Chapter Text
Peggy quietly made her way toward the open doors of the second floor ballroom. Dressed to the nines, her hair perfectly curled, lips painted her signature shade of red. She felt every bit as overdone as she thought the event itself was.
A ‘new’ exhibit—for the great Captain Carter—in the newly renovated wing of the National Museum of American History apparently warranted the Smithsonian hosting a gala on her behalf. She found it rather absurd. Particularly since she saw nothing wrong with the original set-up—various tv screens that flashed to scenes from the war interspersed with photos, videos, and interviews of those she once knew. A perfectly fine dedication to not only herself, but also to the friends she once had and people she once knew. But, she supposed, it really wasn’t up to her.
And despite her protest, those above her pay grade at SHIELD assured her attendance. With zero input from Fury, she might add. In fact, he only laughed when she brought up her lack of desire to be paraded around. ‘Join the crowd’ was the closest thing to comfort he’d offered her.
“Loosen up, Carter. It’s a party, not a funeral.”
She turned her head to see Natasha, looking even more dolled up than she, with a small smirk gracing her face.
Peggy scoffed. “You mean to tell me you don’t find this to be a bit overdone?”
“Oh, I do. But it is in your honor, and you look like you could use a friend. Hanging out in this hallway all alone.”
“A friend? In this business?”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “One from this century, at least. C’mon, I can tell you who to avoid unless you want pulled into an absolute snooze fest.”
She sighed, resigning herself to the fate of the evening. “I suppose you’re right. And that would be nice. Who even are some of these people?”
Natasha laced her arm through Peggy’s, startling her momentarily before the pair of them walked to the front of the landing to look down at the various men and women in fine suits and dresses.
“Donors. They’re the worst,” she said, pointing out several of the richest people in the room. “Don’t worry. You’ll love them.”
“Oh, I’m sure I won’t,” said Peggy with an exaggerated groan before she was being whisked off yet again by the red-head on her arm.
Natasha laughed. “You won’t. But after, we can go get some real food, if you want. I know a great place less than five minutes from here and they’re open all night.”
“The two of us? Now that sounds lovely,” Peggy said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.
All hope was lost when Natasha tilted her head slightly and nodded. “Glad you agree.”