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she used to be mine

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Angie Martinelli used to live a routine life. She woke up, worked her shift as a waitress at L&L Automat, and went home. Occasionally she would head home later than usual, another botched audition she could add to the list. It was a simple life, but a dull one, and by now Angie was just going through the motions. 

She wasn't who she used to be, that was obvious. Young Angie was a wide-eyed naive little girl who believed the best in everyone and was never bored. Now. . . 

Angie missed her younger self. She missed when she laughed at anything and everything, missed when she sang her heart out and didn't care who was watching, missed being truly happy .

Angie never gets the part, never gets the satisfaction of standing on a stage and acting her heart out, never gets to feel the bliss of having an audience applaud you. She was so close to giving up on her dream after a particularly brutal audition for Carousel, crying herself to sleep and then heading to the restaurant the next day acting as if nothing had happened. Acting .

And then Peggy Carter swooped into her life.

Peggy was . . . something. She was British and had conversations with a broad-shouldered, also British, man while they were facing in different directions. She cries when she has a particularly bad day at "the phone company" and stabs rude customers when they harass waitresses (yeah, she saw. Was she going to say anything about it? Heck no.) She lived with Angie at the Griffith and snuck out when she thought no one could hear her clambering down the wall. 

She was amazing

(Well, amazing and mysterious.)

One night at the Griffith, Angie opened her window to the sight of a bleeding Peggy somehow pulling herself up.

"Peg, what are you doing?!" Angie hissed, tugging her into her room despite the English woman's protests. "Why are you bleeding?"

Peggy leaned against the wall, panting, as she pressed a hand to her side in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. "I'm fine, Angie."

"Like hell you are, you're bleeding!" Angie whisper-shouted, pulling out the first-aid kit. She stared at it for a second, her mind blank. "What do I do, what do I do," she muttered. Angie slapped her forehead, panicking. "English, what do I do?!"

Peggy took a deep breath and relayed instructions to Angie, slowly relaxing as the waitress fixed up her wound. Once her side was bandaged, she made an attempt to walk and wobbled, dizzy. 

"I don't think so, Peggy," Angie moved to stand in front of her. "Right now, you need to explain why you were climbing up the wall with a bloody side!"

"I'm sorry, Angie," Peggy said, and she really did look sorry. "but I can't tell you."

"Does this have something to do with your 'secret' conversations with Mr. Broad Shoulders?"

"Were you eavesdropping?" Angie heard a slight quiver in Peggy's voice, and immediately felt bad.

"No! You two just aren't subtle at all ." Peggy bit her lip and sighed, and wow , that was doing things to Angie's heart.  "Are you sure you can't tell me?" Angie asked gently, her hand making its way to the other woman's arm.

"I'm so sorry," Peggy told her, covering the waitress's hand with her own. Angie softened.

"Let's get you to your room."

They never speak of that night again. However, if Angie strained her ears enough, on some nights she can hear Peggy quietly sobbing through the walls of their apartments. She always so desperately longed to comfort her.

Angie thought back to one of the pies on the menu at the L&L Automat, the "Wonder-pie." It was . . . strange, basically a lot of flavors thrown together and baked. It tasted wonderful though, and would have been the most-sold product were it not so expensive. 

Whenever Angie was bored, she’d spend time comparing the people she knew to the Wonder-pie, mixing and matching personality traits so that they create a person. For example, her mom was supportive, strong-willed, and compassionate. Ms. Fry at the Griffith was old-fashioned, strict, and harsh, but she also cared. She may try to hide it, but Angie had caught her looking fondly at the girls more than once. 

Angie loved analyzing Peggy the most. Peg was mysterious, first and foremost, but she was also beautiful, fashionable, lonely, just a tad bit messy, and a really, really great kisser.

And then she left.

Angie Martinelli loved Peggy Carter, there's no way around it. She loved the way her accent became stronger whenever she got angry, loved the way she complained about her male coworkers, loved how her eyes always lit up when she walked into the automat. She loved how when she smiled, it was tentative at first, and then flooded in all at once. She loved how she knew all sorts of random facts about all sorts of random topics, like how Ferdinand Magelland and Juan Sebastian Elcano completed the first global circumnavigation. 

Angie loved almost anything and everything about Peggy. Almost, because if it weren’t for the fact that Peggy was missing she would’ve been able to love every single bit of her.

She didn’t know where Peggy was. English had left a note that said “I’ll be back soon,” then never came back. Angie had wanted to call so, so badly, to know firsthand if Peggy was ok, but she had no point of contact, and the phone never rang. 

Angie missed Peggy.

She missed hearing the thumps on the wall that meant Peggy had returned to the Griffith, or the rumble of the car pulling up, no doubt the end of another one of her adventurous exploits. She missed how her lipstick sparkled, somehow always looking perfect no matter what angle the light hit it. She missed when Peggy would pull her close after a particularly trying day and they’d cuddle and talk about nothing and everything at the same time. She missed when she ranted about her incompetent workers and how they ruined yet another day at the “phone company.” 

Angie wondered if Peggy remembered her, remembered the late hours spent talking, remembered when they would kiss and giggle and kiss again. She used to spend hours staring at the phones, wondering if it would ring. Used to. 

Over time, it became easier for Angie to walk through the hallways that housed the phones, until finally she could walk to the front door without sparing a glance to the side (that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt).

Angie Martinelli loved Peggy Carter, but she still hasn’t come back.

The house was always emptier without her.