Work Text:
Title: Don’t Rock The Moat
Author: Beer Good
Fandom: Agent Carter
Rating: PG13
Word count: ~830
Characters/Pairing: Peggy/Angie
Summary: Late one night a few months after the season 1 finale, Peggy gets a phone call. Apparently, that thing she did on Brooklyn Bridge has come back to haunt New York City. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem to pose a major threat. Or a captain one either.
Don’t Rock The Moat
Having a phone in every room was really swell, most of the time. But 3AM on a cold night was not one of those times, especially when they were all extensions of the same line.
"Ohfercryinoutloud..." A hand dug its way out from under the far too warm and snuggly covers, fumbled around in the dark and pulled the receiver off the telephone, silencing it. After a few seconds, the hand was followed by the spectacularly bed-haired head of Angie Martinelli and a yawned "Hello? ...Oh hi, Agent. Don’t worry about it. I'll see if I can wake her up for ya. PEGGY! PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE FOR ONCE, HUH?", she shouted loud enough to be heard across the hall.
Well, in theory.
After a few seconds, she quickly tapped the hook as if someone had picked up in another room. Then she passed the receiver down under the covers and lay as quiet as possible (what with the phone cord stretching across some very ticklish areas) listening to the muffled one-sided conversation from underneath. "Yes, this is Peggy Carter... Oh, hello, Danny. ...What? ...Where? ...What? ...Are you serious? ...I see. No, absolutely not. Do you need me to... Oh. Right. Yes, I should think so. Talk to you then... What? Oh, I don't think she minds, but I'll tell her in the morning. Right. Bye." She passed the receiver back to Angie, who placed it back on the hook while Peggy reluctantly poked her head up from under the covers. "Danny says hi, and apologizes for waking you. Again. He says you must be the most patient flatmate in the world."
"And don't you forget it." Angie placed a quick peck on Peggy's head. "But maybe we should just put the phone on your side of the bed? I mean, I'm not sure I wanna talk to the sort of casting agents who'd call after midnight anyway."
"Perhaps," Peggy said while lazily walking her fingers up Angie's arm, "though I rather like it when you scream my name."
Angie caught her hand. "Hey, don't get a gal all worked up if you're gonna run off on some superspy business. What was that about, anyway?"
"Um..." Peggy tried to find a way to explain it. "It's... Actually, it’s nothing I need to deal with right now. It can wait until tomorrow."
"You sure?"
"Uh-huh."
"So..." Angie grinned and rolled over to face her. "Now that we're both awake, and we've let all this cold air in under the covers... Any ideas on how to warm up?"
One violation of New York law later, it wasn't Angie snoring away on her shoulder that kept Peggy awake for a while, but that phone call. What Daniel had told her sounded ridiculous - like something out of one of Angie's comic books - but she didn’t think it was a joke. God bless Daniel Sousa, he was a lovely man (and a very good detective; she didn't have the heart to tell Angie that he'd long since figured out that they shared a bed), but he did not have the imagination to make up something like this. It should be disconcerting, maybe even terrifying, that something as insignificant as a small vial of blood poured off the Brooklyn Bridge would spread something like this, but ... She couldn’t believe it was in any way evil. Quite the contrary. Manhattan was surrounded by water and a whole ocean away from where she grew up, but there was something comforting in that. She pulled the covers tighter around them, fell asleep in Angie’s arms and didn’t dream of anything she didn’t already have.
* * *
Down at the docks, Daniel hung up the phone and limped back to what they, for the time being, called a crime scene. "She had no idea," he told Thompson. "I told her I’d catch her up tomorrow."
His boss nodded. "Probably for the best. This has to be upsetting for her. So," he continued summing up for the gathered agents, "here’s what we know. It seems all the fish in the East River have developed super strength, along with big chins and scales that shift in red, white and blue, and started fighting crime. So far, they’ve foiled at least three robberies along the waterfront by hurling clamshells with starfish on them at the assailants. Now, as ridiculous as it sounds, it seems like they’re taking after - "
"Pardon me, Sir?" A uniformed policeman came running up to them. "We have another case the commissioner wants you to look at."
"Let me guess; a mugger knocked unconscious by multiple skipping stones to the head?"
"No, Sir. A couple of rowing boats ferrying illegal drugs were just sunk off Staten Island. The smugglers are claiming fish chewed right through the bottom."
Sousa perked up his ears. "These rowing boats… Were they red?"
"How did you know, Sir?"
"It was an inspired guess." He turned to Thompson. "Told you. Now they’re going after the red scull."