Three's Not a Crowd

“You’re a jerk. Now drink.”

Steve’s eyebrows climbed upward as Angie shoved another concoction to his side of the table, roughly enough that most of the liquid ended up outside the glass. “I don’t understand why you’re mad at me.”

“Because you’re being a jerk. Drink!”

Sighing, Steve eyed the drink, a rather unattractive shade of brown. “I’d rather not.”

Angie slammed her fist on the table, causing the line of empty tumblers there to rattle. “Because you can’t handle it!”

“My taste buds can’t, no.”

Steve wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten into a drinking contest with Angie. Certainly not by choice. She’d come home uncharacteristically down after a bust of an audition, firmly proclaiming her need to get drunk. Which Steve was fine with. There was nothing to do tonight except wait for Peggy, who was supervising an overseas op at SHIELD headquarters. If Angie wanted to drown her sorrows, he had no reason to stop her.

The problem was, Angie didn’t like to drink alone, said it was bad form. Well, that wasn’t the actual problem, because Steve was more than happy to share drinks with her. The actual problem was that for Angie, sharing drinks seemed to mean that both parties had to be affected by them.

“It’s embarrassing if I’m the only one getting drunk.”

“Embarrassing to who? I love you. If you want to—”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, don’t change the subject. Might as well drink alone, if you’re gonna sit there being all sober.”

He’d tried, many times, explaining that the constant state of sobriety wasn’t something he had control over. For some unfathomable reason, even knowing what she did of his abilities, Angie didn’t believe him about that part. She seemed to think he was all talk, bragging. Which also didn’t make sense, because she routinely referred to him as “disgustingly humble.” How he’d gone from that to an arrogant braggart, Steve didn’t much understand.

Regardless, Angie had made it her mission to get him drunk, no matter what he said about the futility of it.

“Everybody has a limit. My cousin Frankie, all the time he went on about how he could drink anyone under the table, not feel a thing. One night with me and he was flat on his ass, puking in my aunt’s rose bushes.”

Mildly disturbed by how proud Angie seemed at this accomplishment, Steve had pointed out, again, that cousin Frankie hadn’t undergone genetic manipulation at the cellular level. Not that he was aware of, anyway.

No good.

So, Angie had been mixing increasingly awful combinations of liquor for the last hour. Pulling a face at the latest, Steve brought it to his lips nonetheless, raising a toast to her. “You’re a mean drunk, you know that?” He downed the mixture before she could answer, choking.

“Feel anything yet?”

“You really don’t want to know what I’m feeling, Ang.” That was quite possibly the worst thing he’d ever tasted, which was saying something considering what he’d lived on during the war.

Angie grinned, pouring herself a perfectly normal shot of scotch. “You make funny faces when you drink. Kinda like when you finish in bed, only funnier.”

Lost for words, Steve snatched up the scotch, drinking straight from the bottle. It wouldn’t do anything, but it made some part of him, the ninety-eight pound guy who could be wasted after half a beer, feel better.

Slightly better.

***

“I’m a nobody. I’ll go down in history as a nobody, another wannabe actress who didn’t have the chops. You and Peg will be remembered forever, the American hero power couple, and I’ll be the dirty little secret your biographers have to scratch out to keep the story pure.”

Angie was sprawled out on the couch, using Steve’s lap as a pillow. He’d managed to separate her from the booze a short time ago but not, it seemed, before the morose phase of her drunkenness set in. He’d never known her to have a morose phase, but he’d also never known her to drink quite this much in one sitting. “That’s bull and you know it,” he said, running his fingers through her curls.

“Do not. I don’t even know how to land one damn audition. I know nothing, Steve Rogers. And you know nothing about what I don’t know. You know nothing, Steve Rogers.”

Angie seemed to find that last observation terribly funny. He had to wait long moments for her giggles to subside into hiccups before he could speak. “I don’t know much, I’ll give you that, but I know you. You’re amazing, Ang.”

“You’re just sayin that.”

“Because it’s the truth. Listen. One day, people are going to line up for hours to see your shows. Some reporter will interview you after your first Tony win, you’ll tell him about all those dues you had to pay, and everyone who reads that article will wonder what kind of knuckleheads could’ve been stupid enough to turn you down.”

Angie blinked up at him, a lazy smile touching her lips. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“And all those knuckleheads, their wives will threaten to leave them for missing out on such a huge moneymaker?”

Steve’s answering grin was rather bemused as he pushed a strand of hair away from her slightly unfocused eyes. “Yeah, Ang. You’ll ruin plenty a marriage.”

Settling more comfortably on the sofa, Angie traced absent patterns along his forearm. “Thanks, Soldier. That’s a nice story. You’ll come to all my premieres?”

“Of course. People will wonder what a dope like me is doing with two gorgeous women on his arm, one of them a Broadway star, but I’ll be there.”

“You ain’t a dope, Steve. Well, you kinda are, but you’re my dope. Mine.”

Angie wrapped both arms around his midsection as if the point wasn’t made already, and Steve chuckled, watching her eyes droop. “Yours.”

“Damn right,” said Angie. “My Steve. I love my Steve. Love you, Steve.”

“Love you too, Ang.” Seemed Angie had reached the affectionate stage of her drunkenness. He much preferred this to the angry or sad phases. He let her cuddle up against him, felt her grip loosen. She’d drift soon. He’d take her to bed, have some water and aspirin ready for tomorrow, and by the time Peggy returned, Angie would be safely tucked—

“Hey!”

Steve, who didn’t startle easily these days, nearly jumped out of his skin as Angie shot up from his lap. Without enhanced reflexes, their foreheads would’ve smacked together, and at least one of them would be bleeding. Steve was reminded very vividly of an incident when he was small involving other boys, a Jack in the Box, and his teacher screaming about his frail heart not being built for such things. The screaming hadn’t done much to help matters.

Angie was clamoring off him, getting shakily to her feet. “Steve, you wanna hear my song for the audition? Maybe you could tell what I gotta do better.”

“I’m sure you were perfect. You—”

“Aww, quit butterin me up, Soldier. It’s nice and all, but quit it. Now. Shall I perform for you?”

The tone of that last question made the place near where Angie had been resting go tight. “I’d be honored, ma’am.” And he would, even if he’d been given a choice.

“Such a sweetheart.” Flashing white teeth, Angie slipped around the coffee table, ignoring Steve’s offer of help. She didn’t ignore the half empty bottle of something that’d been left there.

Steve grimaced as Angie took a swig of the liquid. “Ang, why don’t you let me have that?”

Wagging a playful finger, Angie made her way to the middle of the room, stopping in front of him. “This is my mic, silly, I need this. Though I might give you something later if you’re a good little critic.”

Raising the bottle to her lips, Angie took another drag, running her tongue along the top in a slow, deliberate motion. Swallowing, Steve leaned back into the cushions. Flirty stage, then.

“Thanks doll, you’re a doll.” Sparing a moment to laugh at her own joke, Angie sobered (in a relative sense) quickly, tapping the bottle as if adjusting the mic. “All right then. I’m Angela Martinelli, and tonight I’m gonna sing you a little tune called ‘Hard Hearted Hannah.’”

Angie spent several moments after this staring at him, until Steve realized what he was meant to do. “All right then, Miss Martinelli. Let’s see what you got.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Director Man.”

A wink. Wetting of the lips. Yup, definitely the flirting stage. Peggy would be sorry she missed it, if she didn’t get home soon.

Angie, unwilling to wait, began her song. “In old Savannah, I said Savannah, the weather there is nice and warm. The climate of a Southern brand, but here’s what I don’t understand.”

The inebriation wasn’t at all discernable now. She sang with all the skill and gusto Steve had come to expect and adore. Perhaps it was a superpower, this ability to perform past an alarming amount of alcohol.

“They got a gal there, a pretty gal there, who’s colder than an Arctic storm. She’s got a heart, just like a stone, even ice men leave her alone! They call her Hard Hearted Hannah, the…”

Steve was quite enjoying his impromptu show when it abruptly stopped, Angie going silent and pale, her mouth still open. His first thought was that the booze had in fact caught up with her, and she’d forgotten the words. His second thought was that she was going to be sick. He half-stood, calculating. As many bathrooms as there were, he might not be able to reach one in time. There was the potted plant in the corner, a gift from Dugan they all agreed was hideous. He was preparing to whisk Angie in that direction when she finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m such a jerk!”

She wasn’t crying exactly, but it was close enough to terrify him. “What? No, of course you’re not. What are you talking about?”

“Arctic! Ice men! I’m so insensitive sometimes. You’re not an ice man, you’re my Steve. I shouldn’t have said anything about an ice man.”

Steve, touched as he was, had to try very hard not to laugh. “Ang, it’s fine.”

“Is not. What the hell is wrong with me? Ma’s always sayin my big trap’s gonna get me in trouble. Well, look at this, you happy now, Ma?”

She directed her question to the ceiling, as though Mrs. Martinelli were somewhere heavenward and not tucked away in her Brooklyn home. “Honey, it’s fine, I’m fine. Please don’t…it’s not a big deal, please don’t be upset.” Recalling the mirth and ridicule his lovers displayed when telling the tale of Sousa and Thompson’s inability to handle a crying Angie, Steve desperately hoped she wouldn’t remember this in the morning.

He spent at least five minutes assuring her that yes, he really was fine, and no, he wouldn’t have nightmares, and yes, he understood that those were the lyrics, and she hadn’t sang those things to make him feel bad. That done, Steve slumped back into the couch, relieved, but not before gently taking away Angie’s “microphone.”

At which point she happily burst into song again, as though there’d been no interruption. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

“To tease ‘em and thrill ‘em, torture and kill ‘em is her delight, they say. I saw her at the seashore with a great big pan, there was Hannah pourin water on a drowning man, they call her Hard Hearted Hannah, the vamp of Savannah, GA!”

Her enthusiasm for the subject might’ve scared him a bit, but Steve was still loving the performance. Especially when Angie began moving around the room, circling the couch to play with his hair, touch his shoulders, and generally find ways of tormenting him as she sang.

“Now, an evenin spent with Hannah sittin on your knees is like goin through Alaska in your BVDs. I mean she’s hard hearted Hannah, I said hard hearted Hannah, I mean she’s hard hearted Hannah, the vamp of Savannah, GA!”

Tune at an end, Angie came back around the sofa, taking several bows as Steve showered her with applause. “So, Mr. Director. Did I impress you?”

“Impress ain’t the word,” Steve said, Brooklyn accent thickening as he watched Angie in her element. “I think, Miss Martinelli, that we’ll have to shortlist you for that Tony.”

Angie gasped dramatically. “But the play hasn’t even come out yet!”

Steve shrugged, grinning at her antics. “Formality. I’d get yourself a fancy dress and a nice speech ready, kid. You’re goin places.”

With a shriek and a single hand clap, Angie launched herself at him, legs hooking around his hips, arms around his neck as she peppered his face with kisses. “You like me, you really like me!”

Laughing, Steve rubbed her sides, her back, nuzzling his cheek to hers. “Like ain’t the word, kid.” She kept kissing him, only sometimes hitting his lips. She tasted of liquor and home, and very soon he wasn’t laughing anymore. Not as she rocked teasingly against him or breathed in his ear, or finally saw fit to give him a proper kiss, her tongue teasing along his bottom lip. She murmured something about good audience members getting rewarded, and for a moment, all Steve could feel was gratitude that this wasn’t par for the course at all her auditions. Then she nipped playfully at the pulse point on his neck, and started inching her fingers past the collar of his shirt.

“You know what?” she said, pausing after kissing a trail across his jawline.

“Hmm?” Steve was trying to decide if this counted as taking advantage. It probably did. He was seriously considering reaching out to still her hands when she pressed into him again, hips and chest. He could feel her nipples hardening under her shirt.

No bra. How had he not noticed that before?

“Even if I don’t make it on Broadway, guess there are worse things than bein kept by Captain America and his best girl.”

“Your best girl too,” Steve said. It was hard to concentrate. She’d tried fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, lost patience, and simply pulled, leaving part of his chest exposed and vulnerable to her lips.

Making an agreeable sort of noise in the back of her throat, Angie spoke between kisses and licks to the uncovered skin. “Mine too. Best girl and best guy, takin care of me until I get my big break. Sure you don’t mind takin care of me, Soldier?”

She nipped at his chest. He shuddered. He’d forgotten how…nibbley she could get after drinking. “Never,” he said, cupping her cheek and coaxing her up for a kiss. “I’d like to keep the job after you become too famous for the likes of me, if you don’t mind.”

“That’d probably be okay. I’ll have my people call your people, we’ll set something up.”

He lost track of himself then. Lost himself in her mouth and her eyes and her hands that roamed all over. The rest of his buttons fell to the floor as she tore his shirt open, skimming her nails along his flesh and making him shiver. And she, never particularly still on her best day, was so damn fidgety, bouncing against him and giggling about it through her kisses.

He’d only ever imagined Peggy affecting him like this. Angie’s ability to do the same, but do it differently, it still stunned him. He was losing what remained of coherent thought when her hands clamped down hard on his shoulders, and she released an odd sort of scream in his ear. It wasn’t the kind of scream he usually heard in these situations, especially not when they both remained fully clothed. Minus the buttons, of course.

He had half a second to relive the Jack in the Box incident, heart pounding in the ear she’d just screamed into, before Angie stood up on the couch, using his body for balance. The cushions sagged under her weight and she came perilously close to part of him that was never meant to be stepped on, but she vaulted over the sofa with a surprising level of grace.

Yelling something about forgetting something else, Angie fled the room, leaving Steve to blink hard and wait for his brain functions to return.

***

By the time he’d forced his body to calm down and move, Steve had no trouble finding Angie. Her laughter came loud and clear from Peggy’s office. He went there, fought a brief, losing battle with his shirt, then simply let it hang open. Angie was gripping the edge of Peggy’s desk for balance. Next to her, precariously close to shattering on the hardwood, was the bottle of bourbon Peg kept in the top left drawer. Because of course Angie managed to find more liquor. More troubling than that, the hand that wasn’t keeping her upright was cradling the desk phone.

“Angie.”

She waved off his approach, shushing him loudly and nodding to the red button on the phone that would prevent her call being traced. “I’m using the fancy spy phone so she won’t know it’s me.”

The button was actually in use, and Steve marveled at the odd moment of lucidity. Then he frowned. “Who? Angie, it’s the middle of the night, you can’t call anyone now, it’s—”

“Hi, Miss Fry! Hi, Fry. Lookit that, a rhyme.”

Oh dear God. “Angie…”

He went for the phone. She pushed it out of his reach, half-falling on the desk as she did. She silently mouthed words to him. It’s okay. Spy stuff. She pointed at the trace kill button. Then she spoke into the receiver. “How you doin, Miriam? What do you mean who? Angie Martinelli, 3C. Formerly 3C, I mean, and thank God for that.”

Oh hell. “Angie, let me—”

He went for the phone again. She playfully swung the liquor bottle at him. It was open. Bourbon coated his chest, the already-ruined shirt and, more importantly in relation to his physical safety, the files Peggy had left out on the desk.

Angie drank what remained in the bottle, carelessly letting it roll to the floor. “Shut up, Steve, I’m on the phone. You usually got more manners than that. So listen, Miriam old girl.”

Steve cringed, He’d never actually met Miss Fry, but he’d heard enough horror stories from Angie and Peggy that he could almost picture her expression upon being addressed like that. It wasn’t appealing.

“I just, no, listen. I just wanted to tell you a few things that I never got around to sayin after you kicked me out. Oh, and Peggy? Totally innocent by the way, in case you hadn’t heard. But, not why I called. I called to tell you, Miss Fry, that as much as I appreciate you breathin down my neck every second I resided in your fine establishment, that I don’t need you to govern my impulses. I am a smart, strong, respectable gal, and I think I know how to keep from doin things that’re too impulsive without you babysittin me.”

Steve jammed his eyes closed for half a second. He could hear the famous Miriam’s voice, loud, sputtering and furious, even from here. Before he could make another grab for the phone, Angie spun around on the desk, knocking a letter opener and a container full of pens to the ground. Her feet now rested in Peggy’s swivel chair, her back to him.

“And you know what else?” she asked, using her left foot to move the chair from side to side. “I know about Freud. Yeah, that’s right, proper young ladies can pick up a book too. I know all kinds of things about Freud, and lots of other people too. The library here? Bigger than your entire lobby. Speakin of. The Houdini speech? Move on from that, huh? The girls know it by heart, it has no power, and really, it just ain’t that great of a speech.”

Steve circled the desk. Angie, intentionally or not kicked out, sent the chair flying into him. “Ang, come on. Give me the—”

“What? Oh, that’s Steve. He’s my Steve. He really wants to talk to you, why, I have no idea. Steve, why don’t you just take that stupid shirt off? What’d you do to it, anyway? You gotta take better care of your things.”

Shoving the chair out of the way, Steve grabbed for the phone. This would be easier if he didn’t have to worry about accidentally hurting his very drunk, very uncoordinated lover. Who shifted unexpectedly, so that he grabbed hold of her right breast instead of the phone receiver.

Angie burst out laughing, tears streaming down her face. “Miriam, hey. Get this. Captain America just felt me up. And you said I was headed down a bad road when you threw me to the curb. Well, Captain America just felt me up, so I must be on a pretty great road, so once again I’m forced to conclude that you don’t know what the hell you’re talkin about.”

Steve got the phone away from her. Angie laughed harder, but otherwise showed no reaction. Putting the receiver to his ear, Steve winced as he listened to Miss Fry threaten to arrest Angie, and whatever foolish male had been idiotic enough to throw in with her. “Miss…no. I’m, I’m so sorry. Honestly, I…” Fry’s yelling was loud enough to drown out Angie’s hysterics, a rather impressive feat. “Thank you for looking after Angie while she was there, it means so much. Sorry to disturb you, goodnight!”

He slammed the receiver down, feeling like he’d tossed away a live grenade at the last possible second. Shaking his head, he dropped into the desk chair, absently noting that half the drawers were thrown open. It seemed Angie had forgotten which one housed the bourbon.

He sat there for long minutes, waiting for Angie to laugh herself out. After that happened and she’d wiped her eyes, he made a half-hearted attempt at scolding. “You proud of yourself, Ang? Disturbing old ladies in the middle of the night so you can insult them?”

“Who, Miriam? She’s plenty disturbed without me getting involved, that ain’t my fault.” Pausing, Angie’s eyes drifted to the window, the view of the darkened night beyond. “Hey, Soldier?”

Steve heaved a deep sigh. “Hey, Angie?”

“Wanna play outside?”

***

He did not, but drunk Angie was even more stubborn than the usual version. Which was why he ended up carrying her, on his back, up to the rooftop terrace. This wasn’t completely unheard of. After long dance rehearsals or shifts at the automat, she’d been known to use him as emergency transportation. Or when she just didn’t feel like navigating the large mansion under her own power. He rarely minded, hardly noticed her weight. But tonight she simply would not keep still. The fact that she was pulling his hair, kicking his sides, and referring to him as a fictional horse, that didn’t help.

“Hi ho, Silver, away!”

“Yup, heard you the first time.” He tried to sit her down in one of the disgustingly extravagant lawn chairs, but she merely laughed and clung, forcing him to sit down with her still in place. It was like having a very affectionate, very gorgeous, very drunk monkey on his back.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re an honest guy, right?”

“I like to think so, yeah.”

“Then tell me, honestly. Am I a cute drunk?”

Steve chuckled. “What I’ve seen tonight? You’re every kind of drunk there is. Cute being the main one.”

That earned him a loud, sloppy kiss to the ear. Then Angie was up and off of him, standing tall on the chair, arms thrown wide. “I’m a cute drunk!”

Caught between a laugh and a grimace as Angie’s shout echoed loudly into the night, Steve took hold of her legs. “The cutest. Now sit down before you break your neck.”

“You worry too much, Soldier. You know what else?”

Steve braced himself. “Hmm?”

“I’m the queen of the world!”

That too was screamed much too loudly. He at least managed to get Angie horizontal after that, moving so that he was sitting back in the chair, Angie taking the space between his knees. She was quiet for a surprisingly long time after that, almost a full minute.

“Steve?”

“Angie.” She was leaning into him, her curls tickling his bare chest.

“Stars are nice, huh?”

He smiled, kissing her shoulder. “I’ve always been a fan.” They were bright tonight, beautiful, really. Not as beautiful as the company, but that was an impossible bar to jump.

“I tried to count them once, you know, as a kid. Wanna know how far I got?”

“Very much.”

“4,348.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose involuntarily. He released a low whistle. “What happened then?”

Angie’s eye roll was clear in her voice. “Ma called me in for dinner. She never did get the importance of scientific pursuits, you know?”

Steve hummed in agreement.

“Hey,” she said, reaching back to stroke the side of his face. “Remember back in ’38, Welles did his War of the Worlds broadcast and half the world thought it was real that we’d been invaded by little green men?”

“You were part of the other half, I’m sure.”

“Damn right. And what about you, Soldier? You fall for some okay actin and a couple half-baked sound effects?”

Steve smiled ruefully to himself, Angie’s nails skimming pleasantly along his cheek. “Like to hope I wouldn’t have. Slept through the whole thing.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded against her fingers. “I was in the hospital. Knocked out on some medication or other. Bucky told me about it after. Claimed he knew it was all fake, but who knows?”

The absent touching stilled. “What were you sick with?”

“Who knows?” Steve repeated. “I was sick a lot then, it all sort of runs together.” He frowned then, feeling Angie tense as she shifted to look at him. Hard to tell in the dark, but he thought her eyes might be too bright. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m fine, Ang.” He really couldn’t handle any more tears tonight.

She was silent a moment, kissing his jaw, nuzzling his neck. “I’m glad,” she said finally, voice softer than it’d been in hours. “So glad. So glad you got here, Soldier.”

Steve kissed her, long and soft. He could get drunk on her touch, her closeness, serum be damned. “Me too, Angie.”

She clung tight to him again for awhile after that. He kissed her hair, her temple, rubbed gently at her shoulders and arms until the tension bled out and she was back to observing the sky.

“Think it’ll ever happen for real, aliens?”

Steve shrugged, stroking at her collarbone. “Don’t know. Wouldn’t surprise me if it did.”

“It will,” said Angie. “And when it does, Peggy can be their queen.”

“Queen. Of the aliens?”

“Yeah, who else?”

“Right, dumb question. And what if the aliens have their own queen already?”

“Peggy will oust her.”

“Of course. And…she’d need to do this why?”

“Well, they’ll need a leader, won’t they, someone who knows what they’re doin. Least while their checkin things out here on Earth. Peggy, she knows everything, and when the aliens do come, won’t SHIELD be the first ones everybody calls?”

She was right, actually. There was a certain amount of sense to the rambling.

“Anyway, Peg’s British. She knows about queens.”

Steve snorted back a laugh. “And what about you, Miss Queen of the World?”

Angie made a dismissive noise. “That was just a thing I said. Peg would totally be queen. You and me, we’d be her royal concubines.”

He couldn’t hold back the laugh then. He listened as Angie went on for untold minutes about the UFO palace they would all inhabit once Peggy took her place on the throne. He had every confidence in Angie’s acting abilities, but now believed that she’d do just as well writing, if the mood ever struck.

Angie talked and Steve listened, until she trailed off in the middle of a sentence, falling asleep rather suddenly in his arms. He stayed still, eyes closed, trying to gauge the depth of her sleep, if he could move her without ending it. Those thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heels clicking on the rooftop. When he looked up, it was to the welcome sight of Peggy standing over him.

“Darling. You seem to have popped a button.” Her voice was pitched low. Angie didn’t seem to hear it.

He could only imagine how he looked to her. Torn shirt, hair sticking in all directions from Angie pulling on it earlier. “Hi.”

“Hi. You reek of liquor.”

She sounded more curious than anything else, possibly amused. She would’ve seen all the empty bottles and glasses on her way up. Not her office yet, obviously. The amusement wouldn’t be there if she had. “Angie swung a bottle of it at my head.”

Peggy nodded. “Where are all the phones?”

Oh. He’d forgotten about that. When he’d initially refused to cart Angie up here, insisting that she go to sleep instead, she’d made grabs for every phone in every room, threatening to call Jarvis for a ride. Jarvis was nice, Jarvis would understand. “I had to hide them.”

“I see. Care to explain?”

He told her about the audition, Angie’s uncharacteristically bad reaction to it. Even in the dark he saw her eyes flash.

“Must’ve been quite the bastard, this director. I may have to see about hurting him.” She paused, stepping closer. “Is she drooling on you?”

Steve looked down. Angie’s mouth was half-open where she rested against his chest. A tiny stream of saliva trailed down his bare skin. He didn’t bother confirming it.

“Concubines?” Peggy asked.

Steve blinked. “Not until a few minutes ago, but yeah.”

Peggy sighed. “She did have fun, didn’t she? Tomorrow morning will be an absolute delight. Wanker directors aside, she usually wouldn’t drink this much.”

Squashing the urge to fidget under Angie’s weight, Steve quietly explained about the drinks she kept pouring him, and her bizarre need to keep up.

“You did tell her that doing so is a physical impossibility?”

“Yeah, Peg, I mentioned that a time or twenty.”

Peggy sighed again. “Stubborn woman. Ah well.” Perching herself on the edge of the chair, Peggy moved to take Angie into her arms. The Italian jerked awake halfway through the transfer, hands clawing at Peggy’s blouse.

“Don’t tell them nothin, you hear me, Ralphie? They got no evidence we started that fire. Nothin, as long as you keep your trap shut!”

Sharing an uneasy look with Peggy, Steve sat up, rubbing Angie’s back.

“That’ll make for interesting conversation in the morning,” Peggy muttered, raising her voice slightly as she addressed Angie. “Easy, darling. You’re home, with us. Come now, time for bed.”

“English?” Dazed confusion gave way to something else as Angie threw herself at Peggy, squeezing hard. “English! My English is back!”

“Indeed. And very tired, as you must be. So, come on, let’s get you inside.”

“English, guess what Steve said. He said I’m gonna wreck a whole bunch of marriages. Ain’t he the sweetest?”

Peggy looked at Steve. “What in…no, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Peggy, it was—”

Peggy held up a hand, silencing him. “I said I don’t want to know, Steve.”

Closing his mouth, Steve tried to assist as Angie insisted she could walk on her own, falling heavily into Peggy every time she tried.

“Hey Peg,” Angie said on the third attempt, swaying as Steve held her by the elbow. “Know what else Soldier boy said? Said he can’t get drunk. Bragged about it all night. Look at him now, shakin all over the place, can’t even walk a straight line.”

Steve guessed, from her perspective, that it might very well look that way. He bit his tongue as Peggy finally got an arm under her knees, carrying her like a bride as they crossed the terrace.

“Yes, darling. He’s a very silly man, isn’t he?”

“Damn right. Silly, silly, silly. Peg, did you bring extra Steves home? Because I’m seein at least three, and I coulda sworn we only had the one. They all gonna sleep in our bed? Because, it’s a big bed and all, but that could get pretty tight.”