December 16th 1991. 2300 The digital clock on Margaret Carter’s bedside had just flicked over to eleven at night, the household was quiet with Peggy and her husband asleep together. Unfortunately disturbed by the wired phone in the hallway ringing, making the pair of them grumble. “I will get it,” Peggy expected it’d be work, although if it was Howard she’d throttle him. Padding downstairs with her robe wrapped around her, the phone was answered. Only Peggy’s side of the conversation being heard. “Carter. This better be important.” … “You’re sure?” “Both of them?” A deep, shaken breath is inhaled. “The footage, send it to my email. I’ll get on the phone to security now. He shouldn’t have even had that serum-.” Stopping herself from fretting, it wasn’t the time, it wasn’t appropriate. “Who else knows?” … “Their son hasn’t been contacted?” “Don’t, I’ll handle him.” The phone swiftly put back onto the holder. Chocolate brown eyes were glazed over with the threat of tears, they flickered up the stairs as she felt the presence of her husband at the top of them, concern overflowing him. It might be dark but it was clear Peggy was shaken and it took a lot to get to her. “I need to go to work,” Peggy stated as flatly as she could manage, flicking that switch she’d been taught in the war to shut off emotion. 17th December 1991. 0700. The blacked out Land Rover Defender that was iconically Peggy’s rolled onto the drive of the Stark’s family home, parking up right outside. Peggy collected herself before getting out, taking a breath that hurt her lungs. Stepping out of the car to the porch of the large home that she knew well, maybe just maybe it was beginning to set in now. She wasn’t going to be greeted by a hug from Maria or greeted with a glass of whiskey by Howard. The doorbell was rang, expecting Tony wouldn’t be awake but she’d left it for as long as she could. For the few hours Anthony was asleep, he still had his parents.
@codebreakcarter Contrary to Howard’s more-than-justified belief, Tony hadn’t spent the weekend painting the mansion red. The Stark’s sofa had seen more of him than the liquor cabinet, dressed up with blankets and pillows and mom’s sheet music, a nest on the verge of collapse. Finals week had +