Chapter Text
The sun lingers lazily over the terrace, warm and golden, the kind of afternoon that feels suspended outside of time.
Peggy has stretched herself along the lounge chair, one arm draped over her middle, fingers idly tracing the curve of her stomach through the thin fabric of her dress. Five months, far enough along that there’s no denying it to herself, even if the rest of the world remains oblivious. There’s a weight to it now. A presence. A constant awareness.
And today, worse than usual, everything feels heightened.
The sweetness of the fruit. The heat of the sun. The brush of fabric against her skin.
The way Angie is looking at her.
“You’re doing it again,” Angie says lightly, plucking a grape from the bowl in Peggy’s lap.
Peggy doesn’t open her eyes. “Doing what.”
“That thing where you pretend you don’t notice me watching you.”
“I don’t notice you watching me.”
Angie hums, unconvinced, and shifts closer, close enough that her thigh presses against Peggy’s. The contact is casual. Innocent.
It does absolutely nothing to help.
Peggy exhales slowly, steadying herself, but Angie’s hand settles on her leg a moment later, fingers warm and familiar and entirely too present.
“Angie,” she murmurs, a warning already threaded through her voice.
“What?” Angie replies, far too innocent.
Her thumb moves.
Just slightly. Just enough.
Peggy’s breath catches before she can stop it.
“Oh,” Angie says softly, and now there’s nothing innocent about her tone at all. “There it is.”
Peggy turns her head, fixing her with a look that would be far more effective if her pulse weren’t already betraying her. “You are insufferable.”
“Yeah,” Angie murmurs, leaning closer, her voice dripping. “But you like me.”
Peggy does not answer that.
She doesn’t have to.
Angie’s hand shifts again, slow, deliberate, testing. Peggy feels it everywhere, heat curling low, sharp and insistent in a way that’s been increasingly difficult to ignore these past weeks.
“Angie,” she tries again, quieter this time.
“Tell me to stop.”
Peggy opens her mouth.
Closes it.
Angie smiles.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
The space between them disappears in inches, Angie’s shoulder brushing hers, her breath warm against Peggy’s cheek, and Peggy feels that dangerous, slipping edge of control start to give way entirely—
Footsteps.
Voices.
Peggy jerks upright so fast that the bowl nearly flies.
“Well!” Howard announces, entirely too cheerful. “This looks like a pleasant way to spend a Saturday.”
Angie leans back with infuriating ease, though the spark in her eyes hasn’t dimmed in the slightest.
Edwin Jarvis follows, composed as ever, Ana beside him, and Peggy feels the shift immediately, the way Ana’s gaze softens when it lands on her, attentive, careful.
“Are we interrupting?” Ana asks.
“Yes,” Angie and Peggy say in unison.
Howard grins. “Excellent.”
Peggy drags a hand through her hair, willing her body to settle. It doesn’t.
Angie nudges her, subtle but pointed. “Pool,” she mutters.
Peggy is already standing.
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The water should help.
It doesn’t.
Peggy grips the edge of the pool, the coolness doing very little to quiet the heat still coiled under her skin. She exhales slowly, head tipping back—
—and then Angie slips into the water beside her.
Of course she does.
“Better?” Angie asks, already too close.
“No.”
Angie laughs softly, circling just enough that the water shifts around them, closing the distance inch by inch.
“You’re the one who suggested it.”
“You did, darling. If it had been me, I would have meant to cool down.”
“Mm,” Angie hums. “Seems like a flawed plan.”
Peggy shoots her a look, but it falters when Angie reaches her.
There’s a pause.
A breath.
Then Angie’s hand finds hers beneath the surface.
Peggy’s fingers tighten instinctively, and that’s all the permission Angie needs.
“Tell me to stop,” Angie says again, quieter now.
Peggy doesn’t.
Angie leans in.
The first kiss is soft, testing, but Peggy is already too far gone for that to hold. Her hand comes up, catching at Angie’s shoulder, pulling her closer, and the next kiss is deeper, hungrier, everything that’s been building finally spilling over.
Water shifts around them as they press closer, careless now, Angie’s hand sliding up her arm, over her shoulder, fingers tangling briefly at the back of her neck—
Peggy makes a small, helpless sound against her mouth.
It’s over the line.
They both know it.
And still—
Angie kisses her again, slower this time, like she’s savoring it, like she’s memorizing the way Peggy melts into her—
“Angie—“
But Peggy doesn’t pull away.
She leans in and bites Angie's lip.
Again, nipping Angie's earlobes.
And again, pressing her against the wall of the pool—
Until Angie’s hand slips between Peggy’s legs—
“Howard is on this property,” Peggy says against her mouth, breath unsteady.
Angie stills.
A moment.
“Yeah,” she murmurs.
Neither of them moves.
“Mr. Jarvis,” Peggy adds.
Another pause.
“Ana,” she finishes, quieter.
That does it.
Angie exhales, forehead resting briefly against Peggy’s, her grip loosening just enough to put space between them again, reluctant, but real.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “Okay. Maybe we don’t ruin dinner.”
Peggy closes her eyes, steadying herself.
“Probably wise.”
“Definitely wise.”
Neither of them sounds convinced.
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Dinner is worse.
Peggy cannot stop eating.
It’s not graceful, not restrained, she’s halfway through her second helping before she even realizes it, and the moment her plate starts to empty, it’s being refilled again.
“You should have more,” Ana says gently, already reaching.
“She’s fine,” Angie cuts in, sliding another dish closer anyway.
Peggy gives her a look. “I am managing perfectly well.”
“You were practically starving an hour ago.”
Peggy does not dignify that with a response.
Ana’s hand brushes Peggy’s as she passes her a glass. Angie’s follows a second later, adjusting it, unnecessary but deliberate.
Their fingers nearly meet.
They both stop.
For a fraction of a second too long.
Peggy goes very still.
Jarvis clears his throat quietly into his napkin.
Howard keeps talking.
Of course he does.
Peggy takes a very deliberate bite of food.
“This is excellent,” she says.
No one comments.
The tension lingers anyway.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Later, the house softens into quiet.
Peggy settles onto the couch with a book she has no intention of actually reading, pillows arranged with careful precision around her. It takes three adjustments before she finds something almost comfortable.
Almost.
“This is unacceptable,” she mutters.
“I told you that one wouldn’t work,” Angie says, appearing with another pillow.
“I refuse to be defeated by furniture.”
Ana joins them a moment later, gentler, more measured as she adjusts the angle behind Peggy’s back. “Try this.”
Peggy exhales as the support shifts, better. Not perfect, but better.
“Thank you.”
Angie watches, arms crossed, a flicker of something sharper in her gaze.
“I could’ve done that.”
Ana glances at her calmly. “You were trying to stack her like a precarious structure.”
“It was strategic, like… her.”
Peggy looks between them.
“I am not a battlefield.”
“No,” Angie says, eyes flicking over her, voice dropping just slightly. “You’re worse.”
Peggy ignores that.
Mostly.
She shifts again, testing the arrangement, and then, before she can think better of it—
“Angie,” she says, almost casually, “my shoulders are still rather tense.”
Angie freezes.
Ana looks up.
Peggy keeps her gaze firmly on her book.
“I thought perhaps,” she continues, far too composed, “a massage might help.”
Silence.
Then—
“No,” Angie says immediately.
Peggy looks up, blinking. “No?”
“No,” Angie repeats, sharper now, stepping closer. “Absolutely not.”
Ana’s brow lifts slightly. “I could—“
“No,” Angie says again, this time without looking at her.
Peggy studies her, something amused flickering beneath her composure. “That seems unnecessarily emphatic.”
Angie leans in slightly, lowering her voice so only Peggy can hear.
“You are not asking me to do that in front of them.”
Peggy’s lips twitch.
“I don’t see the issue.”
Angie stares at her.
“You wouldn’t,” she mutters.
Peggy tilts her head, all false innocence. “I am simply asking for assistance.”
“Yeah,” Angie says under her breath. “That’s the problem.”
Ana watches this exchange with quiet interest, clearly aware she’s missing a piece, and equally clearly choosing not to press.
Peggy settles back against the pillows, just a little smug.
“Very well,” she says. “I shall endure.”
Angie exhales, dragging a hand down her face.
“Yeah,” she mutters. “You do that.”
But the look she gives Peggy after, equal parts exasperation and promise, makes it very clear:
This conversation is not over.
Not even close.