Title: For Your Eyes Only

Rating: T

Note: The poem that Peggy quotes is by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Also WAC = Women's Army Corps.

Another note: Hey y'all, I've just finished a writing prompt generator app that you can check out at (feedthebunnyDOTherokuappDOTcom) for all your au/general prompting needs. If you ever want to contribute prompts to it, just drop me an ask on my tumblr (same name as here) and I'll update it when I have another batch of prompts. The app's what I call a functioning rough draft so it will change to some degree, though I'm willing to take suggestions on that front as well.

Angie ran her hand along the rich velvet fainting couch in the master bedroom. "You seem to know Mr. Stark quite well," she said, leaving off for the moment just what kind of company Peggy ran with to know Howard Stark well.

"I suppose," Peggy replied, shrugging off her shoes. "You don't mind do you?" she asked.

"Mind?" Angie replied, puzzled. Why would she care who Peggy knew. Unless Peggy was implying know in a biblical sense. She firmly ignored the thrill of jealousy that ran through her in favor of asking, "What's this I don't mind?"

"The shoes," Peggy said slowly, pointing at where she'd left her shoes neatly placed against the wall.

"Oh gosh no," Angie replied, waving off the matter. "If anyone understands being on your feet all day serving men who don't deserve you, it's me." Cringing in embarrassment at her eagerness, Angie hastily reached for the nearest object and began to inspect it like it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. Luckily it was a book with a a gilded leather binding and not some feather duster. Not that Howard Stark regularly occupied himself with cleaning.

"You were asking about Howard?" Peggy prompted, either ignoring Angie's comment or not sensing anything odd in it.

"Right," Angie said, gladly taking the conversational lifeline that Peggy had thrown. "Fella like that with more money than sense has got to have houses scattered to all four winds. Maybe he sees them every now and then on vacation or business trips, but he can't really use them for those purposes all that much. So what does he do with them? Do you suppose this is some sort of...creep joint? I mean he seems nice enough and I'm not sayin' he's running some kind of operation out of here, or really that you would know. I guess you could say I'm just curious."

"Howard does have more money than sense," Peggy echoed with an unladylike snort. "You're not wrong about that. And I doubt you're wrong about him bringing some of his lady friends here." Peggy sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing out her skirt. "Despite all that he's done, and the horrible way he's gone about it, I can't quite bring myself to condemn him for that," she added. "For taking the chance when they both saw it. Does he love them all? I doubt it. Does he treat them well? As far as I'm aware you could do a lot worse than Howard Stark." Her eyes strayed down to her lap and her interlaced hands. "Who am I to forbid love where it may exist?"

Angie let the silence linger for a moment as she formulated her thoughts. There was clearly a great deal more at play here than Peggy was saying, and if she had it figured it had something to do with all that she'd been caught up in. That or the war. It almost seemed like Peggy was carrying a torch for somebody, but a torch that had long since gone out. No sense in poking that wound, no matter how curious she was. Humor it was then. "Didn't figure you for the bohemian type, English," she teased, attempting to coax a smile out of Peggy with her own grin. "Must be all that poetry you Brits have floating around in your history."

"Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame," Peggy murmured. "It is the reflex of our earthly frame, that takes its meaning from the nobler part, and but translates the language of the heart."

"That's beautiful, Peg," Angie said, her voice hushed in unwillingness to break the still beauty that had settled in the room.

"Samuel Taylor Coleridge," Peggy informed her with a smile that slowly warmed her face. "One of the many poets we had to memorize at school. I've grown to rather appreciate that one."

"Ah yes," Angie said, putting on the sort of overly dramatic air that would ruin an audition for any respectable theatre. "I can just picture young Margaret Carter sitting there in class, eagerly hanging on the teacher's every word." She cocked her head at Peggy, considering the matter. "Or were you one of those naughty types? Can't see you causing too much trouble, at least not where anyone could see."

"I was quite the proper young lady you know," Peggy told her, her indignant tone at odds with the slight guilty blush on her face.

Angie's silent reply was a none-too-subtle fold of her arms and arch of her eyebrows in disbelief.

Peggy nodded, acknowledging Angie's point. "At least about boys and the like," she clarified.

Angie felt her heartbeat speed up at Peggy's comment. Did 'and the like' mean more than just boys? She'd heard stories, albeit ones passed along in hushed whispers, about what happened at fancy boarding schools. Or was that boys boarding schools? Regardless of the truth, she couldn't help but imagine Peggy, who wore a uniform so well, in her school uniform. Hidden in the library stacks, hat perched at a borderline acceptable jaunty angle as another girl reached past her for a book, brushing her lips along Peggy's cheek. Having a picnic out on the grounds, tie dangerously loose, one hand out offering a strawberry, fingers brushing against another girl's lips just longer than appropriate—

Angie shook her head, pulling herself back to the present. They were ridiculous fantasies really. Nothing to squirm about.

"That's why mother was always after me about the little things," Peggy continued, unaware that Angie's mind had drifted. "Skinned knees, a wisp of hair out of place, a smudge of dirt on my nose." She smiled, eyes glancing up in remembrance of what must have been better days. "She did have a point. Playing with the boys has gotten me into quite a bit of trouble."

"Oh horsefeathers!" Angie exclaimed, not caring if Peggy's story was done or not. "Peg, I don't care what your mom said, the boys are lucky to have you. I know I've been."

"I've appreciated it more than you can know," Peggy said, her voice darkening into a more somber tone. She stood up abruptly, causing Angie to take a step back from where she had inched close to Peggy's seat on the bed.

Angie followed Peggy's pacing with her eyes, trying to figure out just what she was thinking now.

"You've covered for me and done an admirable job," Peggy explained, looking steadfastly in front of her and never at Angie. "But it's not fair to you that you've been left out in the dark."

"You mean about the SSR boys and you working with them?" Angie asked. "Cause I'm no dummy. Between your odd injuries, even odder hours, and those men flashing their tin badges like a magic wand that can get them anywhere, I'm pretty sure I understand. Maybe not how you came to be such buddies with Stark, but I guess that was on account of the investigation and all."

Angie's words seemed to only spur Peggy to add hand wringing to her furious pacing. "That's a start," Peggy acknowledged, "Though you're being far too forgiving for what I've kept from you."

Angie shrugged. "We all got a past," she said, her desire to know all of Peggy's secrets warring with her desire to put and keep Peggy at ease. "If you knew some of the hinky stuff my cousin got up to out in Brooklyn, that I knew about, you might not think so well of me either."

"I don't mean to sound so self-absorbed, but it goes a bit beyond that," Peggy hinted. "To the war."

"You were a soldier," Angie stated, laying out the facts as she knew them for Peggy to elaborate on. "Not just a nurse or WAC. Did the Brits even have something like that? Given the SSR connection maybe an intelligence officer of some sort, liaising with Howard Stark? High ranking maybe? Don't know if the British Army does any different from ours, but lieutenant maybe? Lieutenant Peggy Carter has a nice ring to it. Much nicer than Nurse Peggy Carter, though nurses sure are important." Angie stopped suddenly, a growing sense of unease in her gut. "Why does that sound so familiar?" Angie spoke slowly, letting the sounds roll off her tongue. "Peggy Carter. Soldier. Stark. Lieutenant. Nurse. Peggy. Carter." Her head snapped up to the edge of the carpet where Peggy had stopped pacing and was staring right at her. "Jesus Peg, you're her." She mentally crossed herself for taking the Lord's name in vain, but Peggy was worth it.

Peggy turned away from Angie towards the bed, as if fearing she'd be hit, but stopped when Angie laid a hand on her shoulder.

Angie pulled Peggy around to face her and wrapped her in the biggest hug she could manage, not caring about how the tears starting to roll down Peggy's face were making her makeup run right onto Angie's new blouse. She hugged Peggy even tighter as though she could pass on all of her love and support through the intensity of her presence. "Not her," she corrected herself, rubbing one hand up and down Peggy's back. "Nothing so flat. Though that means..." she trailed off, sifting through the details of the radio show to find the nuggets of truth and history. "'Who am I to forbid love where it may exist?'" she said, quoting Peggy's earlier statement. "Captain America. Oh, Peg." She felt tears start to roll down her own face. Losing a loved one in war was traumatic enough, but to lose one in such a dramatic fashion, to lose someone you couldn't even talk about? Even knowing her strength Angie was surprised that Peggy had kept herself together so long. "You don't have to explain a thing," she assured her. "A burden shared may be a burden halved, but you've already shared enough. If you want to talk about him I'm here, but don't let me push you into it."

Peggy quieted and moved stepped back from Angie to look at her properly, though one hand lay on Angie's arm, still drawing comfort from their closeness. "You know Sousa asked me to go with him for a drink tonight," she told Angie.

Angie's gaze narrowed in confusion. "Sousa?" she repeated.

"Agent Sousa's the man who walks with a crutch from the war," Peggy elaborated, attempting to mime a crutch for reference.

"The name sounds familiar," Angie acknowledged. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"I'm glad you know about...things," Peggy said, floundering for a word that would express what she wasn't quite able to directly state yet. "But it's about time I move forward. Not necessarily with Sousa, but with someone. I'm ready."

The more she spoke the more sure she sounded to Angie. "So were they buddy drinks or drinks drinks?" she asked, this time sounding like the unsure one as her earlier jealousy returned with an unhealthy vengeance. She couldn't help herself as she glanced down to where Peggy's hand had drifted down her arm to gently rest over her own hand.

"Jealous, Angie?" Peggy teased, her voice sounding light and happy to Angie for the first time in days.

Tempted though Angie was to tease right back, if only out of a driving need to keep Peggy as happy as she deserved, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. This was worse than any audition, yet more thrilling. "What would you do if I said that I was" she muttered, stepping towards Peggy once more. The red of her lipstick should have looked all the more vibrant up close, but somehow it seemed washed out to her anxious mind. "Peg, if I'm wrong or if this is a bad time, I'm so, so sorry. But it's like you said, taking the chance when you see it." She tilted her head up to meet Peggy's, capturing her lips and luxuriating in their smoothness. There weren't many places on the body spared the stresses of life as a secret agent, but Peggy's lips sure felt like heaven to Angie.

Peggy let out a soft mewl of equal parts relief and pleasure. Angie was tempted to take advantage to explore her opened mouth, but cautioned herself not to push too far too soon. She settled instead for running her hand up Peggy's back again, this time with more purpose, her hand daring Peggy to start her own exploration. She felt well-defined shoulders through the remarkably thin fabric of her blouse and sent up a silent prayer of thanks for the physical side effects of Peggy's career.. Angie closed the last inch of distance between their bodies, seeking to deepen the kiss, but felt Peggy's lips suddenly drop from hers as Peggy fall back onto the bed. The mattress squeaked at the sudden movement in concert with Peggy's own squeak of surprise.

Angie bit her lip as she waited for Peggy to say something. Anything would do, but it didn't feel right to start peppering Peggy with questions again. She'd done enough talking. Besides, how exactly did you tell a woman you'd wanted to do very forward things to her ever since she first stepped into the auto-mat and opened her perfectly painted mouth to order a coffee? Peggy made no move to get up so Angie gave up the stoic waiting and flopped down on her back beside her.

What felt like a whole half hour passed before Angie felt a hint of movement from Peggy. Peggy didn't say a thing but her hand wandered over to grab Angie's, running her thumb over Angie's hand in slow, languid circles. "Ang," she said, a plaintive plea clear in her voice that she had so much more to say but was too drained to express it.

Angie shifted her head over to lie against Peggy's shoulder, burrowing into her warmth and the subtle smell of her perfume. "I'm here," she told her. Here for you. Here for now. Here for ever?

"Someday I'll tell you about Steve," Peggy said. "Steve from Brooklyn, not Captain America. I think you would have both rather liked each other."