Angie Versus the Motorcycle
Steve wasn’t foolish enough to think that he’d ever truly understand the women in his life. He loved them desperately, knew them better than most anyone else. But to say that he’d ever have Peggy or Angie figured out, when they so enjoyed throwing curveballs, keeping him guessing? No. Truth be told, he didn’t want to understand everything, he usually very much enjoyed puzzling out the complexities of his soulmates.
Usually.
“Is it even street legal?”
Steve blinked. Angie had been going on about the bike for at least ten minutes now, talking more at him than to him. It took a moment to process the specifics.
“That deathtrap of yours,” she said when his moment lasted too long. “All those fancy add-ons from Howard, you even allowed to drive with those now that you’re not usin them to chase off Nazis?”
“Of course it’s legal.” Angie glowered, arms crossed. Steve fought the urge to slouch. “No one ever said it wasn’t.”
“Well look at that. Didn’t somebody call you about doin a commercial on traffic safety? ‘Hey, kids, Captain America here! Remember to look both ways before crossing the street, no jaywalking. Sorry if I happen to run over your cat while I’m out for a Sunday ride on my supercharged Deathcycle. Always eat your vegetables, God bless the US of A!’”
Her ability to mimic his voice was more startling than he’d ever admit. Steve did slouch then, settling into the sofa while Angie continued to pace and lecture.
This loathing of the motorcycle, it made very little sense to him. She didn’t worry when he talked about jumping from planes sans parachute. She barely twitched when Peggy recounted a fight atop a speeding milk truck packed with explosives. Yet she looked at the bike with the same expression normally reserved for those unfortunate nights when Peggy attempted to cook. It was worse, actually, because she never tried to hide her disgust for the motorcycle.
He really should just let her get it out of her system, but he’d always been terrible about staying down during a fight. “Your uncle owns a garage,” he said while she paused for half a breath. “You love cars.”
“Cars are different.”
“Cars crash every day.”
“Yeah, but you don’t gotta die from a car crash. Cars have seatbelts.”
“How often do you wear a seatbelt, if Peggy or I aren’t there to make you?”
“Not the point, Soldier. So I forget to wear the stupid belt, there’s still a nice windshield to break my fall.”
Steve bit back a retort about enhanced healing capabilities, another on the actual purpose of windshields. It really was pointless. He went quiet again, waiting for her to reach the next phase of her rant. It didn’t take long.
“I’m not saying you gotta get something boring. Steal one of Howard’s fancy cars, he’s got too many to keep track of anyway.”
“I don’t want one of Howard’s cars, Angie.”
“And I don’t want that ugly Deathcycle takin up space in our driveway, so what’re we gonna do about this?”
“You never said it was ugly before…”
“Well it is. A big, ugly deathtrap.”
Peggy entered the sitting room before Steve could lose what remained of his patience. “Peggy,” he began.
“English,” Angie said at the same time.
“She’s being unreasonable.”
“Tell your thick-headed soldier boy here that—”
Peggy put up a hand, shaking her head. “Children. I’ve told you before, you’re old enough to work out your own problems.”
“Make him get rid of the bike!”
“She’s being completely—”
Peggy clapped her hands once, sharply. “Children. We’ve discussed this. I love you both equally, and I will not take sides in—”
“English!”
“Peggy, this is ridiculous—”
Peggy clapped her hands twice, harder this time. “Honestly,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ve had an incredibly trying day. Is it too much to ask for a nice cup of tea and five minutes of peace and quiet before I have to deal with your bickering?”
Steve hung his head, noting that Angie was doing the same.
“Right. Sit down, Angie. Sit. Down.” Angie closed her mouth, swallowing whatever protest she’d meant to utter. Joining Steve on the couch, she placed herself as far away from him as possible. Sighing, Peggy crossed the room to sit between them, kissing both on the cheek. “It’s quite frustrating. You’re both rather adorable when you pout. It’s only when you speak that I feel the need to strangle you. Now. Calmly. What foolishness have I stumbled into?”
They told her, though Steve found it difficult to be calm when faced with Angie’s natural dramatics. Fortunately, Peggy didn’t seem swayed by the display.
“Darling, I understand your concerns. But as you said, Steve does have a rather thick skull—”
“I bought him a helmet. Would it kill him to wear it?”
Peggy placed a finger over Angie’s lips. “If he wears the helmet, will you allow Steve to play with his toys without making a fuss?”
Angie shook her head, swatting Peggy’s hand away. “Both equally my eye. He came first, so you love him more. You always take his side.”
“That is the most absurd thing I have ever—”
“Angie, for God’s sake. If you don’t trust me, trust Peggy. She’s the one who taught me how to ride in the first place.”
“Steve—”
He was too frustrated to heed the warning tone in Peggy’s voice. “We rode that bike up and down London. During the Blitz! If it got us through London in the dark while getting shot at—”
“Steve!”
He stopped talking, too slow in realizing his mistake. He swallowed hard as Peggy glowered at him.
“Oh, I see. You taught him to break his neck on that deathtrap.”
Steve didn’t understand Angie’s surprise. Peggy had taught him everything, more or less. He also didn’t point out that his neck was in perfectly good condition.
“I asked,” said Peggy, “that you keep that detail out of this tired—”
“Oh, I see how it is. You and the favorite, keepin secrets. So that’s how it works now.”
Peggy stood up abruptly. “I don’t have the energy for this. Sort it the hell out, or you can both make use of the other bedrooms.” She moved away as she spoke, then turned suddenly to pin Steve under a gaze icier than anything he’d experienced in the Atlantic. “And you. Let us all be thankful the enemy never captured you for information. Hitler would’ve had all our secrets by teatime.”
***
She should’ve known it was too good to be true. The motorcycle had left their garage a few days after the latest spat, and Angie had dared to hope. Stupid. There was Steve, standing in the driveway, casual as you please as he leaned lightly against the Deathbike. “Oh joy, it’s bigger.”
Steve grinned, the brown leather of his jacket shifting as he straightened up. “More longer than bigger, but yeah.”
Angie rolled her eyes, arms crossed. “You boys, everything’s size and length with you.”
“Come take a look. Howard helped with the modifications.”
“Why am I not surprised? And thanks but no thanks.”
“Angie. Just a look. Please.”
Angie sighed. Honestly. He was like a big, whiney golden retriever sometimes. She went to him, eyeing the newly-lengthened motorcycle. “It’s bigger, longer, and uglier than it was. Yay. Is there a point for that, other than you being an ass?”
“You know that song, Bicycle Built For Two? This is…the next level of that.”
Angie squinted at the Deathbike, looked at Steve with his big, stupid grin. Then she got it. “Nope. Uh-uh. No way. I’m leaving now.”
As she turned, Peggy materialized from somewhere behind the house, wearing her signature smile. And the brown bomber jacket Angie didn’t see nearly enough of. “Problem, my darling?”
Oh, this wasn’t fair. This was just dirty play. “Is there? You only wear that coat when you’re runnin off to save the world.”
“Oh, the world’s in fine condition today. Relatively speaking. I remembered how fond you are of this, thought I might put it to more use.”
“Right. On that thing?” Angie jerked her thumb back at the Deathbike.
Shrugging, Peggy slipped her fingers through Angie’s, kissing her knuckles. “I might fancy a short ride, but I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.”
Angie scowled. She was trapped between the two most gorgeous people on the planet. Both wore leather. Both knew damn well how uncomfortable they were making her. “Thought you weren’t taking his side.”
“I’m not, love. But I will admit a certain fondness for that machine. Those midnight rides in London were about the closest thing Steve and I had to a proper date back then.”
Steve and Peggy gazed at each other, a nostalgic twinkle in their eyes. Angie tried not to gag. “Fine, go kill yourselves, relive your glory days of getting shot at in the dark, just don’t expect me to keep dinner warm. Idiots.”
“It’s a perfectly lovely day,” said Peggy. “And the likelihood of us getting shot at his quite minimal.”
“The bike’s built to take that,” said Steve. “Special tires, reinforced armor. Why don’t you hop on?”
“No.”
“Ang. I’m not going to do anything, I just want you to sit on it for a minute.”
“Oh yeah. I won’t do anything, Angie, we’ll just sit here and talk. That’s what Freddie Dodds said to me when we stopped off in his car on the way to the fall dance. He was full of it too, and he sure as hell wasn’t much good for dancing after I got through with him.”
“Have I ever once treated you like Freddie Dodds did?”
“You’re getting real close to it.”
“Angie.”
Big, stupid, pouty dog. “I hate you,” she declared, shoving at his arm as she approached the bike.
“Let me—”
“Shut up,” she snapped, swinging her leg over the monstrosity without help, more standing than not. “Happy now?”
“Beautiful lady on a beautiful bike, how could I not be?”
“You’re an idiot, Rogers.” She was about to dismount the hated thing when she felt strong hands around her waist, Peggy’s breasts pressing into her back. “What the hell. English?”
“Just making sure you’re alright, darling. I’d never want you to be uncomfortable.”
The answer was breathed into Angie’s ear, Peggy’s hair tickling her cheek. “Of course not,” Angie drawled, fighting to keep her voice steady.
“See?” said Steve. “Not so bad, right?”
“I hate you,” So much so that she couldn’t find the words to yell when he climbed on in front of her, swearing on his life that the bike wouldn’t move. Which is how she found herself facing Steve’s strong, leather-clad back while Peggy held her from behind.
Bastards, the both of them.
Steve didn’t move the bike, not for long minutes as Angie sat sandwiched between him and Peggy.
Dirty, rotten bastards.
“Short ride?” he finally asked, very quiet.
Angie huffed out a breath.
“Only if you’re alright,” Peggy added, equally soft, squeezing Angie’s waist.
They meant it, the jerks. They’d gone this far, but they’d never push for more. “If I die, I’m blamin you. Both of you.”
“Sounds fair,” said Steve.
“And I ain’t movin an inch without—”
Steve passed her a helmet, then another, kept a third for himself. The Deathbike must feature a hidden helmet compartment. Waving off twin offers of assistance, Angie put the helmet on, adjusting it by herself. Her arms wrapped tight around Steve’s waist, but she still came close to falling off the bike when it roared to life beneath her. Peggy’s arms tightened immediately, holding her steady.
“Easy. Easy, darling. I have you. I always have you. All right?”
Peggy’s voice was slightly muffled by the helmet, but Angie still heard everything. Steve reached back with one hand, squeezing her shoulder. Angie breathed shakily, leaning into his back. Quickly, she became aware of the bike thrumming underneath her, between her legs.
Stupid, manipulative, loving bastards.
Steve waited for her nod against his back. He revved the engine, but did nothing more. “We’ll go slow,” he promised. “It is big and long, and your first time.”
Angie loosened her grip long enough to punch the back of his neck. “You talk a big game for a guy who was a blushing, blue eyed virgin not too long ago. Now get this trash heap movin already!”
Steve, the stupid, manipulative, bastard idiot listened.
Hard as she tried, Angie couldn’t find it in her to fight with him about the bike after that.