Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was, as these things so often were, entirely Howard’s fault.

He’d arrived in her room with some new explosive device that apparently had to be defused right now using equipment in the downstairs kitchen.

Peggy stepped out to check the hallway to see if the coast was clear, and there was Angie walking right up to greet her, carrying a bin full of laundry and smiling like sunshine that’s only a little tired from the miles of space it had to fly through to get to you, and has a thing or two to tell you about the trip.

"Angie," Peggy greeted with a smile, voice loud enough to be sure Howard would hear.

She wasn’t so worried about Angie finding a man leaving her room. (Well, actually, a knot of dread did form in her stomach at the thought.)

But she was sure Angie would cover for her. It was more a problem of the rather large armful of military equipment Howard had to carry with him, some of it glowing an alien blue.

That would be tricky to explain.

Peggy had to find a way to clear the way. “Angie, can I help you carry your laundry?”

Angie smiled. “Hey, Peg. Actually, I’m out of Dreft. Got any detergent in that room of yours I can borrow?” She stepped toward Peggy’s room, anticipating a yes.

Peggy stepped into her path, blocking the way with a self effacing smile. “As it happens, I don’t,” she lied. She was starting to get nervous. How long had Howard said they had? Five minutes? How long would it take Howard to defuse the bomb once he got down there?

She had to think of some way to divert her, fast.

Angie frowned in concern, placing her laundry basket down on the the floor. “Peggy, are you okay? You look like something’s eating at you. Did something happen at work again?”

"It’s nothing," Peggy said quickly, before inspiration struck. "It’s something! Something I mean to do. Right now. It’s this." And she stepped forward and kissed Angie right there in the middle of the hallway.

Angie’s lips were soft and still. For a moment Peggy wasn’t sure how the woman would react. She would like to have asked first, or given more warning, and she could only hope Angie wouldn’t take offense.

Then she felt Angie’s hand on her arm and the other woman leaned in, adding pressure to the kiss but letting it remain chaste, and Peggy sighed happily.

Because she was listening for it, she could only just hear the creek of floorboards behind her as Howard snuck past, having correctly taken her “Right now” as a signal to move. She felt Angie go to pull away as things came to a natural end, and Peggy followed the motion just a bit, silently requesting to prolong the kiss, which Angie allowed.

When Peggy finally pulled away, the other woman stared at her, caught in a blissful sort of shell-shock, lips smeared bright red with Peggy’s rouge. “…Gosh,” she said at last, wide-eyed.

Peggy grinned and looked down, surprised at her own forwardness and not bothering to hide it. “You have a little, um,” she gestured at her own lips to communicate where Angie’s lips were smeared, laughing warmly at the predicament.

Angie’s eyes widened. “Darn it. We better clear out before Miriam sees me like this. Your room?”

"My room," Peggy agreed quickly, and opened the door.

Chapter Text

"You call this a first page?” Peggy said it without venom, but she still saw Angie’s shoulders slump as she plopped the manuscript down in front of her.

"I know, I know. I knew it was bad when I wrote the damn story, I knew it was bad when I re-wrote that page, but I don’t know how to fix it. Still can’t get the hang of beginnings. I don’t know why.”

"Well, you did do the right thing sending it in instead of fussing over it too much. And it’s a masterpiece aside from the opening," Peggy admitted grudgingly, paging through the later chapters.

Angie’s eyes lit up. “You really think so?”

Angie’s eyes were so beautiful when they lit up like that, and Peggy always had to bite her tongue on false praise, wanting to see that smile, knowing that her job was to be honest even when it felt a bit cruel.

Fortunately there was no need for false praise today. “Yes,” Peggy confirmed with certainty. “It’s daring, it’s captivating, it’s just the right amount of sarcastic and witty…” It’s you.

Angie grinned, but the smile faded to a grim smirk as she concluded, “Except for the beginning.”

"Except for the beginning," Peggy sighed in agreement. "…Which is a problem because the beginning is the only bit most people will bother toread.”

Angie glanced over the first paragraph and wrinkled her nose. “I can’t blame them. I would read past this trash either.”

"It’s a bit slow."

"I have to give a bit of background, though, so everything else makes sense. How do I make that not boring?"

"By having something in the foreground too. Right from the very start. You need to learn to get right at the heart of the issue. From the first page, from the first paragraph, from the first sentence, you should already be divulging your character’s desires. What does she intend? What does she long for? What stands in her way? How can a reader root for your heroine to win if they don’t even know the game she’s trying to play?” Peggy realized that maybe she was speaking a bit to passionately and forgetting her sensitivity in the process. More softly, she added, “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Angie was giving her a strange look, somehow both intense and far off. “I think so,” she replied distantly.

Then Angie stood, and moved just a little bit into Peggy’s space. “It’s about knowing what you want, right?”

"Right…"

"Yeah. I think I know now what a really good beginning is supposed to feel like."

"That’s — that’s good," Peggy managed, flustered.

Angie’s face broke into a devilish grin. “Gotta go do a rewrite!” she pronounced, and dashed from the room.

Staring after her, Peggy took a long breath.

And realised she wasn’t sure at all what had just happened.

Chapter Text

Darcy is munching on a bowl of popcorn and leaning against Natasha, the two curled up under the same blanket watching old movies, enjoying the calm of the evening and the pleasant lack of imminent global disasters.

“Oh, come on.” She throws a kernel at the the TV. “It was an anonymous vote! Why is everyone being so mean to Henry Fonda?”

Nat reaches over and steals some of her popcorn. “He is kind of messing with them, to be fair.”

“No! He’s just trying to convince them not to kill that kid!”

“He’s toying with the rest of the jury.”

“Nu-uh!”

Natasha turns to face her. “You’ve seen this movie before, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, he spends the whole first part of the deliberation carrying the matching knife in his pocket without telling anyone.”

Darcy gapes at Natasha, then at the TV. “You’re right. Duh. That’s so sneaky!”

Nat just smirks, and Darcy lays her head down on her shoulder, doing her best to hide the way that smirk makes her feel all warm inside.

She’s been spending more and more time with Natasha lately, and she’s noticed promising signs. The way Nat smiles when she sees that Darcy is in the room. The ease of physical contact that they’re developing, the way the spy often slings a casual arm across her shoulders in the middle of a conversation. Now, the past three nights Natasha has been free, Darcy has managed to swing an invitation to stay late at Avengers Tower and watch movies with her in the TV room, and the two have gotten cosier and cosier with each other on each progressive night.

All very promising, and very much in keeping with Darcy’s long term goals for this acquaintanceship, which may or may not involve a white picket fence.

A few minutes later Nat reaches for the popcorn, Darcy accidentally-on-purpose reaches at the same time, their hands brush together, and Darcy turns to look at her, pausing to linger on what she hopes is perfectly set up sexual tension.

Natasha looks into Darcy’s eyes, then down at her lips, and then…

“Now would be the worst possible moment to tell you that I’m actually not gay, wouldn’t it?” Nat asks sadly.

Darcy is pretty sure her stomach drops all the way down to somewhere around her feet.

And she can see a lot of her own emotions reflected back in the the concerned grimace Natasha gives her. “Yeah,” Nat sighs. “Damn. Look, I don’t think that came out right.”

“Okay.” Darcy can hear the anxiety pitching her voice high and making the word tumble out fast and honest. “How was that supposed to come out? Because, like, I could normally just pretend I didn’t like you that way either, except you’re this super-spy and I’m pretty sure you can read my thoughts. You can probably read micro-expressions or whatever that guy on ‘Lie To Me’ called them, which means you probably know that I’m in love with you — and I shouldn’t have said that what even!” She finishes by slapping her forehead, thinks about withdrawing the hand, then just opts to hang her head in embarrassed misery.

“That really did come out wrong,” Natasha insists. “It’s not like I’m straight either. I just…” she hesitates, then forces herself to say it firmly. “I don’t do relationships.”

“…Oh,” Darcy says in a small voice.

That does help. She’s not sure why it helps, but it does.

She refocuses on the movie, and they watch jurors shout at each other, while both women inwardly mull over what just happened.

Darcy finally breaks the silence. “Do you not like dating, or do you just,not, because of your job or something?” She tries really hard not to sound like she’s trying to be pushy about this whole thing. She’s not sure if she succeeds. “You don’t have to answer though.”

She’s still leaning against Natasha, and she can feel the rise and fall of a few deep breaths. “I wish there was a way to just… have everything else about being love. You know? The sleeping next to each other, the dates, the stupid, cutesy nicknames. When you’re a child you get to be in love that way, but once you grow up…” Nat shrugs. “People start wanting something different.”

Oh, now Darcy is so curious. And starting to wonder if she can get what she wants after all. But she doesn’t want to screw this up by assuming that. “What do other people want that you don’t?”

Natasha frowns to herself and speaks slowly, feeling out the idea as she puts words to it. “I guess, when it comes right down to it, I’ve never been involved with someone who thought there was a difference between ‘love’ and ‘sex.’ People pretend there’s a difference, but…” Another shrug. “Sooner or later, they stop acting like there is. Human nature.”

Nat picks up a kernel of popcorn and doesn’t eat it, just rolls it around between her fingers while she thinks. “I’ve dated. I’ve tried to enjoy it. But sex isn’t something I like. It’s something I use.” She looks Dary’s face up and down, and there’s longing there, like she wishes her own words weren’t true. “Only follows that love is too.”

Darcy stared back at her, completely frozen, for about three seconds before she jumps up off the couch, scattering a bit of popcorn as she plunks the bowl down haphazardly and starts scurrying around the coffee table in search of her handbag. “Oh my god. Internet. Internet! Where. Is. My. Laptop. There is a Wikipedia article I need to show you, like,yesterday.”

She looks at the couch and finds that Nat already has her phone out and is looking at her expectantly. “Key word?”

“Asexual.” Darcy picks up the remote and pauses the movie.

Natasha types in the search term, frowns at the screen. “‘Asexuality’?”

“Yeah. That one.”

“I’ve had sex,” Natasha argues without any zeal before her eyes start moving to skim the definition at the top of the article. “…Oh.”

Darcy sits down next to her again, gauging Nat’s reaction before leaning into her again. “Now look up ‘Romantic Orientation.’ There. Scroll down. See the ‘aromantic’ bit? Like, how it’s different from asexual?”

Natasha stares at the screen, then at Darcy. “…I can have the one without the other.”

Unable to contain her optimism anymore, Darcy find herself holding her fists up to her chin in a childlike gesture of desperate hope, and whispers, “Please-please-please-please-please-please-please?”

Natasha grins, pulls Darcy into a tight hug, and pulls back only give her a lingering affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Please,” she agrees warmly.

After a bit more ridiculous grinning, they set the movie to play, settle under their blanket again, and enjoy the rest their evening in a state of perfect contentment.

Chapter Text

It started with all the Avengers sitting around in the lounge. They usually had a meeting this time of day, but Fury had been unexpectedly called out of town, so here they were playing monopoly, when they heard the approaching voices of two female members of the tower.

It started out muffled behind a closed door, but as the voices approached, Jane’s voice could be made out. “…such a fangirl.”

“I am not!” That was Darcy. “You’re the one who’s all ‘OMG Thor he’s so Thor-y’ and ‘OMG Dr. Banner his work on Inter-Phase Time-Space Particle Whatever is so… particle-y.’ Sooner or later you’re gonna have to face the truth. I am the epitome of cool-headedness around famous buff people.”

Jane’s voice again. “Please. You were a basket case when you moved in. Admit it. Admit it! You were all like, ‘OMG the Avengers, I can’t believe I’m living with them.”

“Oh, come on, my voice does not sound like that. Second, I was not fangirling over all the Avengers. Just… one of them.”

“Would that be the one you have a poster of over your bed?”

“Shut up.”

“And another poster of on your closet door, and on your ceiling, and…” Jane fell silent as both women walked into the room and saw that they had an audience. “…and I thought… you… guys… were… in a meeting. Hi!” she concluded awkwardly.

“Hello, Jane,” Thor greeted with a warm smile, and some of Jane’s discomfort melted away as she returned the smile in a gooey lovestruck fashion.

Darcy, in the other hand, turned a bit red and pulled out her phone to play with it resolutely and not look at any of them.

Watching this behavior, Tony was pretty sure he’d never seen Darcy act embarrassed about anything before. Of course, he’d never really had occasion to hold more than a few words of conversation with her before, so…

Oh. It was so him.

Politically savvy, a bit sarcastic, and very much a child of her era? He knew the type, and it was the type that asked Tony Stark for an autograph.

Anyway, he was by far the most popular Avenger. Iron Man action figures sold even better than Cap’s these days, so the odds were certainly in Tony’s favor.

Aloud, he said, “Yeah, we got the day off. And we got to find out about Darcy’s celebrity crush. Which is cool, by the way. Totally normal reaction to meeting spectacular people.”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get out of the conversation any other way, Darcy finally said, “Well, I have a thing to do in a place gotta go bye,” and walked out of the room, still uncharacteristically blushing.

Once she was gone, all eyes turned to Jane.

“I’m not gonna tell you guys. She’s my friend.”

“She’d tell us if it was you,” Natasha pointed out aptly.

“No,” Jane insisted. “I’m not gonna make things that awkward for her with someone she sees every day.”

“So it is someone she sees pretty much every day?” Tony questioned, realizing that that actually took him out of the running.

Natasha put down her cards and stood.

“Where are you going?” Clint asked.

Natasha pocketed her phone and made her way toward the door through which Darcy had left. “I’m going to go find out for myself,” she said simply, and walked out.

The remaining Avengers looked at each other, and then Steve picked up Natasha’s cards and held them out toward Jane. “Wanna play? Nat was winning.”

Chapter Text

Peggy sits down on the bed, and her shadow pools across the covers, thick in the light from the door, because Angie groaned so pitifully when Peggy tried to turn on one of the apartment lights.

She can’t see Angie too well, but there’s the shine of a sweat soaked forehead and there’s a set pink lips pouting and grimacing in discomfort, which disappear under the covers a moment later as Angie squirms around in search of a less painful position.

“Dottie tells me you’ve been running a fever all day.”

“Pretty sure it’s running me,” Angie grumps in a course, wretched voice. “If I were still the boss of this joint, fever’d be packing its bags and turning in its uniform by now.”

“Well I’m sure it can’t put up with you forever.” Peggy places a bowl on the covers and pulls out a wet cloth, wringing out the water, and she can hear the gurgle of drops landing back in the bowl better than she can see it in the dark.

She leans forward and brushes a few strands of lovely brown hair out of Angie’s face to make way for the cloth, and Angie sighs at the touch of her fingers, as if they somehow offer relief from the myriad discomforts of her flu.

She sighs more deeply when the cool cloth comes to rest on her forehead. But when Peggy withdraws her hand again, Angie whimpers and worms her arm out from under the covers, reaching down to find Peggy’s hand again and twine their fingers together. “Tell me honestly Peg: am I gonna die?”

“How very dramatic,” Peggy responds acerbically, having none of her theatricals. But she sandwiches Angie’s hands warmly between hers, running one gentle thumb back and forth along the groove between the metacarpal bones in her palm.

Her eyes are adjusting to the dark room, and she can see the blue of Angie’s eyes now, glassy with fever.

“Well that’s not a straight answer is it? Better get me the last of that schnapps. Wouldn’t want to leave with unfinished business.”

Peggy arches an eyebrow. “Leaving me to rid the place of your lingering spirits? Oh, yes, that would be irresponsible of you.”

“Exactly.”

“Why don’t we see how well you hold down a bit of hot broth? Then we’ll see about alcohol.”

“Fine.” Angie shifts and wrinkles her nose in disgust at the smell and feel and aches of her own body. “How do you put up with me when I’m like this Peggy? I stink, I look awful, I feel awful… this can’t be your idea of a hot date.”

Peggy smiled at the ridiculousness of that, pulled up Angie’s hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles, hard bone and soft skin and clammy sweat under her lips. “I’m quite certain I can put up with you forever.”

Chapter Text

If anyone had asked Natasha why she had taken up habitually reading Avengers fanfiction, she would have told them it was for research.

She was a spy turned public figure, and she had to have an intimate understanding of how she was seen. The role she played in the eyes of the public might one day prove tremendously relevant in persuading a fan to help her in a pinch, or in playing the part of someone completely unrelated to Natasha Romanov in spite of her similar looks. She needed to know how people believed she talked, walked, cooked, evaded questions… All the little nuances of human behavior were things she could use and control if she knew exactly what the expectation was.

The reality? She thought it was funny.

People hazarded to guess all sorts of things about their personal lives and personalities to fill in the details of these stories and it was all so wrong. Scientifically illiterate Tonys. Thors that couldn’t navigate Wikipedia, let alone code a web page. Steves that acted like they’d grown up in Alabama farm country instead of Brooklyn. It was a free trip past the funhouse mirrors of human imagination and it was fun.

(And, on occasion, very sexy.)

There was one author in particular whose stories Natasha had taken to curling up in bed with after a very long day. Some steamy, some just fluff — simple, heartwarming descriptions of the everyday life of the Avengers. The spelling and grammar were iffy at best, but more as a result of laziness with a spellchecker and shameless use of online dialects than because of anything resembling unintelligence on that part of the author. If fact, their stories were almost alarmingly in character.

Tonight, it had been a long day, and Natasha had a new story notification in her inbox: Tony Stark/Natasha Romanov. Fluff tag. This should be interesting. Natasha started reading it, stopped, sat up, put her laptop down in the bed, and stared at the screen for a long time, contemplating the implications of the line she had just read.

There was a very, very short list of people in this world that were in possession of the knowledge that Natasha owned that particular pair of Hello Kitty panties. And a few names she could cross right off her list of suspects.

She somehow doubted Fury had written this.

Given the fluency in text speak — particularly in the author’s notes — it was really down to Tony or Darcy, and…

…The fic under this author page that was simply titled “Mary Sue” had definitely had a female lead. An almost entirely unironic romance between Black Widow and a young, dark-haired woman majoring in political science.

Come to think of it, Natasha had quite liked that story.

Chapter Text

Nothing was more fun than giving Mr. Stark a hard time.

Scratch that. One thing was more fun: seeing the redhead who sometimes stopped by his office give him a hard time.

Darcy wasn’t sure exactly what it was that the woman had to hand deliver in mysterious boxes to the CEO of Stark Industries instead of send through a courier. Frankly, she didn’t care.

Whatever was in the boxes, the woman carrying them was witty and sexy and just arriving in the office with a delivery and a, “Stark, you’ve got mail. It’s from Fury, and it’s in a mood.”

Mr. Stark looked up from his computer. “Yeah, just put it down on the table over there. Speaking of moods, how’s Fury treating you? Sure you don’t want to come work for Stark Industries? We have the biggest-”

“Egos?”

“Well, I was gonna say, ‘salaries,’ but that too.”

The visitor put down the box where Mr. Stark had directed. “Thanks, but I prefer it when the explosions are controlled.”

“Oh come on. Cheap shot.”

“Yeah,” Darcy finally chimed in. “Here, the controls are usually exploding. It’s totally almost the same thing.”

“That’s so not helpful,” Mr. Stark complained.

But the other woman was giving her an approving look, so Darcy dared to introduce herself. “I’m Darcy, by the way.”

“Natasha.”

Darcy felt herself smiling a little, and opened her mouth to speak again. She meant to ask the woman out to dinner. She really, really did.

So of course what actually came out was, “Can I have your babies?”

Hearing those words as they left her own mouth, Darcy panicked for about three milliseconds. Fortunately, that was a small enough space of time to keep that panic from showing up on her face before she realized that she could so carry this off.

So Darcy just raised her eyebrows and waited expectantly for an answer, cool as a cucumber, as if ‘can I have your babies’ was the most normal thing she had ever asked anyone.

Natasha froze for a moment, looking about as shocked as Darcy felt. Then she opened her mouth, closed it, and pulled her lips back between her teeth, visibly suppressing a smile.

“Well?” Darcy pressed.

“No. But you can have my number.”

Chapter Text

Science had been hard for Betty, for so long now. She did it because it was what she knew. The rhythm, the caution, the strange guessing games and constant testing, and testing again, sorting out anomalies and patterns as they arose. She was good at it, she knew it like breathing.

But it was a life full of memories, and she found herself detached. She’d shared so much of this with Bruce, jokes over paperwork, stolen kisses between lectures, winks tossed across the room in the middle of trials. The thrill of love and the thrill of discovery had gotten so tangled up together.

And there was a voice in her head telling her she should be more evolved than this. So few women in this field, and she was letting her passion for work be sapped away over some long lost love? It didn’t seem feminist.

It didn’t seem fair.

But still she did it, and she did it well. Gained respect in her field, wrote papers, broke through mysteries and walls. She did it, only she was just a little numb.

And then Jane came along.

Jane, who absolutely glowed with excitement when she came in talking about Einstein-Rosen Bridges and alien worlds and weather phenomena. She seemed to fill the room with a sort of golden light. “I’ve made amazing progress in understanding how these bridges are formed, but what I keep hitting up against is just how the human body can tolerate the conditions of moving through the bridge. All our tests predict fatal distortions at the cellular level. So I’ve asked for clearance to tell you about my tests so we can work toward a clearer idea of what the requirements are to keep cells intact through dramatic space-time distortions.”

And Betty, Betty felt like she could breathe again for the first time in years, but she just smiled softly and said, “Of course, I’d love to help.”

So they worked together, and they found answers and chased down dead ends, and the thrill of discovery got all tangled up with the thrill of searching side by side. They hugged when a study went as they hoped. They winked across the room on the verge of big experiments. They kissed away the frustration when a promising hypothesis fell apart. They found amazing things. Other worlds.

And it didn’t seem so shameful anymore, to find the search a little empty without someone to share it with.

Chapter Text

Flowers? No. Food? Of course not. That would be something: Hello Angie, congratulations on realizing your lifelong dream, here have a meal to remind you of your glorious days in the foodservice industry, it’ll keep for three days, four if you place it on the windowsill during a cold spell.

Peggy sighed and sat back on her bed, glancing around her room as she mentally ran through all the possible bad gift ideas, thoughts taking on a helpless tenor.

Why was this so difficult?

Because her best girl was about play her first leading role in a major stage play, and that merited a gift that held a little more permanence than flowers or a box of chocolates.

Permanence, eh? Peggy lay back on the bed, spread her arms to each side and closed her eyes, and for one pleasant, glowing moment she let herself imagine a little black box and a golden ring. A small gift that held in it white gowns and vows and lifetimes…

The thought made her smile, but the smile turned wistful as she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling.

She’d been born in the wrong era for that one. And she was all for defying conventions, but she also knew price of it, and neither she nor Angie had proven themselves to the world enough for that choice to not ruin both their careers.

What did you give a woman when the thing you wanted to give her most came at too high a price?

She huffed an unhappy breath and sat up again.

Probably flowers.

Chapter Text

“Oh,” Peggy blinked, taken off guard by her co-worker’s offer.

“What do you say?” Sousa prompted.

It took Peggy a moment to collect her thoughts, and in that time her co-worker seemed to realize on his own what the answer would amount to.

He gave her a quick smile that looked more like a wince than anything else, looked down at his crutch, and tapped it once against the ground in a nervous gesture of concluded business. “You don’t have to say it.”

“Agent Sousa, I want you to know that I’m very flattered—”

“It’s okay.” Sousa was already stepping back from her desk. “I know a full set of limbs is all the rage these days.”

Peggy frowned, abruptly cross. “That’s not fair. Do you really think so little of me as to think this is about your leg?”

Sousa stopped, and had the gall to look a bit bewildered. “Do I want to know what it is about?” His expression said, What else is wrong with me?but there was a growing humor the set of his brows.

Peggy rolled her eyes and muttered, “Men,” without much real aggravation. “As it happens, I’m already involved.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

She sighed understandingly. “You wouldn’t. It’s a bit of a secret.”

“I see. Well, whoever it is, I wish him luck. He’s got a tough act to follow.” The last sentence was muttered, and Sousa’s eyed widened as he seemed to realize he’d said that out loud. “I’m sorry, that was—”

“You know,” Peggy said almost idly. “I didn’t actually fall in love with Captain America.”

Sousa paused. “What?”

“The man I fell in love with was named Steve Rogers. He was… a somewhat frail young man. Small. The top of his head would have come about even with your shoulder. And very ill, though he worked hard to hide it. And he had no idea whatsoever how to talk to a woman,” she laughed. “But he had a good heart. Very much like yours.”

He nodded, visibly touched by the compliment. “Thank you. Well. Whoever it is you’re seeing now, he’s very lucky.”

Peggy considered for a moment, glanced around to ensure no one was in earshot, and then smiled at Sousa. “Yes. She is.”

Chapter Text

“So, I’ve been kidnapped, and I know what you’re gonna say, but honestly that thing with the taser was only that one time, and I am not actually as well-equipped to handle this sort of situation as you seem to think I am. Please tell me you have Mnyum-Nyum with you.”

“Who’s Mnyum-Nyum?” Natasha asked blankly.

“Oh! Hi! Sorry! I thought you were someone less hot.” Pause. “Else. I thought you were someone else.”

Natasha felt herself grinning involuntarily. She bit back a joke in favor of addressing the problem at hand quickly while Darcy still had access to a phone. “Do you know anything about your captors or location?”

“One of them smells like fish, and the other one has this awful nasally thing going on with his voice? Other than that I got zip on who the bad guys are. I think I’m in… like, an office building. There are cheesy inspiring posters everywhere, so now I’m having PTSD flashbacks of elementary school.”

“I get those. Where were you kidnapped from? Do you know how long you were traveling for?”

“I was outside the Wells-Fargo near my apartment. Felt like about half an episode of Daria.”

“Jarvis, narrow down the call trace to an area within fifteen minutes of —”

“Already doing so, Agent Romanov.”

Natasha nodded. “Okay, Lewis. We should have your location soon. How did you get to a phone, anyway?”

“Oh, y’know. Magic. Trickery. Kidnappers totally sucking at knots and then leaving me alone in an office with a landline.”

“Well, if you have to be kidnapped by someone, I guess you can always hope they’re inept.”

“I’d settle for kidnappers that shower. I swear, the air in here still reeks of tilapia.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in case I ever need to kidnap you.”

“Would you?” Darcy didn’t sound particularly put off by the idea. “That’s very sweet. I’d appreciate the thought there.”

“Sure. Okay, we’ve got your location down. Thunderguns is closest, I’m notifying him now.”

“You’re sending Thor?” she sounded oddly disappointed about it.

“Yeah.” Natasha smiled again. “Why, were you hoping for someone hotter?”

“…Maybe?”

Chapter Text

It was time to finally try out the grand, luxurious kitchen Peggy and Angie now shared in Howard Stark’s lent mansion. It was an enormous expanse of glittering counters and gleaming appliances and fixtures, fit to feed two households and make a professional chef drool.

They were making cookies.

Rolling pins and cookie cutters and measuring implements came out, and Angie regaled her with more stories about the late light customer who was always hounding her for another cup of coffee.

“I still say he fancies you,” Peggy insisted. “Hand me the baking soda. No, sorry, I meant baking powder. That one, yes.”

Angie handed her the box and went back to mixing the liquid ingredients. “Right, and Johnny in third grade tugged my pigtails for the same reason, huh?”

Peggy was very tempted to reach out and tug lightly at one of the two adorable pigtail braids Angie was sporting right now, but she kept her hands to herself and measured out an even spoonful of powder. “If our teachers are to be believed.”

“Actually, I think my teacher was too busy yelling at me for breaking Johnny’s nose. Go figure.”

Peggy laughed, and then the two started negotiating the process of pouring the dry ingredients into the wet, stray flour scattering across the countertop like snow on a clear frozen lake. Their hands and forearms brushed together as they worked, and Peggy found herself too conscious of the contact, not sure where touching was awkward, where it was necessary.

She still wasn’t — wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure what Angie wanted, or knew, or believed, about what it meant for the two of them to be living together like this. She’s hoped somehow that in inviting Angie to come live with her, she would spark a reaction that she could use to glean whether or not her affections were returned.

No such luck. When she made the offer, she only found Angie searching herface for just such a clue, and who knew which answer she was hoping for?

Well, she’d said yes, hadn’t she?

“You sure this is enough flour?” Angie asked, wrinkling her nose doubtfully as she started stirring.

“We’ll add more when we roll it out. As for this beloved customer of yours, have you ever considered employing the same strategy with him as you did with this Johnny fellow?” Peggy raised her eyebrows and made a slight punching motion with her fist.

Angie rolled her eyes and laughed, “Shut up, English.”

And damn it if she hadn’t said that one too many times. Peggy took the bowl from Angie’s hands and placed in on the counter, maneuvering herself into the space it left and then facing her housemate with every bit of daring she could muster. “Make me.”

Angie looked confused for a split second as she puzzled it out, then grinned took Peggy’s face in her hands and kissed her. And Peggy got exactly what she asked for: She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t even get the room to stop spinning. So she contented herself to kiss Angie back, wrapping two slightly flour-stained hands around her waist to pull her closer.

It was a while before they finished making cookies.