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Angie had trusted her. No questions asked.
She focused on that as they made petty threats. As they tried to intimidate her as if she hadn’t been humiliated by them everyday, for weeks. Treated like a secretary. Like a part of the furniture. Like she was no one.
She certainly was someone today, or so she remembered by the handcuffs securing her to the table. As if she had anywhere to run. As if she didn’t have a city to save – maybe even a country.
But Angie had trusted her right away. Had arranged a car for her to escape. Hadn’t asked for anything in return.
Peggy wondered how they would react if she pointed that out – not that she ever would. She wouldn’t drag Angie down into this mess, not even to save her own life. But she wondered anyway.
Naive, they’d call her. That only fueled her anger.
She focused on Angie, on how she faked a smile whenever a client was being horrible. Impatient, mean, horrible men treating her like she was nothing. That fake expression she’d pull on her traits like a shield.
Peggy breathed out shortly, and tried to produce the same expression.
“May I have a cup of coffee, please?”
They hit the table with their fists, and got angrier when she didn’t blink.
There was no adrenaline left in her veins; just the faint buzzing of depleted energy. Her heart beat heavily, echoes in her empty chest as she walked out of the hangar, the threat finally gone. Partly gone, she winced as she thought of Dottie’s unfound body.
Her skin tingled with fresh, invisible bruises as she walked with Jarvis to his car, eager to return home. If she even had one; somehow she doubted it. It wasn’t like Ms Fry had any clearance that would allow Peggy to explain even in the slightest the recent events. Male agents roaming above the first floor; Peggy drugged and handcuffed, being forced into the back of a police car.
She doubted her belongings were even still in her room.
Jarvis suggested a hotel, but Peggy refused. Angie’s face resurfaced in her mind despite the exhaustion, with the same pinch of unexplained joy the thought of her always caused. Peggy breathed down deeply as she pictured what was ahead. If her things had already been packed away, at least Angie would still be there.
Angie, who had been simply wonderful.
Peggy had left her a few hours before, only it felt like days, and for a split second, she doubted.
Angie had watched her get arrested, and then had hours to fill in the gaps, to connect the dots. Angie had probably spent her day questioning everything Peggy had ever said. Wondering how many lies Peggy had told. How much had been real and true.
As Jarvis parked the car in front of the Griffith, panic gripped Peggy’s heart. Cold claws digging in the muscle.
Angie had no reason to trust her. She never had, and yet she did. But Peggy had no right to expect it. No right to trust that Angie would still be here, would still care. Would still want Peggy anywhere near her life, now.
She pulled out of the warmth of the car without a word; Jarvis and Howard had said enough. Words of gratitude and reassurance that Peggy did not want from either of them.
She took a deep breath, and dreadfully approached the large wooden doors. Curfew, she remembered. There was no need to pry those open.
The back of the Griffith building was just as dark as the front and Peggy sighed as she found the kitchen’s window unlocked, just like the rumors had promised it would be. An entrance for those who arrived after ten. A tiny crack in Ms Fry’s impregnable edifice, frail and desperate like a Hail Mary.
Peggy slipped in, ignoring the ache in her muscles protesting every movement. Dottie had been stronger, faster. She’d have to be ready next time.
When a silhouette stopped by the entrance of the kitchen, Peggy’s heart painfully froze. Next time, it seemed, had come early.
Only the stranger did not move, and Peggy’s blinking eyes finally revealed that it wasn’t, in fact, Dottie that was staring at her with disapproving eyes and lips curled in distaste.
“Ms Fry,” she breathed out with relief – something she hadn’t thought possible.
There was only silence, and it brought a thin red line of humiliation to Peggy’s cheeks as she remembered her earlier arrest. She wondered if the cops would return here and take her away again, on the count of her breaking and entering the building where she lived.
Used to live, perhaps.
“I’ll be out of your hair by morning,” Peggy offered as a truce.
Ms Fry crossed her arms in front of her chest, definitely not eager to bargain. “In all my years managing this establishment, I have never had such a commotion.”
There were apologies on the tip of Peggy’s tongue, and yet she kept her mouth shut. Something in the way Ms Fry’s hushed brisk words filled the space. Something about her floral dressing gown. About the way she stood, a mix between a statue and a guard dog. And something else.
“And I have never, ever unlocked the front door after curfew,” she declared. “But agent Sousa insisted on the phone that you were a hero, that you had saved many lives today.”
Peggy winced; at what exactly, she couldn’t tell. The Griffith had been hers, in a way, and now that the agents had stormed in, now that they had called Ms Fry to discuss Peggy’s life... It wasn’t Peggy’s anymore. Just another way of patronizing her.
“I’m sorry,” Peggy finally whispered, her frustration waning as she stepped forward.
“Hero or not, Ms Carter,” Ms Fry shook her head in something like motherly disapproval, “I am tasked to keep those girls safe.”
Perhaps it was the exhaustion, but for a moment Peggy truly did feel sorry about what had happened. “I’m sorry for the trouble,” she added, surprised by how sincere she sounded. Ms Fry’s rules had been a source of entertainment for Angie and her, a constant reason to laugh. Something to ridicule after the long, tiring days. And yet the worry nested deep in Ms Fry’s eyes caused Peggy to lower her gaze, just this once.
“I trust that you understand I cannot let this slide,” Ms Fry continued as if Peggy hadn’t spoken a word. “At the earliest hour tomorrow, Ms Martinelli and yourself will pack your belongings and leave the Griffith.”
Peggy’s eyes widened. “Angie has nothing to do with this,” she rushed, anger quickly returning, like a quiet burn swelling in her stomach.
Ms Fry sighed in annoyance. “Ms Carter,” she snapped the name like a nun cracking a ruler at some disobedient child, “my decision is final. I will not tolerate this kind of behavior under my roof.”
“What kind of behavior?” Peggy felt as if the rug had been pulled from under her feet. Last she had seen Angie, she had fooled both the agents and Ms Fry; there was no reason for Ms Fry to suspect that Angie had aided her in any way. No reason to think there was anything not proper about their friendship.
“This is not a discussion,” Ms Fry replied sharply, moving out of the doorway. Peggy nodded as she walked past her, feeling cold eyes boring into her back as she went for the stairs. “And Ms Carter? You will pay for the repairs of the wall you defaced.”
That, Peggy had forgotten. It dawned on her like a ton of bricks as she dragged herself up the staircase. Steve’s blood, her mind repeated again and again, how could you forget about Steve’s blood?
She pushed her key in the lock with shaking hands, and jumped nervously when the door beside hers opened.
“Peggy?” Angie’s relieved voice hit her like a punch in the gut. “I was so worried.”
Bright smile and gleaming eyes. Peggy only felt more ashamed that she had ever dragged Angie into this.
She had let Dottie run. Had been forced to surrender Steve’s blood. Had managed to get Angie evicted from her home.
Peggy had no right to be this happy at the thought that Angie still cared for her. Only she was, and it seemed she couldn’t stop.
“Angie,” she started, but didn’t know what to say. How to apologise, perhaps.
Before she could find the words, a hand squeezed her shoulder lightly. “Come on,” Angie’s warm smile pulled Peggy away from her door. “You look like you need a drink.”
Almost absently, Peggy returned her keys to her pocket and followed Angie in her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Emotions battled inside, swelling in her chest and making her dizzy. Relief, guilt, grief... Peggy wished she could sleep for a decade or two.
And yet, instead of resting in her own bed, she sat on Angie’s and waited in silence as Angie poured Schnapps in two glasses. In one corner of the room, the radio buzzed lightly, warming the room as Perry Como crooned They Say It’s Wonderful.
Angie’s cheek reddened as she turned around, evidently noticing the song. She switched off the radio before she offered Peggy a glass. “I had it on all day,” she confessed, joining Peggy on the mattress. “In case there was news.”
Peggy’s heart skipped a beat, but Angie didn’t seem to notice. She sipped her drink quietly, the guilt and shame slowly fainting as Peggy’s eyes took in the sight of Angie’s silky white night gown.
Angie’s curious gaze met Peggy’s. “So, Strategic Scientific Reserve?”
“I can’t talk about that, Angie,” Peggy breathed out, only it sounded like a surrender.
Biting her lower lip, Angie nodded. “I know,” she winced lightly. “But you’re some kind of spy, or agent or whatever. Aren’t you?”
Peggy couldn’t stop a smile from curling her lips at Angie’s proud grin. Like she had solved this century’s greatest mystery.
“I knew it,” Angie repeated. “I told her you weren’t some low-life criminal.”
A frown appeared on Peggy’s traits. “Who?”
Angie’s smile disappeared, frustration seeping in. “Ms Fry kept going on about how she always knew you were trouble and...” her eyes gazed at the carpet as her cheeks reddened. “I might have said some things.”
“What did you say?” Peggy insisted, laughter bubbling in her chest.
“That she had no right to say so because you hadn’t been convicted of anything,” Angie shrugged. “But then I couldn’t stop. I said she was too quick to judge and ended up calling her a prude and a tyrant.”
Peggy chuckled. “Angie,” she shook her head like she disapproved, yet her sternum burned wildly as she imagined a fiery Angie yelling at Ms Fry. Defending Peggy’s honour, nonetheless.
“Oh but it felt so good to stick up to her,” Angie insisted. “You should’ve been there.”
But Peggy had been handcuffed to a table at the time. Or watching the Chief sacrifice his life to keep his agents safe. Or examining bodies in a theatre. So many horrors she was glad Angie would never know.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed out with a raspy voice. Peggy wasn’t sure what she was apologising for; getting Angie tangled with all of this, the eviction, the lies she had told her before, the lies she would surely tell her again.
When Angie stared at her with a puzzled look, Peggy bit her lip. “Sorry I had you worried.”
It felt oddly intimate, and Peggy became keenly aware of her own pulse as Angie abandoned her glass on the settee, turning towards Peggy with a different glee in her eyes.
“It’s alright,” Angie promised, one hand grabbing Peggy’s and squeezing lightly.
Peggy closed her eyes. It wasn’t all right. Dottie was out there, free and sure to come back with a vengeance. They had nowhere to live anymore, and Peggy had let Steve’s blood fall into other hands. The one victory strangely paled in comparison to her many losses.
“It’s alright,” Angie repeated, placing a chaste kiss on Peggy’s cheek. Surprised, Peggy opened her eyes again, only to find Angie still inches close.
“I’m not sure it is, Angie,” she admitted, flicking her gaze from Angie’s warm look to her inviting lips.
Angie’s other hand ran through Peggy’s curls, the tip of fingers barely brushing against the scalp. “Do you trust me?” Angie asked in one courageous breath.
Peggy swallowed hard. “Yes,” she closed her eyes again, as if proving her point. Angie’s palm cupped her cheek as her lips joined Peggy’s, a slow kiss that seemed to wrap the whole of her. Peggy leaned into it, slightly annoyed that she had held onto her glass of Schnapps, when all she wanted was to pull Angie closer. When she tried to dispose of the drink, Angie chuckled.
“English,” she protested, grabbing the offensive glass and setting it aside for Peggy, “you’re not that smooth.”
Peggy was about to protest when Angie laughed again. “And now you’re pouting,” she shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m not pouting,” Peggy argued, although her frustrated voice did sound somewhat petty and childish.
“It’s cute,” Angie promised, leaning in once again. “Not very British, though.”
Peggy glared at her as she tugged on Angie’s night gown, unwillingly revealing the skin of her shoulder. “Stop it,” she insisted, although slightly distracted.
Angie’s traits straightened. “You had a long day,” she seemed to realise as she backed away, biting her lower lip. She mumbled something about getting some rest, and Peggy nodded quietly. For a moment she stood still, strangely longing to simply fall asleep in Angie’s bed.
“Yes, well...” Peggy’s voice trailed, hesitant. “I should go.”
She moved towards the door, inexplicably sad that Angie wasn’t stopping her.
“Big day tomorrow,” Angie suggested. When Peggy turned around with a confused look, she explained; “moving out and everything.”
“Oh,” Peggy let out an exhausted sigh. She noticed Angie’s worried eyes as her hand absently reached for the door knob. “I will find us a place, Angie. I promise.”
Angie nodded, smiling lightly. “You and me English, we’re tougher than they think.”
Peggy couldn’t agree more.