Chapter 5
“[Painting] can be lonely work, but it connects you to other people in ways that many of the things we could do with our lives do not.”
― Christine Sneed, Paris, He Said
It was late when Peggy entered her loft. Not New York City the city that never sleeps late. Not Friday night late. Not even late-for-Agent-Carter-who-works-covert-missions late. But late nonetheless. It wasn’t quite late enough for Peggy to go straight to bed, but it was the kind of late that caused a pang of something like loneliness when she entered her dark and quiet home. It was a dull, inexplicable ache that came with living alone, especially on a Friday night.
The last six months had been lonesome. Ever since her would-be roommate Angie had been scouted for a recurring guest star role for some television show, Peggy hadn’t realized how grateful she was to have a very social friend with a mood-lifting bubbly personality. Angie had moved to Los Angeles mere days into moving into the loft with Peggy. But Peggy had been happy for her, and told her in no uncertain terms that it was about time that someone recognized her talent. And how could she not be ecstatic that the well-deserving waitress finally was seeing her dreams coming true. True, it wasn’t a leading role on Broadway, but it was a start. In a few months’ time she’d be able to watch Angie Martinelli on her rarely used TV.
It was one of the few times she missed London since she made the big move the New York. Mr. Jarvis had been one of the many reasons New York had felt like a quick second home, but ever since she moved into the loft, which was much closer to SHIELD headquarters than the room she used to rent, she saw him much less too. Peggy thought about dropping in to see him, but decided against it. It was a Friday night, Howard was going to be club hopping, and Jarvis was very likely to have plans with his lovely wife. She’d rather not disturb them.
Still, Peggy wondered at her sudden glum mood. Usually she was too busy with work to feel any of the effects that invariable afflicted workaholics. Typically she was too focused, and way too tired, to feel the emptiness of her enormous penthouse loft. Working for an intelligence organization meant there was always work to do, but at the moment, Peggy was between assignments since she’d nailed Senator Brandt down to his responsibilities, ensuring nothing less than National Security. While at full speed, it was hard to feel the full weight of all the things that floated on by. It’s when you slow down that it all catches up with a person, usually all at once at an inconvenient moment. And tonight, among the shadows of her silent apartment she felt the full force of the absences in her life.
She should have been out celebrating her team’s efforts with Senator Brandt, the team she spearheaded. Yet somehow she wasn’t quite up to reveling. She strode over to the elegant bar and the crystal decanter filled with her favorite brand of whiskey. Peggy poured herself a glass and strode over to her floor-to-ceiling windows. She didn’t take a single sip.
It occurred to her that part of her negative mood stemmed from something Agent Thompson had said on his way out of the office.
“You know Marge, some of us like having a life outside of the office. We have reasons to leave the after a long day instead of holing up in our offices with our files.”
The recall nagged at her, and she gritted her teeth just at the memory of his tone. It had been the first time in months that his juvenile commentaries got under her skin.
Worse than the words was the gleaming, slimy smirk that accompanied them. He’d been mocking her, actively shaming her for a lack of a personal life, granted that he’d only seen her enough for his claims to be made purely of speculation. Unfortunately, as it happens with asshole coworkers, he was right. She did have a bit of an empty social calendar. Not that it was any of his business. Nor should she have to explain or apologize for being dedicated to her job. If she were a man, they’d call her a committed and loyal professional. As she was not, she was a desperate overachiever. Peggy reminded herself that she was the one that had recently been promoted, over Thompson, and that now he reported to her.
Still… she wasn’t able to shake off the sudden burst of melancholy. Peggy took a long drink of her whiskey and stared out at the Manhattan night.
Damn that Jack Thompson, she thought.
Peggy met Howard over a very early breakfast meeting with their department director Colonel Phillips. Phillips had known her and Stark for years, and although he often played the terse grump, he had a soft spot for them both. He had personally sought them out to lead his new division. She couldn’t deny that the best form of flattery was the full trust and respect the two men had in her abilities. It was this fact that kept Peggy from punching Howard Stark on a daily basis. Not that he hadn’t deserved the couple that she had given him. She smiled to herself remembering the one time he snuck up on her and gotten a sharp blow of her elbow to his cheek. He then proceeded to steal her foundation from her purse because he had a shareholders meeting for Stark Industries and needed to “put his best face forward.”
After Phillips had left for his next meeting, Howard and Peggy continued working on their coffees and pastries. Peggy stole another scone off the tray.
“So Peg,” Stark started, refilling his cup, “what’ya think of the remodel. Nice, huh?”
Peggy only barely managed to avoid rolling her eyes. “It’s completely unnecessary Howard,” she told him but even as she said it, she was no longer really annoyed with him over his choice of a pet project.
“Awww…” he whined, slurping up some hot coffee, “C’mon Peg. You gotta admit I put so much work into making it grand. You know I never do anything by halves.”
Well that was certainly true.
“You,” she emphasized, “haven’t made any of it.” She bit back the fact that she, Peggy Carter, had in fact done more work on the loft than he had. For some reason, she didn’t want to share the story of how she helped the painter with the dining room.
Stark waved it off. “Semantics. It wouldn’t have happened without all this,” he said, pointed emphatically at his temple.
Peggy snorted, but she supposed he wasn’t entirely incorrect. She bit her lip at the thought of Steve, and how much fun she had painting with him. She fought the grin that was leaking into her expression.
“While it was utterly unnecessary and has given me many a headache, perhaps the loft does feel a bit lighter and more modern,” she said keeping her voice controlled and dispassionate.
Howard grinned. “I knew you’d think so! I’m a master of good taste.”
Peggy rolled her eyes again and shook her head. Dear Lord, please help.
“It’s perfect! Now that the construction crew is almost finished, I’m thinking all the interior should be redone next.”
Peggy coughed as she almost choked on her pastry. She couldn’t believe it. She was sure that Howard had gotten over his stupid ego-deflating break-up by now. She was sure that SHIELD had been keeping his mind busy enough.
“Of my apartment? No! No, no, no, no and once again no!”
“Peg—”
“No Howard! You’ve already invaded my life and personal space for weeks! No more.”
“But you said it yourself Peggy. The loft looks more modern. Now imagine what an interior decorator could do to really finish the place off. It’ll look like something out of Architectural Digest. We could get a photographer to come! And serve hor d'oeuvres. Jarvis should definitely be in the picture. Perfect English butler. Holding lobster puffs. In a tux.”
“Howard Stark, don’t you dare!”
But Howard was already scribbling on a napkin, ignoring her protests. She cursed. While she’d give credit to Howard for perhaps making the loft feel more home-like, and even to his project providing her with the residual benefit of introducing her to Steve Rogers. But there was only so much she could take! She needed to find a way to stop him, or at least stall him until he got over his alleged heartbreak and found a real project to occupy his enormous head.
Peggy didn’t quite plan going home early in the afternoon, it just happens to work out that way.
Work on the loft really had been coming to an end. Many of her rooms were now noticeably finished, the hallways empty without the usual litter of tools, and Peggy found that she wished that the construction would continue. She’s grown used to it, to coming home on short breaks to whirring of tools and constant swearing. But most especially, she has become used to the presence of a certain blond haired painter.
Since meeting Steve Rogers, Peggy’s life hadn’t felt as empty. The attractive man had quickly become a kindred spirit and his even limited presence in her life buoyed her spirits. Peggy had a strong and strange desire to see him more. Peggy recalled painting with him, of laughing with him, and the feel of his thumb against her cheek. Had it really been so long since she felt so comfortable in the company of a man? She wanted him more firmly in her life.
She was looking about her place, observing less guys milling about already but then her survey stopped when she spotted Steve. He was carrying a brand-new door to the guest room all on his own, a guy holding a power drill following just behind. Their eyes met and she felt a girlish flutter when he smiled at her in greeting. She waved at him, continuing to watch him as he set the door in place and held it there as the other guy attached it to its hinges.
She shouldn’t distract him. And she did not come home early just to see him. That would be utterly ridiculous.
Peggy marched into the kitchen and made a big show of puttering about, taking out nearly all the food left in her fridge that could ostensibly feature on a sandwich. She may not have the patience or the time for cooking most days, but the state of her refrigerator made it clear she should use her afternoon off to go grocery shopping. It’s not like there was any reason to sit around her apartment…
Her attention flitted over to Steve who happened to be watching her too. Even from across the room she could make out his now colored cheeks once they locked eyes. She smiled openly at him and when he finally turned his attention to the toolbox someone was shoving into his stomach, she let the smile turn into a full blown ear-to-ear affair.
Once her sandwich was assembled, he had moved on to painting the door frame, to match the door. It was then she was struck with a great idea. An idea that could possibly keep Howard off her back and out of her apartment.
She stared at Steve’s forearms. At his exacting flicks of the wrist as he painted strokes up and down.
Yes it was a marvelous idea.
It even boded well when the door frame Steve was painting happened to be near her bedroom, far apart from the other workers who were mostly congregated on the other side of the loft.
Peggy made her way over, stopping a few feet behind him. She crossed her arms and tilted her head.
“Hard at work I see,” she said.
Steve looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “Hi Peggy.”
“Hi Steve.”
“How was your sandwich?” he asked, that polite but genuine interest in his voice that she adored.
“Everything’s especially delicious when you’re starved.”
He chuckled. She was growing very much attached to the sound. She leaned against the hallway wall and continued to watch him.
“Shame the work’s slowing down,” she started in a carefully conversational tone. “This blank wall looks so sad without something pretty to cheer it up. Maybe a nice pattern.”
“A pattern? Like a flower print?” Steve asked.
Peggy hummed pensively. “That’d be nice. It’d certainly give me something to look at that was more my touch than the rest of this Howard Stark extravaganza,” she replied. “What do you think?” she asked seriously.
They both turned toward the wall in question. Steve said nothing as he studied the stretch of bare canvas, left and right, up to the ceiling and down toward the wainscoting.
“Definitely floral,” he responded after a serious consideration.
“I don’t suppose there’s anything you could do with it by the end of the week,” she said feeling a little warm.
But to her surprise, Steve frowned. And Peggy didn’t enjoy the feeling it gave her in the pit of her stomach.
“Actually,” he said, his whole body sagging a little, “tomorrow’s my last day here.”
“Oh,” she managed. She thought she’d have a few more days.
Steve looked sheepish as he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet.
“I’m just coming in to do touch-ups. Miller has a new job he wants me to work on,” he explained, looking maybe a little regretful.
“Right, of course,” Peggy replied with as much cheerfulness as she could muster with definitely no sign of disappointment. “It’s good that you’ve got work. Of course I’m sure your skills are very much in demand,” she added.
“Yeah, I—”
“On to painting someone else’s bedroom with paint colors sharing titles with classic movie,” she said, attempting to secure the levity in her response so he wouldn’t think there was anything off with her.
“Actually, it’s a commercial building. A store I think.”
“Oh right. Yes of course,” she said, forcing herself not to roll her eyes at her own stupidity. “Well, I should go make good use of my afternoon off and get myself some groceries.” Before Steve could respond she cut him off with an overwrought playful tap to the shoulder and a “back to work with you then.”
Peggy hurried out of the hallway and out of her loft. In the elevator she clapped herself on the forehead. She absolutely hated herself for feeling disappointed, for thinking herself so self-important that Steve would be able to agree to such a request on a whim. Worse, she felt stupidly like she’s just been rejected.
You’re a bloody mess Margaret Carter, she muttered to herself.
She thought shopping while hungry led to the worst impulse shopping. As it turned out, shopping while frazzled and sporting a bruised ego, led to three boxes of Oreos (double-stuffed) and a bottle of forty dollar wine (Bordeaux). At least she’d have company for the night.
Peggy was dragging in her six overflowing reusable bags when out of nowhere, Steve was there, taking them from her arms and letting her lead the way into the kitchen.
“Thank you.”
He nodded at her. He hovered while she began to unload her groceries. When she stopped to look at him, she noticed he was biting his lip and his hands were in his pockets.
“I could do it in the evenings,” he said just as she had stuck her head into her freezer.
“Sorry?”
“I could paint you something floral after my new job. It’s not far from here and they always finish before five.”
Her heart beat a little off rhythm. “Oh no. Steve no, that’s too many hours for one day.”
“I don’t mind,” he said hurriedly but finished off with a shrug.
“Really, please, there’s no reason to feel obligated. I surely do not need an unnecessarily decorated wall.”
“I want to.” Steve smiled. “Besides, what’re you gonna do? Stare at a blank wall? I can’t let you do that.”
Peggy felt her heart do that strange off-rhythm patter. She could only agree. How could she say otherwise, especially when she couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing him repeatedly in the future?
“Did you have any specific ideas?”
Her face felt a little warm. “No, not really I guess.”
Steve didn’t seem to register her awkwardness, or pick up on the fact that she had decided on this on a whim.
“Okay. Why don’t you think about some possibilities. Even just color choices. Maybe we can find some paint named after other film noirs,” he said wryly.
Peggy laughed. “Well that’d certainly be on theme.”
“Will you be here tomorrow at all? We could discuss the details?”
“Yes,” she replied, smiling widely. “Let’s.”
Peggy promised to stop at home just to touch base with him. She didn’t find it difficult to insist her secretary reschedule her afternoon meetings with the explanation of a personal matter.
And the following day, rather than saying goodbye forever to Steve Rogers, he showed up with a sketchbook full of flowers just for her. He left with her phone number.