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It’s cold tonight, and Angie’s shivering, even through the giant down comforter she’s burrowed herself under. Angie still hasn’t gotten used to the drafts in this house, mostly because she’s accustomed to being clustered with other people, other apartments, spaces that don’t let the cold in as much. She rubs her arms and curls up a little, trying to stay on the part of the mattress that’s already warmed up a bit.
There’s a faint knocking sound coming from outside the room. Angie considers sitting up, then writes it off as the wind. Then there’s more knocking, and Angie does get out of bed at that, and pads over towards the noise on the (cold) stone floor.
When Angie opens the door, Peggy’s standing there, wrapped in a robe with her hair loose around her face. “Everything alright?” Angie asks, forehead creasing a little bit. Peggy shrugs, swallows, and seems a bit ill at ease.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Peggy confesses, and pauses. “I wanted to ask if you’d like a cup of tea.”
Angie has a vivid picture of taking two steps and closing the space between them, kissing Peggy like there’s nothing else in the world, but then she snaps back into reality and stares up at Peggy, who’s still waiting for an answer.
“Sure,” Angie says and smiles. Peggy grins back, and they start to walk towards the kitchen together, and Angie’s still cold.
“You weren’t sleeping, were you?” Peggy asks when they get to the kitchen (in this house, it seems like a hike, honestly). “I’d hate to have woken you—”
“It’s fine,” Angie says, leaning on the counter. “I wasn’t asleep.”
“Oh, good.” Peggy sounds relieved. She puts the kettle on. Angie gets two mugs from a cabinet. It’s domestic; it feels like they’ve been doing this for years.
They stand in (slightly awkward) silence until the kettle starts to whistle, and Peggy fumbles around with the tea bags and slides a steaming mug over to Angie a moment later.
“Are you alright?” Peggy asks, putting her tea on the counter across from Angie.
“Just cold,” Angie says, and it’s true; she’s shivering.
“Hold on.” Peggy grins, like she has a secret, and Angie has to take a breath. “I want to show you something—Howard showed it to me, he’s—” Peggy rolls her eyes “—very proud.”
Angie follows Peggy into the living room, where Peggy stoops by the fireplace and starts fiddling around with something on the wall.
“You are not lighting a fire at eleven o’clock at night,” Angie says flatly. Peggy ignores her, but makes a triumphant sound half a minute later. There’s a clicking noise, and then there’s a roaring fire, out of nowhere, in the fireplace.
“Electric fireplace.” Peggy looks pleased with herself. “Newest prototype, I made Howard swear that it won’t burn down the house.”
Angie eyes the fire suspiciously, but eventually deems it secure enough to settle on the couch across from it, hands wrapped around her tea for warmth. Peggy hesitates a moment, casts a glance at the flames, and sits down next to Angie. Angie can feel Peggy’s warmth next to her, and she clears her throat and looks down into her tea because it feels like her cheeks are burning.
“The house is cold,” Angie says, and wants to kick herself for it the second after the words leave her mouth. The house is cold? Damn, she thinks, you’ve really outdone yourself there, Martinelli, the wit’s just dripping from your tongue.
“I’ll see if I can do something about it,” Peggy promises. They’re quiet for a moment, and then slowly, cautiously, Angie leans into Peggy the tiniest bit, then more. “Hold on,” Peggy says, and Angie freezes. “You’re on my arm,” Peggy continues, and Angie sighs inwardly, out of relief. She moves. Peggy lifts her arm and wraps it around Angie’s shoulder, pulls her closer, and Angie can feel her heart pounding in her throat.
They sit like that for a few minutes, Angie sipping her tea occasionally. She sets her mug aside, realizes how tired she is, and, out of instinct, leans her head on Peggy’s shoulder. Peggy’s still for a moment; then, she starts threading her fingers through Angie’s curls. Angie feels like she’s forgotten how to breathe—Peggy is everywhere.
“Peggy, I—” Angie starts, because the silence has become too unbearable and she has to say something, but Peggy cuts her off.
“I adore you,” she says, and hasn’t stopped playing with Angie’s hair. “I adore you, you must know that.”
“Peggy,” Angie starts again, but she looks up at Peggy, puts her chin on Peggy’s shoulder, and suddenly feels like she can’t talk.
“If I ever—if I ever do anything wrong,” Peggy says, dead serious, “you’ve got to tell me, do you understand?”
Angie nods, because she doesn’t know what to say, and Peggy tilts her head, leans in, and kisses Angie’s forehead, the tip of her nose, her mouth, and Angie tucks a strand of hair behind Peggy’s ear and keeps her hand there.
They’re both laughing, which Angie doesn’t realize until they’ve broken apart, and it’s more giggling, like girls behind a school or in the back of a shop where no one can see them, breathless and more than a little giddy.
“Are you still cold?” Peggy asks, because she can’t help herself. Angie rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and yawns a little bit.
“I’m tired,” Angie admits, and basically lies on down Peggy. She’s hyperaware of everything, of the weight of Peggy’s arm on her waist, of the patterns Peggy is tracing on her skin.
“Sleep,” Peggy says, and smiles fondly, so Angie does.