Chapter Text
MARGOT'S HEELS CLATTERED AGAINST THE tiled floor as her feet led her in circles around the dressing room.
Her heart wanted to jump out of her chest, but it was best that she fought against the urge to let it run entirely rampant in glee. There was no telling how extravagant the damage would be to her polished appearance if she succumbed to it. She could already list off a few things she would do: dance around like a rock track played in the background, perhaps even a cartwheel or two. But she would not indulge herself. Tussled hair and crumpled clothing were a look for her co-workers, not a theatre filled with some of the most famous people in New York City.
She looked down at the black envelope in her possession. It was a gold-trimmed reminder that her dip into theatre had gone terribly astray.
Stints into off-Broadway plays resulted in being asked to audition for a play that would go on to win the coveted Best Play award at the Tony's a few years back. Somehow, that snowballed into her current situation: a presenter and nominee at this year's Tony's.
Her unintended success caused some complications for her full-time job. It did not need to be pointed out that a S.H.I.E.L.D agent who performed on stage every two summers was not the most conventional of situations. Margot insisted on juggling the two, anyway.
She experienced her emotions on an elevated level. When they threatened to consume her from the inside, she trusted the stage to lull her. Her steps were light on stage, free of the weight the burdens of her regular self carried. Every horrible feeling that felt frozen into place melted under the stage lights. She would not leave that security behind. She feared life without it.
She looked down again at the envelope. It was at risk of being crumpled with how firm her grip was. Though she was not in it for glory, she could not settle her heart at the fact that she was being recognized for something she loved to do.
She closed her eyes and listened to the noise outside the door. Backstage was bustling with workers spouting instructions and cues.
Margot wondered about a life where her anxiety only stemmed from ensuring a show ran smoothly. It was different... and it was not hers. The buzz in her dress's pocket reminded her of that.
She dipped her hand into the side of her dress and pulled out her work phone.
"This is Stark."
"We need you to come in."
"Fury said he wouldn't need me for two more days. What happened?"
"We're at war, Talon."
Margot sighed. "Aren't we always?"
"We're heading to Germany. Romanoff's manning the plane so we need you on the field."
"I'll need at least two hours, Phil. I'm caught up at the moment. Turn on the TV, perhaps? Channel two. You'll recognize the sunny smile."
"Margot."
"If it's that urgent, I'm sure Barton would do. Okay, he's not as quick on his feet as me, but last time I saw him, he wasn't too shabby."
"Barton's been compromised."
Margot began to slip out of her dress
"I'll be there in thirty."