Steve Meets Angie's Parents
Peggy honestly thought they would bury Steve in questions. So had Angie. They’d reminded him not to panic if too many Italians started yelling at once. Because he’s Captain America, back from an icy grave. And he’s living with their precious Angela, who’s been living with Peggy for several years now. And Peggy used to be Steve’s best girl, as much as you can be that for someone when you’ve only shared one kiss.
Basically, it was all terribly complicated, and Peggy couldn’t blame her ‘in-laws’ for wanting to interrogate the new man in their daughter’s life. The man who was very much in love with the woman n Angie’s life.
But the Martinellis were surprisingly relaxed about this new arrangement. Perhaps they thought it better not to ask too many questions. Their daughter was happy, their daughter-in-law was happy, and Captain America, a national treasure, was alive and in their kitchen, complimenting Mrs. Martinelli’s breadsticks.
As long as Angie was content and the breadsticks were treated with proper respect, things were all right in the Martinelli world.
Peggy smirked into her napkin, Steve and Angie on either side of her. Steve, rubbish at taking compliments, was now being pelted with them, as if to make up for the questions he’d dodged. Sofia Martinelli looked on in delight as Steve accepted helping after helping of her lasagna, alternating between English and Italian.
“Look at you. Big, strong man, knows the value of good cooking.”
Steve froze, blushing with his fork in midair. “I can stop…”
Sofia rattled off something in Italian, shook her head no, and shoved three more breadsticks on his plate.”
“You’d best continue eating,” Peggy murmured in his ear. “They quite like it when everyone eats.”
“You’re not,” Steve said, eyeing her empty plate.
“I, darling, am not gifted with your enhanced metabolism. If I eat anymore, I’m afraid it will all come back up.”
“Yeah,” said Angie. “Almost did, the first time I brought her home. She didn’t wanna tell Ma no, so her plate keeps getting topped off, and she keeps clearing it, ‘cause big, tough super spy is afraid of pissing off my mother—”
“Angela! Language!”
“Sorry, Ma.”
Peggy rolled her eyes at Steve, discretely passing him the bread that Sofia had somehow set on her place from across the table. “And she wonders why I was concerned.”
“Anyway,” said Angie, as if there’d been no interruption. “Peggy ate so much that I thought she was gonna be sick in the cab on the way back.”
Steve frowned. “Do you always sound so happy telling stories about Peggy being ill?”
“She does.”
“Shut up, English. It’s not like you actually got sick.”
“Indeed,” Peggy drawled. “Steve, incoming.”
Steve had half a second to look confused before a large heaping of pasta was dumped in front of him. “Oh no, Mrs. Martinelli, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Nonsense. You were trapped under all that cold water for so long, you must’ve been hungry.”
Angie leaned in to address Steve. “Just smile, nod and eat. It’ll be easier that way.”
Steve, ever the soldier, followed orders.
“I do wish you hadn’t been quite so late,” Peggy told him, squeezing his knee under the table. “Do you know how many calories I had to work off because of these gatherings? So many shortened workouts, if only you’d been here to take my share of the feast.”
Steve tried to talk past a mouthful of food, typically more of a Peggy thing. “Sorry I inconvenienced, not being here to substitute for the dog under the table who gets your scraps.”
“I’ll consider forgiving you. Sofia? Steve looks like he could use a bit more pasta.”
While her mother made a delighted exclamation in Italian, Angie grinned at Peggy, who was receiving a glare from Steve. As much as one could glare with their cheeks bulging out like that. “Be right back, Ma,” she said, pushing back from the table. She kissed Steve’s cheek as she left, proud of herself when he choked, just a bit. Suppressing the giggles until she was locked in the bathroom was one of the hardest acting jobs of her career.