Title: Fancy
Fandom: Agent Carter
Rating: G
Length: 348 words
Content notes: set early in the season, no spoilers.
Summary: Angie raised her eyebrows. "Fancy? What’s that supposed to mean, English?"

The diner was quiet enough that Angie was able to stay chatting with Peggy for a few minutes, complaining about yet another failed audition and commiserating with her friend’s bad day at the phone company. She looked up as the door turned, and couldn’t help frowning a little. The man who was walking in had only moved into the area two weeks ago, but he seemed well on his way to becoming the diner’s best regular.

"Look who's here again,” she remarked, tilting her head toward the new arrival. “My wage could probably come out of his bill alone! Let me get his order, I'll be right back.”

Peggy grinned up at Angie when she returned. “It's the fifth time I've seen him this week... I think he fancies you."

Angie raised her eyebrows. "Fancy? What’s that supposed to mean, English?"

"It means I think he likes you. He's always here, and always on your shift."

"Lots of people come every day - including you," Angie pointed out with a snort, then winced inwardly. That was not a train of thought she wanted to embark on right now. "He hasn't made any kind of move, either," she added quickly.

"Maybe he's shy," Peggy suggested.

"And maybe you're just seeing things,” Angie said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, he's not my type."

"Who is your type?"

Mysterious brunettes with strange jobs and british accents, Angie thought but didn't say. "No one! Between auditions and working here, who's got time for dates? Anyway, enough about me. Is there anyone you fancy, English?"

She caught Peggy's accent beautifully, and her friend smiled as she shook her head at the question. "Not these days... No time. And speaking of time, I really should be going! Good night, Angie."

"Good night, English!" Discreetly, Angie allowed herself to watch her friend as she left. Nothing was ever going to come of that, she knew; Peggy didn't talk much, but Angie had seen enough women who'd lost their men in the war to recognise the look when she saw it. Still, flights of fancy were free.