her mind all day, but reporting back to duty was no friendly business. She's also quite tense about the fact that Howard Stark contacted her earlier. What about, he refused to say, but was very keen on meeting her in the next couple of days.

When her tea arrives, Peggy peers over her newspaper, and searches for Angie. She's nowhere to be seen. Peggy starts to worry. Before the waitress leaves, Peggy asks, 'Excuse me, but may I ask about a lady who works here? I have a message to deliver from a friends of hers, and I can't seem to find her. If memory recalls, her name is, uh, Allice––or Ann––something like that––'

'You mean Angie, right?'

'That's the one.'

'Yeah, Angie's here. I think she's on her break now. D'you want me to give her the message?'

Peggy smiles politely. 'Oh, don't let me trouble you. I'm sure you have enough on your plate right now. I'll wait until she appears.'

'Okay, honey.' The waitress smiles in return, and walks away.

Assured that Angie did survive this morning, Peggy leans back in her seat and continues to pretend she's reading her newspaper. Every so often, she lowers her paper to sip at her tea, and look to see if Angie is off her break. A silly thought enters her mind: does Angie want to talk to her? After confessing she loved her––something Peggy can't seem to shake off––did she startle the woman too much?

Peggy flips over the page.

What about that priest? What has he said––done to her? Peggy swallows. Imagining whatever happened between Angie and her priest is too much to bear. Oh. Oh. Peggy shouldn't have slept with her. How taunting. How foolish. Peggy isn't the type to sleep with whoever and wherever. She doesn't do that. But Angie isn't whoever. Angie is notwhoever. There is nothing to regret, nothing to fuss about.

Peggy finishes her tea. She asks her waitress for another.

From what she remembers, Angie was very enthusiastic about it all anyway. Peggy's memory is vivid of their time together. Their first kiss, and how everything spiralled after that. The way Angie held her, touched her bullet wounds, lay back for her, whispered her sweet Italian words, moaned and softly cried her name––Peggy feels her cheeks redden, clears her throat, and tries to ignore the throbbing sensation building below her abdomen.

Angie isn't whoever. That's for certain.

'Oh, I can't believe it!'

Peggy can recognise that "gee-whizz" accent anywhere. She internally cringes when she looks up to find Dottie beaming down at her. 'Well, I never,' she folds her newspaper, and tries to pull a smile as Dottie sits opposite.

'I'm so happy I found you! After what happened, I was so worried about you! Tell you something, Peggy, you've been on my mind constantly since. I'm pleased you're okay. You are, aren't you?'

'Yes, quite.'

'Fancy meeting you here.'

'Indeed.'

'I've been touring the city. Thinking of other places to go, but, well, neither of us have time for that. When the war is over, we should tour as many places as possible.'

Peggy raises her mug of tea. 'That sounds delightful, Dottie.'

'So, you're not waiting for anybody, are you?' Dottie cocks a brow. 'I sure hope I'm not disturbing a date.'

Peggy chuckles. 'No, no.'

'Alone? That makes two of us, then.'

Peggy searches for Angie. She still hasn't appeared. Her heart sinks. Oh, God. Is she okay? Peggy has to see her. She's desperate to see her. Is Angie okay? Dottie is watching her, and when Peggy meets her gaze, the blonde smiles angelically.

'Are you hiding something, Peggy?'

'Not exactly.' Peggy straightens in her seat.

'I bet you're full of secrets.' A shadow of an emotion passes her eyes. Peggy isn't able to identify it. Dottie is smiling again. 'Do you have any plans these next few days?'

'Yes, actually. Quite a few. Hopefully, I'll meet an old friend of mine soon.'

'Has there been a problem?'

'Who knows?' Peggy shrugs. It's all an act. She's being playful, and yet she is not in a playful mood. 'And you? Any plans?'

'Quite a few,' Dottie says, and Peggy doesn't know if she's mocking her. The blonde leans across the table, her eyes full of excitement. 'We should meet more often, Peggy! I think we have a lot to discuss.'

'Oh, yes, I'm sure we'll really hit it off.'

'So?' Dottie raises a brow. Her smile has disappeared. 'Where is your favourite place to meet? I think I should treat you to something nice, after all of your hard work.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Oh, lighten up, Peg! Give yourself a little fun.' Dottie rests her hand on Peggy's. 'I know a few great places around here––'

'Can I get ya anything, miss?'

Dottie is apparently irritated to have been interrupted. She slips her hand from Peggy's, and focusses her attention on the waitress. Peggy doesn't. She recognises Angie's voice, and her presence is like fire. Fury. Peggy doesn't look as far as the notepad in her hand, gripped so tightly, Angie is causing dents in the paper. 'I'll have what my friend is having,' Dottie says, gesturing towards Peggy. 'Would you like another?'

It takes a moment for Peggy to realise she's being spoken to. 'Oh, I––'

'Yes. Would ya like another?'

Now Peggy feels confident enough to look Angie in the eye. Angie's jaw is clenched, and her expression is mostly disinterested. But the bitterness in her tone is unmistakable, and Peggy does not appreciate it. Peggy notices the red mark on her neck. She has been slapped. Peggy's stomach boils. Angie is hurt. 'I would, thank you,' she turns to Dottie, urgent to distract herself from Angie's new injury. 'What were you saying, sorry?'

Angie walks away, her elbow "accidentally" knocking into Peggy's shoulder. Dottie doesn't seem to notice. 'I was saying I should take you to a few places I've seen around here. I wish I brought my map with me––' Peggy averts her gaze to where Angie is preparing their tea. Peggy can see that red mark from where she sits. A harsh, scarlet colour.

Something hurts.

Really hurts.

Peggy feels hollow. Empty. Almost lifeless… she should have been there… she should have stayed… she should have faced her father… she should have… she should have held Angie tighter, told her over and over again I love you, I love you, I really, truly, love you… but she didn't… of course she didn't… not Peggy, not like this, this is all too fast, all too blurred, it's so damn confusing, and Angie is acting so passive aggressive and wonderful and just, the poor, poor girl––

'Hello? Peggy?'

Dottie waves a hand over Peggy's line of vision, startling the agent. 'Oh, sorry.' She turns to her. 'How rude of me. I haven't been sleeping well recently, and I tend to drift off. I apologise.'

'Hey, it's fine. I get it.' Dottie is still her chirpy self. She pulls back her sleeve to look at her watch. 'Oops. I think I've babbled on for too long––'

'Dottie, please don't think I was ignoring you––'

'Peggy, don't be silly. I simply have a prior engagement which I forgot about.' She hands over a five dollar bill. 'For the tea. Good night.'

'Thank you,' Peggy watches Dottie stand. 'Farewell.'

Unbeknownst to the agent, Dottie lingers in the doorway, and walks out of the diner when their waitress––Angie––returns to their table. Dottie's eyes remain on the two as she walks past the window. She can recognise the young girl's body language easily. Ah. Children. They're so innocent, and easy to read. Angie is young, sweet and delicate, and Dottie smirks to herself, vanishing from sight. Her assumptions about Miss Carter were correct, after all, but it's not necessarily her curious love life Dottie is interested in.

She knows the "old friend" Peggy is meeting is, in fact, the infamous Howard Stark. And while Peggy may pretend she doesn't know his reasons for contacting her, Dottie knows of them too. A prized piece of technology has gone astray, now in the hands of idiots who'll no doubt tamper with the machinery and cause problems. It's not so much getting the object out of their hands which is Dottie's main aim. She also needs to own it. Her Handler's request is clear, and her Handler has also advised her to focus on Margaret Carter. She must get to the object through her.

Kill the woman once the object is in hand.

Now that she has a target, Dottie can get to work.

Hopefully this Angie is as obvious to her as she is around Peggy.

'She was pretty.'

'Don't start.'

'I'm sorry if I interrupted anythin', English.'

Peggy has had enough. She ignores her tea, shoves the five dollar bill into Angie's hand, and says through jarred teeth. 'We need to talk.' She searches the diner in case anybody is staring. No one is. 'What happened this morning?'

'I––' Angie rolls her eyes. 'I'm workin'.'

'So am I. You're a woman: multitask.'

'I don't wanna talk about it here, Pegs.' Angie shoves herself out of Peggy's grip. There's guilt in her eyes. There's fear. There's a mixture of emotions, and Peggy isn't able to read her as well as she usually can.

Peggy softens her expression.

'Darling, I ask because––'

'I'll tell ya, okay? Just––not now.' Angie looks away when a waitress passes them. Once she's out of earshot, Angie turns to Peggy again. 'Can ya wait for me? My shift finishes in couple a'hours. I––I don't wanna––' She's stuttering. She's panicking. She hates how Peggy makes her all flustered. 'We need to talk about it somewhere private.'

'Agreed. I'll leave and return around the time your shift ends––hopefully that will cause less suspicion.' Peggy doubts that, but what else can she do? She cares too much for Angie to ignore the mark on her neck. And that's it: she cares too much. Too, too much. Peggy shoves on her trench coat, tries to ignore the swift pace of her heart, and steps closer to Angie. If they weren't in public, Peggy would have kissed her, hugged her; she would have kissed her. 'Take care.'

'Not as if I can go anywhere,' Angie mumbles.

'I'll see you soon,' Peggy confirms. She brushes her hand across Angie's as she walks past, through the door and out into the night.