Chapter Text
Spring 1947
It began with, of all things, the esteemed (read awful beyond redemption) Captain America Adventure Program. The infernal excuse for entertainment interrupted a rather perfect line up playing from Angie’s bakelite radio where it sat on a bookshelf in their living room, contrasting sharply with the lavish furnishings, but Peggy Carter didn’t mind. In fact, she much preferred its curved, art-deco styled lines over the hulking, and frankly hideous, new television that sat in the corner. Thankfully, tonight her dear roommate had elected to listen to music rather than force Peggy to sit through a show. It was no secret that Peggy had very little patience for DuMont or NBC’s latest offerings. If in this lifetime she had to endure another episode of Cash and Carry it would be too soon.
Instead, Angie lounged on the couch reviewing her latest script and humming along to Ella Fitzgerald's rendition of (I Love You) for Sentimental Reasons. Rehearsals began next week, and the excitement was contagious, really. Peggy almost looked forward to that inevitable point in the process when sheet music littered every available surface in the place. Peggy also knew from experience that by opening night, she and half the regulars at the L&L would know all the songs by heart, such was Angie's enthusiasm and diligence in her craft.
Peggy sat across from her, reviewing an intercepted cable she may or may not have smuggled into her briefcase from Agent Thompson's desk. He wouldn’t miss it. Peggy usually had a strict policy about bringing work home, which was to not do it ever, not since the incident with the nitramene bomb...and then the other time SSR agents invaded the Griffith Hotel...anyway. According to this report, the administration was actually implementing the drunken ramblings of some utter git from the Moscow embassy into foreign policy. And that just would not do. “Containment.” What nonsense.
By all accounts, a perfectly cozy evening at home in Peggy’s summation. They were few and far between these days. Until that damn announcer ruined everything, his tinny voice breaking Peggy’s concentration as effectively as would a truck barreling through the bay window. Of their penthouse apartment.
"Welcome to the Captain America Adventure Program! This week's program is brought to you by Daisy Clover Dairy Farms. Previously, our heroes had arrived in Berlin, where Soviet forces-"
Before Peggy could so much as sigh in poorly suppressed rage, Angie was across the room like a shot. Bless that girl. Static crackled as she searched for a different station, eventually landing on the evening news. Somehow it was an improvement. Peggy continued jotting down names of potential press contacts in her notes.
“...implement President Truman's executive order last week, to establish a loyalty program for federal employees. NBC White House corespondent Frank Bourgholtzer reports...”
"You ever have to swear some oath like that for your job, Pegs?" Angie did this sometimes, casually fishing for information, any sort of glimpse into Peggy's covertcareer.
"Only once, at immigration." Truthful, but evasive. The best sort of answer she could reasonably offer.
"Seems like the goons in DC would have better things to do than issue loyalty checks for their own people. Talk about paranoid!"
“Everyone's a little paranoid, product of recent anti-communist sentiment,” Peggy said absently, her mind going to the witch-hunt currently underway at the SSR. Thompson was single-mindedly focused on discovering and eradicating Soviet assets, Leviathan operatives in particular, to the exclusion of all else (such as certain idiots in the foreign service). God, but she detested politics. She circled the name, “Walter Lippmann,” before dropping her pen on the side table. “Washington is worse than Hollywood these days. Any little thing is taken out of proportion.”
“Like what things?”
“Well, the State Department, for example, is using these checks to expel “subversives and deviants” from their rolls. Homosexuals, darling,” she supplied at Angie's confused expression. “It's petty and cruel, but I fear it may get worse before it gets better.”
There was a conspicuous silence then. Angie griped the back of a delicate fantieul so hard her knuckles were white with tension. In a flash of insight, Peggy realized what was about to happen. Angie took a deep breath. Peggy held hers.
"I guess it's a good thing I'm not the one who work's for the government then, huh?"
Technically speaking, neither did Peggy. Plausible deniability and all that.
"Whatever do you mean?" Of course Peggy already knew, had been expecting this conversation for quite some time.
Angie suddenly refused to look at her, tearful blue eyes casting about the room as if she were searching for an exit, quietly desperate. "You're the super spy,” she said softly, “Please tell me you already know what I'm about to tell you."
"I know."
Because it was blatantly obvious to someone trained to notice. That, and Peggy may or may not have accidentally overheard an enlightening telephone conversation between her roommate and one Nancy Williams that Angie used to understudy for her second or third job with the theatre company.
Angie closed her eyes, trembling where she stood like she didn't know whether to be relieved or ever more frightened, and Peggy's heart broke a little for her.
"And?"
Peggy rose from her seat slowly, careful in her approach as Angie looked to be about two seconds away from fleeing the conversation. She tugged the ends of her dressing gown together. One might prefer to be a bit more well equipped for this sort of thing. Considering that emotional tête-à-têtes were assuredly not Peggy's thing at all.
"And it changes nothing,” she put on a smile she hoped was reassuring, reaching for Angie's hands. They were cold. “A part of who you are, and you are someone I care for very deeply. Never doubt that, Angie."
She must have said the right thing judging from the way Angie was smiling at her, soft and sweet. She even stepped in close to kiss Peggy's cheek. “Thank you. You're too good to me, English.”
Peggy promptly forgot all about work in that moment. Geopolitics could wait until morning.
“Hardly.”