Pregnant Angie Part 2
They really should be better at this. In Europe, she and Steve barely had to talk. They instinctively knew where the other was during all those sieges and firefights, knew when to jump in, when to stay away. There was a rhythm to their movements. Dugan said it was cute, called it the wartime equivalent of finishing each other’s sentences. Peggy had punched him in the nose for that, at nearly full strength. Cute. Cheeky bastard.
She’d take cute now. Happily.
For all their seamless grace on the battlefield, she and Steve were absolute rubbish in a hospital room. They tripped over themselves and each other every time Angie tensed, offering water, massage, cool cloths. Peggy was woman enough to admit that for once in her life, she was being completely useless. Well, maybe not completely. Angie seemed to be having a good laugh at their expense between contractions, so that was something.
“You guys do remember this is all normal,” Angie said, shifting in her bed. “I’m fine.”
“We know,” Steve said.
Peggy thought the smile he pulled was rather unconvincing, but really, she was in no position to judge. “Of course you are. You’re doing perfectly.”
“Oh I know,” said Angie, smiling and patting Steve’s hand. “It’s you two I’m worried about.”
Peggy shared a glance with Steve, the two of them standing next to each other at Angie’s bedside. She was dangerously close to conceding that maybe, just possibly, there was a reason the other parent wasn’t typically allowed to witness this joyous occasion. It was fine in theory, knowing Angie would have to endure pain. Well, not fine, but tolerable. All of this seemed much more tolerable when she’d read about it in the books. Specially ordered, because childbirth was the one subject on which Howard’s library offered absolutely no guidance.
“Nothin I’m ever gonna have to know about, Peg. Besides, why tempt fate by having that stuff around?”
Still, it all seemed tolerable a few weeks ago. Now, now Angie was in pain and Peggy couldn’t do anything about it aside from embarrassing herself for entertainment value. She made herself remember that she was helping, apparently, made herself recall the look on Angie’s face when they first checked into the hospital.
Howard knew many people here, and not just the nurses. Much money had been donated. He’d found them a doctor who didn’t ask questions and was quite accommodating. He’d discussed with them the bending of the rules. The head nurse hadn’t been so apprised. Peggy didn’t see real fear cross Angie’s face until that insufferable woman declared that she would be going in alone. Steve stepped forward, wearing a certain look Peggy rarely saw outside of combat situations. Then Angie had squeezed his hand and whimpered, taken by another contraction. Peggy took up the task of reasoning with the nurse. She’d negotiated with hostile generals and had an easier time of it, but she was here, and so was Steve, and the doctor had eventually shown up too. So yes, everything was fine.
Completely fine.
Angie calmly requested water after the latest pain ended. She and Steve dove for it much like they would a grenade, spilling the pitcher all over themselves.
Everything was fine.
***
Angie’s water broke not long after that other water debacle. Peggy’s happiness at this sign of progress ended about the time the nurse informed them that the pains would come harder and faster now. Angie wasn’t nearly as concerned. Until the next one came. She’d done well with the breathing exercises until then, but panicked under the strain of this newer, more intense contraction. Peggy moved to do…something, she hadn’t yet ironed out the details, but Steve was faster, squeezing Angie’s hand and gently urging her to open her eyes, jammed tightly shut as the pain moved through her.
“Ang, sweetheart, hey. Look at me, okay? Just take a breath and look at me.”
As Peggy watched, feeling more useless than ever, Steve did his best to coax Angie back into a rhythm of slow, deep breaths. She wondered how many times he’d heard similar words, how many people had said these things to him as the asthma tightened his lungs.
“Breathe like you’d want him to breathe, okay? It’s okay.”
Not something he would’ve heard in childhood, but it did the trick. Reminded Angie (and Peggy) that there was a purpose to all this. Their son. Or daughter. The pronouns changed, sometimes with every sentence, but none of the three were comfortable using “it” in reference to their child. For the moment, they stuck with the boy possibility. When the contraction passed, Steve engaged them in a discussion about who their son would most resemble.
Talking about the baby, reminding Angie how close they were to the big event, that worked for awhile. Peggy was the first to notice though that Angie grew tense and restless every time the door opened. The third time this happened in between contractions, Peggy spoke up. A glance in Steve’s direction confirmed he’d seen the same thing.
“I just,” Angie said, ducking her eyes to examine the hospital sheets. “I keep expectin Sousa or one of the others to barge in here and call you guys off to save the world. And I don’t really wanna do this on my own.”
“Darling,” Peggy murmured, kissing away the frown lines on Angie’s forehead. “You’ve nothing to worry about on that score.”
“Right,” Angie said, pulling a strained smile. “It’s not like you getting called away to save the world is a regular thing or anything.”
“The world will keep,” Peggy said, pressing a hand to Angie’s cheek.
“How do you know?”
“Because it needs to,” Steve said. “There are other agents, if it needs a little help with that, but Ang, nobody’s leaving. Not until all four of us are ready to go.”
“Nothing’s more important than this,” said Peggy, kissing her lightly as she lowered her hand to Angie’s stomach. “Nothing’s more important than you.”
“Besides,” Steve added. “From what you’ve told me, seems like that nurse out front might be related to Miss Fry. I don’t think Daniel could get near this room without losing another leg.”
It was a terrible joke. Peggy laughed anyway. So did Angie, which was all that mattered.
***
Angie didn’t admit that she was in pain. Instead, she explained in great detail why labor was so much worse than anything Peggy or Steve had been through. So Peggy got shot a time or four. Bullets were small. The tiny human pulling at Angie’s insides was not in fact very tiny. So Steve had been rearranged on a cellular level. The whole thing took what, thirty seconds? And how long had they been here exactly, still with no baby in sight?
“At least tell me you screamed,” Angie said between moans and clenched teeth. She lay on her side, gripping Steve’s hand while Peggy rubbed her back. “When they threw you into that magic muscle tank, tell me you screamed. Lie if you have to.”
“I screamed,” Steve said hurriedly. “A lot. Begged them to turn it off.”
Angie sighed as the contraction ended, eyes closed. “Never mind. I forgot what a horrible liar you are. And Howard told me what really happened.”
Biting back her own sigh, Peggy continued to rub Angie’s back, softer than before. “Of course he did.”
“Yeah. You were the one who wanted to axe the science fair project.” Angie shifted enough to catch Peggy’s eye, a weary yet mischievous smile on her lips. “And then you touched his guy-tit.”
Peggy and Steve started to protest, loudly. Peggy realized about the same time Steve did that they couldn’t scold Angie for her word choice, or anything else, until long after this labor had ended. Perhaps in eighteen years or so. She supposed it was a good thing. If Angie was still capable of cleverness and manipulation, she had to be coping well enough. Though at some point Peggy would need to find out who coined this “guy-tit” phrase, Angie or Howard.
Another contraction came. Angie whimpered in a way that shattered Peggy’s heart, but wouldn’t admit to struggling. The closest she got was announcing that Peggy would be doing this next time. Steve might’ve laughed if Peggy hadn’t glared so hard.
“Darling, I fully understand if you never want to do this again. But don’t you think it best that we get this one…out and sorted, before planning for her siblings?”
Thankfully, Angie agreed.
The talk about pain management, that was harder, Peggy wanted Angie to get something, knew without asking that Steve did too. But they couldn’t and wouldn’t push her into it. But dear God, Angie had suffered through so many of these damn things. Over two weeks late and their child was still meandering. Peggy tried not to blame Steve, knowing Angie’s one-time assertion that his genes accounted for the delay couldn’t possibly be true. Meanwhile, Angie was trying not to scream with every contraction. Peggy was mildly shocked that some of those cries hadn’t been directed more at Steve, but Angie claimed that he already looked too sorry and pathetic, and she couldn’t bear to worsen it.
She also would not decide one way or the other about the medication. The discussion, Peggy refused to call it an argument, always came back to some great-aunt of Angie’s. Family legend had her enduring a long, strenuous labor back in Sicily, with nothing but Martinelli fortitude and a bottle of something alcoholic. The details of said legend tended to change based on who was telling the story, and how much of Mr. Martinelli’s favorite Italian wine had been consumed. The labor lasted longer as the number of empty glasses increased. Sometimes this fabled aunt was in a rundown village hospital, sometimes on the side of a deserted road, sometimes in a manger. The Christ parallels were usually too much for Peggy, never mind that some versions of the story had the expectant mother biting on an old boot or a discarded piece of wood for comfort.
Nothing but Martinelli fortitude indeed. Upon meeting Angie’s family, Peggy never again questioned the origins of her flair for storytelling and dramatics.
“What if,” Angie began, crushing Peggy’s hand and panting through a contraction, “aunt Alessandra is watchin? What if she…thinks I’m shamin the family, wimping out?”
Given the circumstances, Peggy thought they did a remarkably good job of countering Angie’s concerns. The reliability of Alessandra’s birth story was highly questionable Alessandra wasn’t doing this right now. And, if she truly was watching from beyond, she would’ve seen the three of them doing things that she’d consider far more shameful than getting some much-earned pain relief.
And then Angie had to bring her and Steve into it. They were spies, they could withstand torture, etcetera. Which led to further discussion about how Steve had taken countless painkillers pre-serum, after a medical scare or an ill-advised brawl. And still, Angie wavered.
“Darling,” said Peggy, trying very hard not to cry from sympathy, concern, or frustration. “There’s no reason for you to hurt like this, not on our account. You’ve nothing to prove, especially not with us. We could never, ever think less of you, least of all for this.”
Peggy had to wait out another contraction for a reply. When it came, it did so in the form of a whimper that was a bit different from all the others, in a voice she’d heard Angie use before. Onstage. “So, English. Does that mean the next time you come home all battered and bruised, you won’t be such a stubborn idiot about takin the stuff the SHIELD docs give you?”
Steve looked as shocked as Peggy felt. Then he coughed, barely bothering to hide the fact that he was laughing at her. Again.
Idiot. They wouldn’t be in this predicament if not for him. And Angie. Dear, sweet, suffering Angie, who always, always had to make her points. Even while in labor. And of course Peggy had no choice but to agree because, labor. Ange’s smile upon receiving the morphine dose was both relieved and triumphant, more one than the other.
***
The drug helped. Somewhat. For a time. It “took the edge off,” whatever the bloody hell that was meant to mean. And their child continued to take his or her time. Peggy tried not to glance at her watch, or twitch every time someone new touched that part of Angie that was usually reserved for her and Steve.
They’d been through several nurses as the shifts changed. All but one shot them looks that ranged from confused to angry. Jenny was the exception. At least Peggy thought that was her name. Her attention was locked on Angie. Angie, who progressively lost her sense of humor and manipulation, along with her desire to speak. She didn’t ignore them, not exactly, nor did she engage. She seemed to have gone inward, somewhere Steve and Peggy couldn’t reach. Peggy worried that it was taking everything she had to carry on with this.
Her suspicions were confirmed in the worst possible way. Angie hadn’t spoken for over twenty minutes, just worked her way through the contractions with cries that increased in frequency and desperation. And then Jenny announced that she was leaving, per the next shift change. She hadn’t performed any medical miracles, but her voice was soft and kind, and she tended to Angie instead of gaping and glaring at Peggy and Steve. Angie was silent when she left, offering a nod and a weak smile as Jenny squeezed her hand, promising in that kind voice of hers that it would end soon, and everything would be fine. Steve and Peggy thanked her for looking after Angie.
It was after the next nurse had come and gone, with that familiar look at Peggy and Steve, that Angie broke. Her hand in Peggy’s went tight and she sobbed, shaking her head against the pillow.
“I can’t do another one yet. I can’t. Oh God.”
She cried out then, the rest of her words getting lost as her body tightened. By the time that most recent wave passed, Angie was sobbing harder, saying she couldn’t do this anymore.
“Ang,” said Steve, wiping at her tears while his own eyes went too bright. “Honey, you can. You’re doing it right now. We’re right here with you.”
Steve’s calming efforts, relatively successful earlier, led only to another weak shake of the head, and a plea to make it stop. Another assertion that she just couldn’t do it anymore.
“Shhh,” Peggy whispered. Angie was too warm, skin red and glistening as Peggy framed her face, tried for eye contact. “Sweetheart, Steve’s right. You’re doing so well, I promise. It’ll be over soon, love, you’ll see. Just like the nurse said.”
Angie cried and panted and didn’t believe a word of it. Peggy couldn’t blame her. Even Steve looked tired by then. Not as tired as Angie, obviously, who insisted that she needed to sleep, needed this to stop.
“Angie,” Steve said, kissing her knuckles as she clutched his hand. “Baby, I promise, you can rest as long as you need when this is over. We’ll take care of everything, both of you. Soon, all right? You’re so strong, Ang. Just a little bit longer, sweetheart.”
Angie closed her eyes tight, but more tears still came. “Steve, this…it’s too much, I can’t…”
“Angela Martinelli.” Peggy didn’t know if she’d meant to throw in a bit of the Director voice, but there it was. “You can do this. You held out for Broadway, even when you thought it was hopeless. You waited for me to come to my senses about us, what we could be. And you held on for me, for all of us, when Steve came back, and we had to muddle through all that without losing each other. You can do this, my love.”
“I only made it to Broadway ‘cause you told me not to quit.” Angie’s tone was different, her reply slower to arrive.
“And look what happened,” said Peggy, taking heart in the lack of an instant denial. “Darling, you can do this, I know it. Have I ever lied to you?” It came out too fast. Desperation had her mouth outrunning her head. Her head caught up just before Angie’s brows knitted in something other than pain. “I…you know what I…” Shite. “Have I ever lied about anything that didn’t concern national security?” There was no way to remind Angie of Mr. Jarvis’s truth/honesty distinction before the next contraction, none at all. “Dammit, I’m trying Angie! And you, Rogers, if you continue to smirk at me like that, you’ll be the one needing pain medication.”
“Shut up English. Just shut the hell up.”
The slight twitch of Angie’s lips robbed the words of any sting. Peggy obeyed nonetheless. Two minutes later the doctor returned, and there was talk of pushing.
***
“She has your eyes.”
“Nah,” said Steve, grin widening as he refuted Peggy’s statement. “Got those from her mom. Lucky girl.”
Peggy could’ve countered, but didn’t. In her expert opinion, having spent years studying both shades of blue very thoroughly, her daughter’s eyes definitely came from Steve. The differences in color were subtle, but most assuredly there. The tuft of brownish-blonde hair though, that was closer to Angie’s shade.
“You’re both wrong,” Angie said. Her speech was more than a bit slurred. “Lizzie’s got Peggy’s eyes.”
Peggy glanced at Steve, the two of them having pulled up chairs next to Angie’s bed. “I take it the drugs are working then,” she said on a laugh. They’d given her more pain medication after the birth, to help with residual soreness. She held the baby securely, but her eyes were turning to slits.
“How’d you know? Listen Peg, I mean it. Your turn next time, huh?”
Next to her, Peggy saw Steve bite his lower lip. Probably holding in another laugh. She couldn’t find it in her to glare at him, not with Elizabeth here. And hadn’t that been clever? They’d spent the last three months of Angie’s pregnancy debating names, hit on Elizabeth, then debated more on Elizabeth versus Liz versus Lizzie. She and Steve argued for the more formal version, and now they’d likely spend the rest of their lives bickering about it. Which was perfectly marvelous, as far as Peggy was concerned.
“Pregnant Peggy,” Angie said after Peggy took too long to respond. “Peggy pregnant. Preg Peg. Preggy Peggy. Preggy Peggy. Preggy…Peggy.”
Angie had dissolved into giggles by then, tears streaming down her face, declaring that Peggy needed to conceive immediately so Angie would have reason to use her new favorite phrase. Steve gnawed at his lip, mouth still curving as he regarded Angie. “I think Peggy would like it if you stick to English for awhile, sweetheart.”
“Oh really?” Peggy asked. “Figured that out, did you? Clever, clever man, I do hope our girl’s been gifted with your brain.”
Steve took the teasing for what it was, kissed her cheek, then gently urged Angie to get some rest. Peggy was amazed she’d lasted this long, honestly. She’d worried at first when it was finally, finally time to push that Angie, determined as she was, wouldn’t have the energy for it, especially considering her state of mind a few minutes earlier. She should’ve known better. Finally able to do something rather than passively enduring the pain, Angie got a rather amazing second wind. She hadn’t slept, even for a few minutes, not in far too long.
“I’m good,” she said, continuing to ignore that fact as she cradled the baby.
“You’re perfect,” said Peggy, kissing Angie’s temple and following her gaze to their daughter. “And so is she, but you both need rest. You know what the books said about sleeping when the baby does.” Elizabeth was indeed fast asleep in Angie’s arms. Peggy would not cry about that, would not give in to the rush of feelings that sight caused. Not right away at least.
“I don’t wanna miss anything. Just…just wanna look at her awhile longer.”
“You won’t miss anything,” said Steve. “She starts walking at a few hours old, and she’s our kid so I wouldn’t put it past her, we’ll get you up right away, promise.”
“That we shall,” Peggy added. “But until then, rest, sweetheart. We’ll watch over the both of you,” she said, consciously paraphrasing Steve’s words from earlier.
It had the desired effect, a soft, drowsy smile that still lit Angie’s whole face. “I know that. Always know that.”
With only slight reluctance, Angie passed Elizabeth over to Steve, but not before a final cuddle and a kiss. “You be good for Mum and Daddy, Lizzie. Mama will see you in a little bit.”
Peggy was not going to cry at the sound of her new title on Angie’s lips. Nor was she going to cry at the sight of Steve holding their daughter so easily, so naturally, as if he hadn’t cringed away from every child he’d been forced to handle in those old news reels. She simply was not going to cry. She kissed Angie instead, gently, resting their foreheads together a moment and pushing a lock of sweat-slick hair out her eyes. “You were amazing.”
Angie smiled again. “First time you said that, I was saving your ass back at the Griffith.”
“An outstanding performance, but nothing compared to the one you gave today.” Peggy kissed her again, briefly, stroked her cheek. “Sleep, darling. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Elizabeth perfectly balanced in his arms, Steve pressed his own kiss to Angie’s lips. “I love you. So, so much. Thank you for this. For her.”
“Love you. All three of you. And you can thank me for real the next time her diaper needs changing. Or the next two hundred times.”
Steve promised he would, Peggy dimmed the lights, and Angie was asleep within seconds. Peggy lost track of time then. It was all about watching Elizabeth, watching Steve with Elizabeth, watching Angie sleep, losing patience and cradling Elizabeth herself. She’d been doing this last activity for awhile, memorizing facial features that were already imprinted on her soul, when she called Steve out on the staring. “Careful, or your face is liable to get stuck that way, Captain.” She didn’t look up from Elizabeth. Didn’t need to check that he’d been watching her and grinning nonstop for some time now. She always knew when he was watching, even in the early days at Camp Lehigh, when the adorable fool tried to be subtle about it.
“Right back atcha, Agent.”
He chuckled a moment later, shook his head. Peggy did look up then, eyebrows raised, smile never faltering. “Something funny?”
“In the best possible way, yeah,” Steve replied, voice pitched low so Angie wouldn’t be bothered. “I used to think about this, before the crash. You, holding our kid. And then the plane, you and Angie together after they fished me out…I thought I’d never have it. Especially not like this.”
Peggy nodded. She’d thought the same things. About children with Steve, about that possibility dying when he did, about how she’d lost everything when the plane went down. And then there was Angie, and rebuilding what was broken, and then Steve back, breaking it all down again. She thought once that she’d lose them both, lose them because she couldn’t choose. Somehow she hadn’t. That half-formed thought of children with Steve had become reality, in a way she never could’ve imagined. This was better than that long-postponed night at the Stork Club, better than that “someday” she’d promised Angie at the Griffith, when she first admitted to herself that her friend was more than that, and always had been.
This, all of them together, it was better than a thousand dances. It was the best “someday” Peggy could possibly imagine, not that she’d ever been able to hope for this much. “I know,” she told Steve, because there was no expressing the rest of it, no need to. Especially if she didn’t want to cry.
***
“Well, it’s official. Every one of these gifts are wildly inappropriate for a baby.”
“That surprise you?” Steve asked, “considering the source?”
“Not at all,” said Peggy, setting cups of tea in front of Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis. “Just an observation.” She’d never been foolish enough to think that Dugan and the rest of the Commandos would send anything useful, but the thought was there. Settling down next to Steve and Angie in one of the many, many sitting rooms, she smiled at the sight of Anna holding Elizabeth, cooing softly.
“Thank you for the tea, dear,” Anna said after a moment.
“I would’ve been more than happy to assist you, Miss Carter.”
Peggy fought the reflexive urge to roll her eyes. “How many times must I tell you that you’re our guests, and you will most certainly not be serving us today?"
“You can serve me,” said Howard from his place in a nearby armchair. It was barely past noon, but he’d chosen whiskey over tea.
“I do believe,” said Anna, ignoring Howard with what seemed to be practiced ease, “that Elizabeth here may be the most gorgeous child in existence. She’s certainly the most loved.”
Steve’s grin was brighter than the warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. “No arguments from me.”
Absently, Peggy found herself playing with Angie’s curls, so like her daughter’s. She’d never pined for normality in the general sense, behaving like a “normal” woman, doing only what society deemed her capable of, it would’ve driven her mad. But this, this special normal with her loves and her child and her friends (even Howard), this was good. This was splendid. They were surrounded by warmth and affection and baby gifts from people Peggy could barely claim to know, and it was perfect.
“So,” said Howard, breaking the spell as he so often did. “Still no word on a godfather for the little princess here, huh?”
“No, Howard,” Angie replied, “but thanks for reminding us. Clearly everyone’s forgotten about the first twenty times you asked.”
“Figured that had to be it.”
“Mr. Stark—”
“No, you know what, Fancy? He’s right. I think it’s about time we took care of that. Guys?”
Angie’s questioning look earned a squeeze of the hand from Steve, a kiss to the shoulder. “Fine by me.”
Peggy continued to comb light fingers through Angie’s hair. “Of course, love, if that’s what you want.”
Angie grinned. “You see how well trained I got them? Me, not all those drill sergeants from back in the day. It’s even better since the baby, they do anything I say, hardly let me lift a finger. Go on Peg, you tell them.”
Not entirely pleased with Angie’s choice of words, Peggy still sat forward on the couch, slipping her hand into Howard’s. “Howard. We’ve known each other a long time. You helped Steve and I a great deal, your equipment kept us safe during all those Hydra raids. More than that you…you helped me, when Steve was gone. You never, ever gave up on him. I’m not sure I ever thanked you for that.” Suddenly it was hard to swallow, let alone speak. Steve’s hand found the small of her back, rubbed softly. “In any case,” she said, clearing her throat and returning to the present. To the fact that everything she cared about was safe and here, in this room, “You’re my oldest friend. I dare say that of the many, many, many women who’ve made your acquaintance, I may know you the best.”
Howard was grinning and nodding, chest out. He’d even set his drink down.
“And that is why we’d like to ask Edwin and Anna to be Elizabeth’s godparents,” she said, still grasping Howard’s hand, but shifting to face the Jarvis couple.
Several things happened at once. Anna, still holding the baby, released a gasp. Mr. Jarvis uttered a series of incoherent spluttering sounds. Howard’s mouth dropped open. Angie laughed.
“Peggy, darling, are you certain?”
“No, no she’s not!”
Peggy squeezed Howard’s hand, but otherwise ignored him. “Absolutely, Anna.”
“What do you say, Mr. and Mrs. Fancy?” Angie asked. “Do us the honor?”
Anna agreed, enthusiastically. Edwin nodded, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. Parents exchanged hugs with godparents, and in all the movement, Elizabeth ended up tucked in Peggy’s arms.
“What was that, Peg? Besides cruel, even by your standards.”
“Leave her alone,” said Angie, “it was my idea too.”
“I tried to stop them,” said Steve.
“I’m sorry Howard, truly.”
“No you’re not.”
“No, I suppose you’re right. But really. Every day for the last six months. You had to expect some form of retribution.”
“So if I hadn’t asked so often, you would’ve picked me?”
“Well no, of course not.”
“Then what was all that about friendship and knowing me and all the rest?”
“That was all perfectly true. You mean a great deal to me, to all three of us. And we all know you quite well. Which is why it would be utterly mad of us to put you in a position of responsibility for our child.”
“I resent that!”
“I’m sure. Howard, you’ll always be quite welcome to visit with Elizabeth—”
“Lizzie,” Angie corrected. “But yeah, you’ll definitely sometimes be welcome to see her.”
Peggy shot Angie a grateful glance. All this normalcy and sentimentality must’ve been getting to her head, that could’ve been quite the verbal misstep. “But we’d really prefer that the baby have two godparents—”
“Ah, so now you’re discriminating against me because I’m not married? Nice one, Miriam.”
“I…oh for…honestly, Howard! Why is this so important to you anyway?”
“Because! I’m your oldest, dearest friend, and I should be godfather!”
“She said oldest,” Angie corrected, “not dearest. But listen Howard. We know you just wanna help. You wanna teach her things, right?”
“Right, yes, exactly.”
“Well see, you’re teaching her how to throw a temper tantrum right now. You don’t need a title for that. You’re probably better at being a baby than she is.”
“Me? Look at him,” said Howard, gesturing toward a still-teary Jarvis.
“Leave Fancy alone, I love Fancy. Seriously though, pull yourself together, Fancy. You’re British.”
Nodding, Jarvis blew his nose rather loudly.
“Fine, all right. But what about the next one, huh Peg? Steve here needs a proper set of kids. And a boy. You’ve gotta even things out around here a little more.”
“Howard—”
Steve’s warning didn’t come fast enough. “If Steve here wants more children, perhaps he should be the one to go about having them. I do recall you saying that you might be able to make that possible.”
“Peggy—”
Again, Steve was ignored. “Done. Long as I get to be godfather.”
“Get the technology perfected first and we’ll talk about it. You said it would take a few years, I believe.”
“Not if I’m diligent about it.”
“Fine. Be diligent and we’ll talk. Oh, and go an entire week without setting any fires at SHIELD.”
Howard’s face fell. “Literal or metaphorical? Either way, you’re not being fair.”
“The fact that you think so more than makes my point.”
Peggy spent the next few minutes in animated conversation with Angie and the Jarvis’s discussing whether or not the world was ready for an expectant Captain America. Steve squirmed. Howard sulked, muttering to Elizabeth about all the ridiculous presents he would give her. He was promising a pony and a stable to house it when Angie stood up abruptly, pulling at the buttons of her sweater.
“Looks like the girl of the hour is hungry. Give her here, Peg.”
Elizabeth seemed perfectly content. Peggy said nothing to that effect, just watched all the color leave Howard’s face.
“Jeez, Angie. You’re gonna do that here?”
“Jeez, Howard, yeah. The baby’s here, I’m here, it’s my house, so yeah, I think I’m gonna do it here.”
Mr. Jarvis went an alarming shade of red and choked on his tea. Peggy shared a chuckle with Anna as she pounded her husband on the back. Howard, who’d been thoroughly fascinated with the increased size of Angie’s breasts (Peggy slapped him at least twice during the final months of the pregnancy), was also thoroughly disgusted by the cause of the change. Angie discovered this quite quickly and had been using it to her advantage ever since.
“It’s just…it’s not natural.”
“Hey, I’ve seen the pictures Fancy missed when he was cleanin this place out for us. All the stuff you’ve done to and on tits, and this is unnatural?”
Mr. Jarvis wheezed again. Steve looked like he might chastise Angie for mentioning tits in front of the baby, but laughed instead. Blushed, but laughed.
“Hey Lizzie. You wanna get started learnin new words? Listen to Mama, sweetheart. Your uncle Howard is a hypocrite. Can you say hypocrite? He’s other things too, but you’re way too young to hear about those.”
Angie made no move to take the baby. Instead she followed Howard out of the room (perhaps chased was more accurate), voice echoing through the house as she threatened to nurse in front of him. Unfazed by all the excitement, the baby made a soft gurgling noise before falling asleep in Peggy’s arms. Once Mr. Jarvis had regained his ability to breathe, Anna picked up the talk about Steve carrying the next Rogers child.
Normality indeed.
***
“Sleep, darlings, I’ll get her.”
Steve and Angie didn’t protest. Peggy wasn’t particularly thrilled with the idea of tromping through the house two hours before dawn, but fair was fair. Angie was, predictably, always on the alert for Elizabeth’s cries, and the serum helped Steve persevere through sleepless nights. It would be too easy to let the other two handle the more unpleasant aspects of parenting. SHIELD kept her away more than she’d like, even with an adjusted schedule. Young as Elizabeth was, Peggy couldn’t help worrying. The lack of a biological relationship, she could handle that. Being the non-biological, absentee parent? That possibility didn’t sit well at all.
She probably shouldn’t have worried so much, not with Angie’s frequent refrain of “Director, I don’t care how busy you were savin the world today, go direct yourself to your kid’s diaper!”
Still, better safe than sorry.
“Shhh. Come on, sweet girl. Can’t be as bad as all that, no need to cry. It’s alright, darling.”
Peggy continued this way for several minutes, after assuring herself that Elizabeth was clean, dry and not hungry. She’d heard talk before, mothers differentiating between a hungry cry and a wet cry and all the others. She hadn’t discounted it exactly, but until recently a baby’s wails all sounded the same. Angie was far better at knowing which was which, but Peggy was learning. She’d known already that this particular bout of sobbing wasn’t caused by something as easily fixable as a new diaper or a bottle, but she’d had to check. Wasted optimism.
She paced the room, humming nonsense, rubbing Elizabeth’s back, half-heartedly eyeing the drawings Steve worked so hard on that lined the nursery. She’d often compared the males at the SSR to infants. Incorrect on her part. Her idiotic co-workers had been much easier to silence.
Not especially awake, Peggy barely realized that her tuneless humming had morphed into words, not until a chuckle from the doorway caught her attention. “I suppose you think this amusing.”
“The great Peggy Carter stumped by a little baby? Yeah, just a bit.”
“I’m not stumped. And it’s hardly my fault that this little baby inherited your rather impressive lung capacity.”
Angie smirked as she approached. “She loves your voice, English, just like I do.”
“Yes. I can tell by the way she screams bloody murder to drown it out.”
“Maybe if you tried some new material.”
Peggy eyed her, uncomprehending.
“You just gonna throw all these depressing nursery rhymes at her? I’d cry too, listening to that.”
She had to think it through, having gone on autopilot. “My grandmother recited these for years when I couldn’t sleep.” It was a far off memory. She hadn’t made use of it consciously, but now felt the need to defend herself.
“I’m sure she did. Did she mention that Mary, Mary the contrary one is about cemeteries and dead Protestants and torturing people? Or that the kids in Ring Around the Rosie all dropped from the Black Plague?”
“I doubt she thought it relevant at the time. And since when did you become such an expert on children’s literature?”
Angie shrugged. “There’s a big library and you guys are gone a lot. I’m just sayin, maybe Lizzie would feel better if you didn’t try putting her to sleep with all this morbid stuff. I mean, I love your gran Peg, don’t get me wrong, but she scares me a little.”
“Of course she does, love, Nana does that to everyone.” Peggy made a mental note to arrange a visit with her grandmother. She’d want to see the baby. “Are you planning to mock me all night, or can I expect some assistance?”
“The second one,” Angie said on a yawn. “Only because I’m too tired to keep up the first.”
“Tragedy, that.”
“Shut up, English. Come here, baby girl.”
Leaning against the wall, Peggy fought her tiredness, watching as Angie rocked Elizabeth. Words soon joined motion, a song, something soft and sweet and Italian. Peggy could’ve translated if she cared to, but the moment was too precious to waste on proper thought. Within minutes Elizabeth was sleeping and settled. “Darling, that was wonderful,” Peggy murmured once Elizabeth was safely tucked in.
Angie smiled in the dark. “You getting sentimental on me, English? Anyway, it wasn’t anything. Trick is, don’t give her anything stupid and scary, with cradles and kids fallin all over. And definitely don’t bring up the cemeteries again.”
Peggy would’ve rolled her eyes, but it required extra energy, which she needed to save for following her ridiculous lover out of the room. “May I remind you that you’re the one mentioning plagues and graveyards, not me?”
“So? You think Lizzie’s not smart enough for subtext? Just sing her something that ain’t about death. That gorgeous voice of yours, guarantee she’ll be out like a light next time.”
“Love. If our child is perceptive enough to grasp the hidden meanings of poems written hundreds of years before her birth, then I guarantee you she won’t appreciate my singing.”
***
Biting back a sigh, Peggy pressed a light kiss to Elizabeth’s head. “You’re putting us both in a very bad spot, you know, and I’m quite sure you’ll regret it.
Elizabeth kept crying.
Peggy released the sigh this time. They’d stopped keeping track of who’s turn it was weeks ago, too much of a mess. As things stood, Peggy was the one awake. Again. And Elizabeth simply would not be soothed. Again. She squared her shoulders. Desperate times and all that. “Can’t say you weren’t warned, my love.” Swallowing, she rolled her eyes heavenward. And then she sang. “Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green. When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.”
She flubbed a few lines, but Elizabeth didn’t seem to notice. Miracle of miracles, she actually grew quiet. Another few verses and her eyes closed, small chest rising and falling evenly. With the same caution she used while handling armed explosives, Peggy put Elizabeth to bed, tucking the blanket (handmade by Anna) securely around her. “Rest well, love,” she said, barely audible. She was quite proud of herself really, until she turned around. Steve and Angie were grinning like utter fools from the doorway. Peggy kicked herself internally for not hearing their approach, but there had been the singing. And the crying, up until a few moments ago. Also, being a mother hadn’t stopped Angie from using Steve as a mode of transport. If anything she did it more often, claiming tiredness. She was currently clinging loosely to Steve’s back, meaning Peggy wouldn’t have heard her steps. And Steve’s, well his were enviously light, considering his size. And cargo. Raising a finger to her lips and narrowing her eyes, Peggy swept past them. They at least had the decency to shut Elizabeth’s door before starting in.
“Aww Peg, that was beautiful.”
“Hardly. Are you getting sentimental on me, love?”
“You said you couldn’t sing.”
“That I did, Captain, and I mean what I say.”
“Peggy, come on, that was great.”
“Clearly you’re both delirious. Drop her back in bed, darling, before the sleep deprivation gets any worse.”
“Can’t carry a tune. Right. Where’d you even pull that song from?” Angie asked. “Doesn’t seem like somethin out of Granny Carter’s repertoire.”
“You know if you stopped referring to her that way,” Peggy said, crossing back into their room with Steve and Angie behind her, “she wouldn’t have reason to scare you so much. As for the song, I believe I heard it from the governess.”
Angie made a hissing noise between her teeth. The mattress bounced slightly as she let go of Steve and dropped onto it. “Fair enough. Just don’t mention the G word around my folks, huh? They’re fine with the whole three’s company thing we got goin, but if they hear anything about nannies—”
“She was a governess, darling, and yes, I understand. We’ve been over it. Several times.”
“Just checking,” Angie said on a yawn, snuggling into Steve as he climbed into bed. Peggy took the empty spot on his other side. It was quiet for a moment. She thought she was safe. Then, “I can’t wait to tell Dugan that his fearless leader sings sweet little lullabies to our kid.”
“You will do no such thing. And you’re the one who told me to sing in the first place!”
“Yeah, well I didn’t think you’d actually do it! It was amazing.”
Angie sounded entirely too amused. Eyes closed. Peggy felt for an extra pillow, found it, and struck. A huff of air was released next to her ear, but it wasn’t from Angie.
“Ha. Mr. Shield makes a great human shield. Thanks, Steve.”
Another huff of air. “Knew I served a purpose in this relationship. You’re welcome, Ang.”
Peggy wondered briefly if the shield reference was literal, or a nod to her status as Director. She didn’t ask. Asking would only fuel them. She slept, ignoring Angie’s pleased giggles as best she could.
It was two days before Dugan and Jones called from somewhere in the Ukraine, asking to be lulled to sleep.