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Peggy Carter was one of the highest ranking members of the Strategic Scientific Reserve. She had participated in more highly classified missions than most men she worked alongside, and was one of the few people who could claim to have known the real Steve Rogers, more commonly known as Captain America.
She had been recruited from her code-breaking job at Bletchley Park, already a highly prestigious career which she was proud to do. She had quickly risen through the ranks, her skills allowing her to transfer to the SSR and assist with the training of recruits for Project Rebirth.
Since childhood, she had felt sure of her place in the world, sure that it was far from what her parents expected of her. Had it not been for the words on her wrist, she was sure her family and friends would have expected her to settle down and marry long before the war ended.
As it was, she managed to convince them that the transfer would be beneficial for her, as it was unlikely she would find their speaker in England. She never put too much effort into finding them, however, her priorities firmly set on the war effort, on moving through the ranks and doing what was right.
She hadn’t hesitated to help Steve behind enemy lines, trusting his decision making as well as she trusted her own. Though she knew her words were not Steve’s, she felt a connection to him she had not felt with anyone previously. They may not have been soulmates, but they were meant to meet. In another life, perhaps, they would have been perfect for each other.
Regardless, they fought side-by-side, and when he put his plane down that day, she felt her heart break all the same. She grieved, but she carried on, determined to do right by him and his life. The war ended, but her work did not. She stayed with the SSR, though the nature of her work changed rapidly as she watched the men around her promoted and acclaimed while she was left to take lunch orders and make coffee.
Peggy Carter knew her value.
Unfortunately, it often felt as though she were the only one who did.
Occasionally, she would glance down at her wrist and read the words which had in an odd way, been her ticket out of the life of a British housewife.
Nice accent, English. How’s the pie?
It had been the reference to her accent which had reconciled her family to her career choice.
“Who would refer to me as English, if I were still in England?” Her mother had been forced to concede that it was unlikely, and though she had cried at the thought of her “sweet child” going to fight in a war, especially as she was still grieving for Michael, she had been comforted by the thought that Peggy would meet her future husband through the change.
Peggy hadn’t had the heart to mention that it was equally likely her soulmate would be a woman.
Either way, here she was, back to working as a glorified secretary in spite of her high rank, and spending her evenings dodging social events her roommate attempted to lure her into.
Peggy never went out of her way to find her soulmate. She preferred to focus on her work, and did all she could to be an asset to the SSR, in spite of the little recognition she got. When she went out to eat, however, and a dessert choice was offered, she did find herself drawn to the pie options more often than not.
She wouldn’t necessarily say she enjoyed pie, but she couldn’t help herself. She presented a tough exterior, particularly in the office, but she was a romantic at heart, and something in her longed for someone to go home to, who she could share details of her day with and who would comfort her after a difficult mission - if she ever managed to go out in the field again.
That evening, Peggy was tired. She had no desire to cook, but she didn’t want the fuss of a sit down restaurant. There was an automat down the road, which she knew a few of the men from the office tended to frequent, and she decided to give it a try. It seemed ideal, large portion sizes, plenty of options, and no requirement to talk to a staff member unless she actively wanted to.
She perused the vending machines, trying to decide between a turkey sandwich, and a soggy looking sandwich. Neither looked particularly appetizing, and she found herself moving towards the dessert machine. She rolled her eyes at herself, but rationalized it with thoughts of her particularly underwhelming day.
She put in her coins and selected a cherry pie. Her stomach would probably not be happy with her later, but she shrugged it off. She sat down in a booth in the middle of the room, one with clear sight lines around the quiet dining room. She may not have expected any enemies to be lurking in the shadows here, in New York City, but she would rather not be caught by surprise by Thompson of Krzeminski all the same. She had enough of their sneers and put downs in the office, thank you very much.
As she ate, she perused the newspaper which she had picked up on her way. She snorted as she saw a picture of Howard Stark on the front cover, looking far too smug for his own good, as per usual. The headline made reference to some new scandal he had gotten himself caught up in.
“Good god, man, can’t you stay out of trouble for five minutes?” Peggy muttered under her breath as she read the story, which seemed to feature a congressman and a young actress. Her attention was quickly distracted, however, when a voice interrupted from behind her.
“Nice accent, English. How’s the pie?” Peggy, ever composed and elegant, promptly choked on the bite she had in her mouth and dropped the paper, turning around quickly to see who had spoken.
The woman wore a blue uniform and hat which indicated she worked in the automat, and Peggy felt her eyes flick over her lithe figure. The name tag said her name was Angie, and Peggy felt the name resonate in her head. Their eyes met, and she felt her mouth go dry.
“It’s alright, could be sweeter.” She responded, and watched as realization flickered in Angie's eyes.
“Damn, well ain’t that just dynamite.” Peggy regained her composure and stood up, moving towards Angie.
“Peggy Carter. Pleasure to meet you at last, Angie.” Angie flushed, and Peggy was damned if that wasn’t the most endearing thing she had ever seen. She licked her lips, tasting some of the cherry pie which she had been eating, and noticed Angie’s eyes flick down to follow the movement. Peggy quirked an eyebrow, and Angie took a quick look back to the change counter, no doubt where her boss lurked. She groaned in frustration and her face fell slightly. A voice called from the other side of the dining room, interrupting them before either could break the silence.
“Hey, Miss! What kinda turkey ya call this?” Angie winced and shot Peggy a long-suffering expression.
“Look I get off in an hour, why don’t you meet me round back, eh?” Peggy nodded eagerly and went back to her seat, just about catching the muttered “Doll” that Angie whispered in her ear as she pranced off to see to the irate customer. Peggy felt herself flush, and she ate the remainder of the pie absentmindedly, attention focused on the woman making her way around the establishment. They made eye contact more than once, and Peggy felt electricity run through her body each time.
About 45 minutes later, Peggy couldn’t sit still any longer, and she stood and left the building, making her way around to where she guessed the staff exit was located in the nearby alleyway. Sure enough, she quickly located the door, and leaned against the wall to wait.
Finally, the door opened, and Angie stepped out. Peggy felt a smirk spread across her face as they moved towards each other.
“What do you say we get out of here?” She asked, drawing Angie in with a hand on her hip.
Angie licked her soft, pink lips and nodded, letting herself be pulled closer.
“Your place or mine?” Peggy asked.
“Well, my landlady is pretty strict,” began Angie. “No men above the first floor.” She smiled coyly at Peggy, who felt heat begin to curl in her gut as she took Angie’s hand and gestured for her to lead the way.
“Then we shouldn’t have any issues, now should we?”