Angie knows places hidden in the depths of this city. Illegal places that could get you killed. She knows the seedy underbelly of the mafia, of the thugs and the fights down at Hell's Kitchen that ain't sanctioned by any gaming board. She knows all about that boxer who throws fights like it's his job and the men who pay him good money to do it. She knows where the gamblin' halls are tucked down into basements, and she knows the handful of places in town where she can gamble her way to three thousand flush where no one will think twice if she shows up with a girl on her arm.

Her plan isn't to show up at any old gin joint and hope for the best. She lacks the proper plumbing for that, after all. Men don't take her seriously in a full uniform at the automat, and she's sure to get run out if she shows up with English. Maybe, if Peggy hadn't been home when this all started it would be easier to play into that expectation. She's done it before, got herself a reputation back home for it too. Tito's right to say she's better, even if she doesn't play much anymore. It's like riding a bicycle down by the beach, you never forget it.

She isn't going back to Brooklyn.

Slick Betty - Elizabeth Markowitz in a professional light - has been on the periphery of Hoover's watch lists for close to two decades now. They can't actually arrest her, her father is too powerful and she isn't technically doing anything wrong hosting parties for a certain sort of well-to-do ladies at her home, but everyone knows that it's really just a front for a safe place for women of a certain predilection to gather and carry on the way society would find uncouth.

Angie's known Betty for years now; they met on the recommendation of a long-lost love. She'd tried to be good for her mother, tried to date a nice navy man at Fleet Week, but it had fallen apart so quickly. She'd brought him round to dinner and even her Ma, who hated to even discuss Angie's wrongness could see it was killing Angie to be around him. She sent him away with a slice of pie and sat next to Angie silently on the couch, her fingers twisting her rosary over and over again.

Good girls don't go out to bars alone, her ma always said, but it was only at bars that Angie could fade into the shows and look at the girls and catch them looking back at her. She was cured, her illness stamped as 'in remission' and she hated putting on the airs. There were whispers of places that she could go back at that place. Places that wouldn't get you tossed back into the asylum, the key thrown away. Angie memorized them all.

It took three weeks to work up the courage to walk on the same street as the one establishment that Catherine - her cell mate and the first girl she'd ever kissed - told her about. A black door cut into the red brick of a building, an advertisement for Coca-Cola painted beside it. It did not look like anything at all. But it held her doom and damnation in its chipping paint and nailed-shut mail slot.

Angie spent her weekend sitting in the diner across the street, watching women walk up to the door and go inside. "You thinkin' 'bout joinin'?" her waitress asked on the second day after Angie laid out a handful of coins for pie and coffee.

Angie played dumb. "Joinin'? Where?"

"The ladies' club across the street. I see you lookin'."

"I ain't lookin'."Angie shook her head. "Besides, are they gonna want an Italian from Brooklyn? Looks to be all rich dames in there."

Her waitress pursed her lips and swept the coins Angie left on the table into her palm. "You'd be surprised, Brooklyn. It takes all sorts." She swept away with a pointed look at the door across the street.

It was another week before Angie worked up the courage to go inside. It was a Friday night, and gals were clustered around the door, waiting to be let in. Angie stood off by herself, fingers in gloves and her coat too pressed. She felt uncomfortable in a dress that barely touched her knees, but no one was looking at her strangely. She was dressed for going out and for having a good time, but inside she felt like dying.

Beyond the door there was a small alcove: women lingered, shedding their winter wear and tucking gloves into the pockets of thick wool jackets. They talked amongst themselves, laughing, touching. Touching too much. Angie's always remembered how her stomach lurched unpleasantly seeing that contact between two girls, their heads tucked tight together and their fingers grasping at each other's waists as they walked by, laughing.

The girl at the coat check was black.

"First time here?" she asked. The glance she gave Angie made Angie lurch towards the door, but the woman's hand shot out and grabbed her. "You look scared half t'death."

"Been a while tryin' to fix this."

"There's no fixin' it, doll." Her teeth were white against her lips, and Angie felt herself relax, a warm, friendly hand on her wrist. No one touched her at home anymore, and they used to be an affectionate family. "Don't bother tryin'."

"Do you come here often?"

"I work here, pays the bills. Not allowed inside," she pointed to the sign above the door. Angie's nose wrinkled. Even here. Even in this place that was supposed to be welcoming and safe.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It just means I get my pick of upset gals who can't stomach their friends actin' like fools." The woman shook her head. "I'm Ruby." Her hand was proffered tentatively, as though Ruby was not sure that Angie would shake hands with a black woman. Angie supposed there was no reason for her to expect any less, and took it. Her fingers were gentle, soft, her nails clipped short and not painted. The lines of her palm were like the first little streams of rain across a dusty window at midsummer.

Her cheeks burned, but Angie didn't let go. "Angela - Well, Angie."

On her way out that night, Ruby passed Angie her coat and lingered, flipping the coat tag between skilled fingers. She was wearing trousers and suspenders, a charming smile at her lips.

"You got an address?"

Angie nodded, but shook her head when Ruby leaned forward, her hair frizzing a little in a perfectly coifed arc above her head in the low light of the coat check alcove and inquired as to its nature. "But it isn't a place another girl can go." She pursed her lips. "Ma don't like it."

"Mine's back in Alabama. What she don't know won't hurt 'er." Ruby tilted her head to one side.

"Ain't that the truth." Angie answered.

"Mine's in Harlem. If you're ever up there."

Angie takes the train to Harlem three times before she stops. Ruby lets her go gently, Angie never meant to stay beyond the first time, but she loves Ruby's cousins and auntie. Her uncle works at a factory and is almost never around. She's crying when she gets on the train at 125th Street for the last time, Ruby's walked her to the station, her expression grim and black. Her daddy's had a stroke, and her mamma needs help at home. She's got to go back to a place where no one will ever accept her, where she can never, ever be herself.

"I'm so sorry," Angie says.

"Don't be." Ruby shakes her head. "Not worth tryin' to fight it." She touches Angie's elbow briefly, gently, before adding in a low voice. "There's a woman at the bar. Her name is Betty, asked after you before. You should speak to her."

And then Ruby is gone and Angie is curled into a ball on the train, crying and hating herself and her strangeness. Why couldn't she just be normal?

-

She goes to the bar with the ache of Ruby in her heart. It's then she meets Betty, true to Ruby's word.

"You look like you've been through the war, darling," Betty told Angie, clasping her hand and pulling her away from the bar and towards a dark corner. "A caged animal just waiting to be released," she added as she dropped to her knees. "It comes off of you in waves."

It was not the first time Angie had gotten what she wanted out of love, but it was the first time she started to feel comfortable enough with it to enjoy the emotions of it.

She and Betty didn't last; Angie supposes that they were never meant to be more than a fling. She's still beautiful, and it was a calm break up that ended in a close friendship for which Angie is forever grateful. Betty knew of her skill with a pool cue and ball, and she knew how to use that skill to her advantage.

"We need good hustlers in here every one in a while, prevents the girls from getting too full of themselves." She was sitting in her small office, smoking a cigarette and holding the pack out to Angie. Angie shook her head, she'd quit months ago. "Would you mind helping a girl out, for old time's sake?"

The two of them came up with a plan: Angie would come around every one in a while, and show the two-bit butches and broads who was boss. She usually played with house money, but if she was ever short for rent between gigs or when tips were slow, Betty promised that Angie would always be able to play without restriction.

It is a promise that Angie's never had to test before now. She chews her lip, thinking hard. To come with a friend will change the dynamic.

Dropping to her knees, Angie digs under her bed for her pool cue case and unearths it after a moment of panic where she can't find it and wonders if she left it at the Griffith. Mrs. Fry would never let her come back to claim it if she had lost it.

She gets back up to find Peggy staring at her from the doorway, fastening an earing to her ear. "I have my own," Angie explains. She feels a little sheepish. She sets it on the bed and straightens up. Her back aches already and it's going to be a long night. Peggy's smeared concealer over her eye and it looks like a million bucks in a fast car in a red dress that shows a little more than Angie would have expected her to be comfortable with in a strange environment. Angie swallows, her cheeks are burning. "You look... wow."

Peggy glances down at herself and shrugs. Her lips are painted blood red. "I figured I should blend in, if we're going to an establishment frequented by well-to-do women."

"No one's going to be able to take their eyes off you, English." She can't look at Peggy when she speaks, it cuts deep inside her and twists around in her stomach, settling, disquiet and churning around. Peggy knows and doesn't seem to mind, and yet there's a limit to anyone's patience with such things. She should know better than to dare to hope, and this doesn't change anything. She's just going to Betty's a few weeks early, and with a lot more dire consequences.

Secrets and lies, the ache in her knees from praying for hours, all of it comes down to this moment. This moment when Angie's queer nature is going to save the life of the cousin who hated that aspect of her the most. This moment when the queerness that they prayed and paid the asylum more money than they had to make go away is going to save Tito's life. Angie is never going to let them forget this.

"Betty is the real deal," Angie continues. She rummages in her closet for an appropriate dress to compliment Peggy's own. "Known her for years now. Since I was barely eighteen. She's married to an actor, but it's one of those convenience things. He protects her, she protects him."

"I'm familiar with the concept." Peggy has unzipped her pool cue case and is touching the wood with curious figures. "Might have even ended up in a relationship like that if I wasn't careful."

Angie's hand freezes where it's pushing away a dress in favor of the other, the pale blue she's always loved so much.

"Your soldier?" Her voice is hoarse, a half swallowed reminder of the problem of Peggy Carter. The reason Angie should just let her go.

Angie turns to see Peggy staring at her strangely, her expression a mask of calm indifference. Another barrier between them that Angie has no idea how to break down. "After a fashion. I was not his first love, though he was mine."

"A fella then?"

Peggy sighs. "They were both from Red Hook, grew up together." She presses her lips together into a thin line. "I suppose that it doesn't matter now."

Angie wants to reach out and touch her. Peggy looks so strong and brave and utterly breakable. She sucks in a deep breath and tries to soften the blow of the memories for Peggy. It's all she can do. "That's not far from where I grew up."

"Perhaps that's why I was drawn to you, Angie."

While it's meant to be kind, the words cut into Angie's chest and tear her heart in two.

-

Betty is a bombshell of dark curls and a sequined silver dress that has Angie remembering just how good dresses like that looked on the floor pooled around her ankles. She stands in the doorway, cigarette in a holder between two fingers and blows smoke on both of them. "You're early," she says. "By about two weeks."

"Couldn't stay away."

"I've rules, Angela. I don't take kindly to you disrespecting them without calling in advance." Betty's lip curls and she turns to Peggy. "And you've brought a friend. That's a first. You finally forget your roots?"

Angie opens her mouth and the words don't come, but Peggy's hand is warm on the small of her back, slipping around to grip her waist. "It's my fault," she says. Her accent has Betty's eyebrows shooting up her forehead. Angie knows that Peggy will have questions upon questions, but she's folded herself into this role almost perfectly. It's masterful. She should be the actress out of the two of them. If she weren't too busy smashing in skulls and getting her eyes blacked for a living, that is. Angie hates that she never got a reason for that black eye out of Peggy. "I begged her to let us come. She's been boasting you see, telling me all about how wonderful the parties are in New York. Places where a girl can be... well, free." Angie can't breathe, Peggy is pressed flush against her. She forces a smile onto her face and nods to Betty, feeling bolstered by the warmth of Peggy at her back.

"Just don't take the girls for their houses like last time." Betty steps away from the door and ushers them inside.

"It's Tito," she whispers in an undertone, as though she doesn't want Peggy to overhear. Let Betty think what she wants. "Anyone givin' you problems lately? I gotta get some money quickly. He gambled with Lorenzo's money and lost."

"I'm not some sort of bank for you to solve your problems, Angela. But it serves that awful boy right." Betty shakes her head and takes their coats. She hangs them with deliberate slowness and finally sighs, acquiescing to the silent request for help. "Go and find Janice. She's been an awful pill ever since her husband got caught skimming from that committee fund she got him a position on. She's dying to blow through cash to get back at him."

"Thanks," Angie presses a kiss to Betty's cheek. "You look a million bucks."

Betty raises an eyebrow, glancing over at Peggy and saying a little too loudly. "Darling, I'm worth twice that." She flounces from the hallway and Angie exhales quietly. Peggy is glancing around at Betty's austere home, her lips pressed into a thoughtful line.

"She's jealous." Her tone is light. "Have you slept with her before?"

Angie can't. She can't. Peggy is different, Peggy is special. Peggy could be the one to bring Angie to her knees and Angie would let her over and over again. She swallows any pride she still has and deflects. She always deflects. "I was expecting more of a reaction outta you, English. Something beyond taking it very much in stride and helpin' me out like this." Angie glances down at her feet. It's late now. She's worried about Tito. She still hasn't called her ma.

(She doesn't want to call her ma.)

Peggy laughs and it's musical. "What can I say, Angie? You told me a secret and I won't betray your confidences just as you won't betray mine. You asked for help and I'm giving it to you."

"This is a little beyond what your typical gal pal will do."

Shrugging, Peggy loops their arms together. "Perhaps for the night we shall be more than gal pals?" She fixes Angie with a stern look, but soon her face relaxes into the companionable English that Angie's come to adore. "If that's alright with you. I do love undercover work."

This is a dream and I'm going to wake up soon.

Angie swallows hotly. Her skin feels like a rebellion, but it's her heart that leans against Peggy and lays her heart bare for benediction. "Let me show you how it's done." They are so close together, closer than Angie's ever been she thinks. Peggy smells good and she's soft, gentle with her hands. She lets Angie pull her in tight. "Should we practice?" Angie feels out of her element, like she doesn't fit within her own space. It's a strange, pulling sort of feeling.

The muscles of Peggy's throat contract, relax. She's swallowing, nervously. "I'll have to fix my lipstick."

She's halfway to saying that they shouldn't bother, that they don't have to pretend that hard to sell the part when Peggy's fingers catch Angie's cheeks gently, and her lips look soft and her breath feels Angie's dreams and nightmares all at once. It's all that Angie's wanted for months now. It's what she wanted when she saw Peggy lead away in handcuffs, when she saw her punch a guy and knock him out cold, when she saw her sitting with her back ramrod straight, crying into a piece of cherry pie on the Fourth of July.

The door bangs open and a girl in trousers and a tie, her hair cropped short and gelled back like Howard Stark's, stumbles in. She stares at them, sucking on the cigarette between her teeth and grins every bit as lecherously as Howard Stark ever has at the pair of them. "Don't stop on my account."

Peggy takes a half step back, her expression twisting from something indefinable to the polite English indifference she's seemed to master when she speaks to people who are below her. "I think we're finished," she replies. Her voice could shatter bone.

The gal shoves her hands into her pockets and spins around. "You seen a bird come through here? Pretty, curly hair like yours but all dark like the night?"

"Betty?" Angie points, frowning slightly. Betty's never gone for butch. "Just through there."

"Thanks."

The woman is gone and they're alone again. Peggy looks exhausted at this whole affair, and Angie can't blame her. They're both exhausted, getting Tito to the hospital was enough and neither of them had a chance to rest at all. "I don't normally go about kissing girls." Her voice is barely over a whisper.

But you didn't kiss me, Angie wants to protest. You juked like a boxer and faked me out. Instead, Angie smiles. It isn't rejection of her queer nature. Her voice shakes when she speaks. "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to start, English."

"I'll keep that in mind, Angie." Peggy's smile, the little mysterious one that she gets sometimes when she knows far more than she's letting on, is bright and cheerful.

Angie stares at her for a moment, before offering Peggy her arm. "For the record, I did sleep with Betty."

"I knew it! Women's intuition never lies about such things."

-

There is a long bar along the far wall of Betty's establishment. Angie has always been a little hesitant to call it a bar or a club, as it doesn't quite match the feel of the place. It's more a safe haven that has music and drinks and dancing. There's a billiard room off the back wall, and a smoking alcove that opens onto a balcony with a spectacular view of the river. It's a warm night, and the doors are flung open to catch the breeze.

Peggy takes everything in stride, looking around curiously and smiling with affected shyness when some of the girls up at the bar start to give her very obvious once overs.

"Told ya," Angie whispers. "No one's gonna be able to look away with you in that dress." She wraps her arm around Peggy's shoulders and glares at the girls at the bar. It's smarter if they think she's taken. It'll keep the wolves at bay.

"I hadn't thought they'd be so obvious about it."

"This is the one place they can be obvious, English. Why would they hide?" She leads them towards the bar, and asks the bartender for two of whatever's in the well. Betty's always be been famous for her house cocktails and the terrible punch they pack. The well is a safer bet, if she's got to play. Playing drunk has always been a talent of Angie's. She's had years of practice, watching her father and uncles.

Peggy says noting, and takes the booze when Angie hands it to her. She's looking around the room for Janice, but it's easier just to lean in too close to Peggy and whisper all the dirty secrets she knows about the women here. She does it for a moment, Peggy following her lead effortlessly, it sells them as friends and it makes sure that everyone knows Peggy isn't to be messed with.

"You should find the woman Mrs. Markowitz recommended." Peggy stirs her drink, pulling the cherry from it and popping it between her lips thoughtfully. Angie's mouth goes dry, watching the red fruit disappear behind red lips. Her mind short-circuits, sparks flying everywhere. She can't think she can't-

She tips her drink back and drains it. Asks for another, dumps her cherry into Peggy's cup without looking at those laughing brown eyes.

Peggy smirks.

Angie is gonna throttle her when they get out of this.

"I should," Angie says through a haze of booze and want. "Are you gonna be okay here?"

Peggy glances around. "I doubt that any of the women would put up much of a fight." Not like some we both know. The thought unsaid between them.

"I don't know, English, some of 'em can be mighty feisty." Angie smirks. Peggy leans forward and, after the briefest instant of hesitation, kisses her cheek. Angie just about manages not to turn the color of a tomato as she shuffles backwards awkwardly, her feet are suddenly fascinating.

"I can take 'em."

It's then Angie looks up, her eyes are bright and her cheeks warm with a blush she wants Peggy to see. Let her see what this is going to cost both of them. "Sure English."

-

Janice Oliver Tisdale is in a foul mood. Angie had thought that Betty might be exaggerating, but she's sitting in a dark corner, smoking cigarettes and tugging at her tie. She catches sight of Angie approaching, cue under her arm, and her lips twist into a sneer. "Hey ki-ki, why don't you let your girl have some fun?"

She moves over and offers Angie a place on the wall beside her. Peggy's watching them from the bar; her eyes narrowed and face half-hidden behind her drink. Janice holds out a cigarette and Angie takes it, leans forward for a light and blows smoke in Janice's face. Her lips curl, her tone dips. Angie is older now, she's gotten used to the language she has to speak in order to blend in these places if she wants to find acceptance.

"Gosh, I don't know. Maybe she doesn't want to mess around with you, Janice." Angie exhales smoke like a dragon. "Maybe she's taken."

Their relationship has always been somewhat antagonistic. They've known each other almost as long as Angie's known Betty. Janice doesn't like Angie because Angie doesn't mind playing butch but certainly doesn't dress or act the part, and Angie doesn't like Janice because she doesn't think a girl who likes girls should be forced to behave like a man in order to do it. They all suffer from the rigidity of society, after all. It's a miserable existence. They argue about it, but in the end, they know they're in the same boat. It's a companionable sort of animosity.

"Betty told me about Arthur." Angie takes a drag and feels her fraying nerves start to calm. Cigarettes were always her choice for stress, even if they're murder on her voice and her teeth. "Heard you were in the market to lose some money."

Janice holds her cigarettes between her lips and blows a perfect ring of smoke. Her eyebrow is raised, her hair pinned back and feminine despite her appearance. In another life, Angie might have offered. Not now though. "What? You gonna rob me, Angie?" Janice throws back her head and laughs. "Over my dead body."

Angie tilts her head to one side and affects a cockiness she doesn't often put on. She's played this role before for girls, for men who wanted something from her she could never give. She gestures with her chin towards the Billiard Room. "Betty's got a pool table."

Janice could never resist a good bet. A smirk tugs at the corner of Angie's lips. Got her.

"Tell your bird to come keep score then."

The trick with a good hustle is losing. Angie cleaned out the stash of money she keeps under her bed and tucked it into Peggy's purse along with the .22 that she's so used to seeing there now that it's almost second nature to simply move it aside and go about her business. She knows she'll need money to start her hustle, and then she can just gamble with the money she's won. This is all her savings, a crumpled mess of twenties and fifties. It's her money to buy a ticket to California and try and make it big in Hollywood.

She isn't cocky like Tito is, going in and immediately giving away her skill. There are whispers, Angie's not a stranger around this pool hall, but she also doesn't come 'round enough to make for anything beyond a rumored reputation. It's what she's banking on. Janice is in the market to blow some cash anyhow, but there is still the curl of anxiety in her stomach as she accepts the roll of bills from Peggy and peels off a twenty to start. She has to play this right, or else Janice will catch her game before she's made up Tito's missing three thousand dollars.

Angie leans against her cue and watches as Janice works her way around the table, sinking shot after shot. She hums quietly under her breath, a show tune from a small role she'd had a few months back, filling in for a sick friend just off Broadway. Peggy is standing next to her, her arms folded over her chest and looking disinterested. There's a pull of worry at her lips and around her eyes. She thinks this is a bad idea, watching Janice play. That's okay. She hasn't seen Angie go yet.

When Janice misses a shot, a hush falls over the assembled crowd. The few who have an inkling after Angie's skills mutter disapprovingly, warning Janice off before Angie takes her house and car too. Peggy's fingers catch Angie's hand just as she's about to step forward to take her place beside the table.

Angie knows that part of this is selling the relationship. She's never brought a friend to this sort of an establishment before. Her fingers feel sweaty as she smiles sweetly at Peggy before tilting her head and leaning in for a chaste, sweet kiss. She stops just short of actually kissing her, her lips moving against Peggy's. "Trust me. I'm better."

"I know." Peggy kisses her all chaste and sweet-like, and Angie feels her knees go weak. Peggy wasn't supposed to actually kiss her - and she knows it by the way her smile has faded to worry as she pulls away. No horror. No disgust. Just concern. It's a nice change from all the other girls Angie's kissed who didn't like girls back. "And I do, Angie."

Angie saunters up to the table, smiles at Janice, and proceeds to miss her first shot. "Tough luck, Brooklyn," Janice says, sinking the ten and then the eleven.

Her mind is on Peggy's lips, soft feel of them and how Peggy's lipstick is now on her, blood red and draining any resistance that Peggy's got left. Peggy isn't supposed to be willing to play along to this extent. She's not supposed to want to kiss Angie at all. Peggy doesn't like girls; she isn't broken, even if she once loved a broken man.

She loses for real in the next round, too flustered to concentrate properly. While they reset for the next game, she lurks on a bench in the shadows next to Peggy. She glowers at the table and Peggy's fingers curling up around her own. Janice lays a fifty on the table. "Fifty bucks," she says. "Winner takes all."

This is how it starts.

"You're on."

This time when Peggy presses the money into Angie's hand, there's too much contact. Peggy's eyes are alight with something that Angie's never seen before. She's intrigued, curious, she wants to see what Peggy will do. Not to mention they're surrounded by lesbians anyway, so Angie leans back in, full of a bravado brought on by the thrill of the gamble. "Kiss for luck?"

A catcall goes up from the crowd, and then another. In the distance, Angie catches sight of Betty shaking her head. Her vision becomes clouded with rich dark brown hair and warm fingers cupping her cheeks. Peggy kisses like she does everything else, thoroughly and with an intensity that frightens Angie. Peggy's lips are warm and sweet like the cherry she ate earlier. She's smiling into the kiss, her teeth nipping at Angie's lower lip and she's got this twinkle in her eye that says she's having fun as she pulls away.

Angie's glad. Her cheeks are burning and her lips are smeared with another gal's lipstick as she leans forward to break and start the first real game of the night.

She doesn't miss a shot.