the small hours can be lonely (until it passes)
The only thing about the apartment Howard gifted you is that, in the winter, it can get mighty cold.
Of course he's got heating. Some kind of newfangled Stark technology to get it warm, and keep it warm. His regular abode never seems to have the chill this place does. Plus there's a fireplace in most rooms.
So it's deliberate, you suppose. Easier to suggest cuddling up with the leggy blondes he'd invite here when she's shivering.
You feel a shiver run down your neck, and pull your robe – black silk – a little tighter round your shoulders. It doesn't help that it's barely 5am. New York is still cloaked in the darkness of a November night, not even the faintest hints of a dawn yet peering over the Eastern horizon. Your cup of tea sits on the coffee table, steam swirling in the air as the liquid rapidly cools.
You had woken in a cold sweat, a yelp tucked into the back of your throat, scenes from Europe etched behind your eyelids and Steve's voice ringing with static in your ears. Sleep never came easy again on these kind of nights, so you'd slipped out of bed and made yourself a tea – a special blend Jarvis had gifted you, that you'd mentioned off-hand many months ago – that reminded you of home. Then padded softly down the hall, barefoot to keep as quiet as possible. Angie was snoring softly, her door ajar across the hall from your room. She was absolutely riddled with a nasty cold, and had been sent home early from rehearsals under strict instructions to stay home tomorrow. She didn't need to be disturbed, not by this.
A sigh escapes your lips, and you swear you can see your own breath in the air. You really ought to speak to Howard about the whole heating situation.
There's a kind of serenity in watching the steam unfurl from your brew and dissipate in the air, and you're not sure how long you're sat there watching when you suddenly here a croaky voice from behind you in the hall.
“Peg? Whatcha doing up so early?”
You can hear her shuffling into the room, so you don't bother to turn around to greet her, eyes still fixated on the shapes forming above your favourite cup. The inky blackness outside the windows remains, “The same could be asked of you Angie”
“Needed some water. Saw a light on out here,” she flops down next to you on the couch, “Guessed if it was Howard or one of your HYDRA fellas there'd be more of a racket.”
That draws a chuckle out of you at least, and you feel her smile long before you tilt your head towards her, finally breaking the strange spell your tea had cast over you. She looks as exhausted as you feel, dark circles beneath her eyes and her nose tinged pink from her illness. She still makes sure she's smiling when she catches your gaze.
“Are you feeling any better?”
She shrugs, and sniffs loudly, “Not really. Maybe worse? But maybe that's on account of it not being 6am yet.”
“Oh Angie. Go back to bed.”
“I'm up now. What's got you awake? And making tea before breakfast time?”
When you don't immediately answer her, she extends her foot towards yours and makes a point of prodding your calf with a bare toe, “Peg? You okay?” Her voice is impossibly soft in the gloom, and it washes over you with a warmth you haven't known for too long. A warmth you've come to associate with only Angie. It's barely a conscious decision to allow her in, just a little bit.
“Just memories I suppose.”
“From the war?”
“From the war,” you agree in a low voice, air puffing out of you. Angie had earned a little piece of your honesty these days, and she was always happy when you let yourself share. It never comes easy, but something about the dark and the hour and the sadness in your chest just aligns perfectly this morning. She shuffles closer to you, and you feel her shiver against the plushness of the couch cushions.
“Angie, please go back to bed. You'll feel worse if you get cold out here.”
“Nope,” she shakes her head and pops the 'p' when she replies, “Just hang on a sec.”
She does stand, but doesn't return to the hallway or to her room. Instead she crosses the room to a trunk next to the cold fireplace, pulling free a wool blanket you've not seen before and returning to sit beside you. With a flair, she unfurls it and spreads it over the pair of you, and then snuggles up against your side, tucking her feet up beneath her.
You've become closer to her than any friendship you've ever had before, can feel it teetering on becoming something more. You've both been dancing around it, never awkwardly, but neither brave enough to take the leap.
Her head settles against your shoulder, and it's like she can feel how far the cold has settled into your bones.
“Drink your tea before it gets cold English. You need to warm up.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. Otherwise I'll have it, it's freezing out here.”
It crosses your mind that maybe you should let her, that maybe some warmth would help clear the cold from her system. But you also just want her to be happy with you, and you know she'll be more content if you follow orders for once.
“Alright alright, sit up for a second.”
She acquiesces, lifting her weight clear of your side so you can lean forward to pick up your nearly-abandoned beverage. As soon as you lean back, she settles back against you with a little hum of contentment, and it doesn't escape your notice that you feel warmer already.
It's not just in the physical sense either.
You cup the drink between both hands. It's tepid at best at this point, but you still take a sip, feeling the warmth under your chin and as it slides down your throat. Angie sniffs again, and you see her hands picking at a loose thread on the blanket.
“Where did this come from?”
“This old thing? Ma made it for me when I was a kid. She found it a couple weeks back, so I stole it when I went over for Thanksgiving last week.”
“It's nice.”
“I'll tell her.”
“Thank you.”
You sit together in easy silence for a few minutes, the only sounds your occasional sips and Angie's slightly more frequent sniffles and coughs. Once empty, the cup is deposited on the end table, not wanting to disturb her more than necessary. Her eyes eventually drift closed, and you almost believe she's fallen asleep against you, when she mumbles into the quiet.
“I'm here if you ever wanna talk about it English.”
Your heart swells a little, and the cold creeps a little further away from this little bubble of warmth you've built on the settee.
“I... I know. Maybe one day I'll have the right words.” It's more than you've ever given anyone else. The nightmares are fading now, as the dawn begins to fade into the skyline, outlines of building faintly visible as the black begins it's slow turn to day.
“And I'll be there when you do, okay?” Angie lifts her head to catch your gaze, her lips curved up in a soft smile.
There's nothing you can do to stop yourself leaning down and pressing a kiss to them.
It's soft, chaste even. You really hope you haven't misjudged this. To be ruin everything, just because you were caught up in a moment.
So it devastates you when she freezes beneath you, moves back from your touch.
You pull away, apologies already spilling from your mouth before chilled fingers land delicately on your neck, halting your retreat. You dare to meet her eyes, cheeks red with embarrassment, but see that soft smile remains, her eyes dancing with something you might call happiness.
“Shucks English. Why'd you wait 'til I was sick? You can't look after me if you catch whatever I've got.”
A beat. And another, while your brain finally wraps itself around her response.
“I'll take the risk,” you decide aloud, grinning as your heart races for an entirely new reason and her lips reclaim yours.