[ They're on the balcony, on the outskirts of a party slowly winding down to the last few stragglers and Tony Stark's too-loud music. New York City is spread out beneath them, a dazzling roadmap of lights and distant car horns, sirens, people shouting on the pavement far below β their words indistinct by the time the wind carries them up, but the tone remains. The city is so unchanged from what she remembers in so many little ways. But even with the chill of autumn beginning to chase away the summer, she can still taste smoke and rubbish in the air.
Or maybe that's because she's smoking a cigarette. Nasty habit, she'd said during the war; she'd sworn to stop once the treaties were signed, but it's a reflex born out of battle and sometimes she thinks she's never quite left that part of her life behind. It lends a certain tang to her bourbon that she finds she craves, once in a while. Like tonight. Peggy Carter flicks the ash into the breeze and glances at the woman standing at her side, red lips tugged into a curious twist as she rolls the edge of her glass in circles.
Once, twice. Then: ]
So, [ she begins idly, ] is there anything you want to ask me? [ She doesn't know what prompts her to say as much. It's not like she's so careless as to get drunk. ] It's just I've been reliably informed that the internet likes to exaggerate.
[ Not that she feels Natasha Romanoff is the sort to believe all she reads. ]
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Or maybe that's because she's smoking a cigarette. Nasty habit, she'd said during the war; she'd sworn to stop once the treaties were signed, but it's a reflex born out of battle and sometimes she thinks she's never quite left that part of her life behind. It lends a certain tang to her bourbon that she finds she craves, once in a while. Like tonight. Peggy Carter flicks the ash into the breeze and glances at the woman standing at her side, red lips tugged into a curious twist as she rolls the edge of her glass in circles.
Once, twice. Then: ]
So, [ she begins idly, ] is there anything you want to ask me? [ She doesn't know what prompts her to say as much. It's not like she's so careless as to get drunk. ] It's just I've been reliably informed that the internet likes to exaggerate.
[ Not that she feels Natasha Romanoff is the sort to believe all she reads. ]