Peggy Carter had been in this version of New York for a total of four hours. The first hour had been all bewildered wandering and anger at whomever had done this to her, and maybe she'd reserved a quarter hour or so for some despair at the sheer alienness of her environment and the apparent impossibility of going back. Peggy Carter was always a woman on a mission; she had things to do, but those things were back where she was from, and she knew from the plethora of visible signs and scattered newspaper she was able to pluck from the sidewalks that the problem wasn't the where, it was the when. She couldn't remember how she got here, much less what had done it.
In the next two hours Peggy had verified that the previous checkpoints, locations, and methods of communication she had in her considerable reserve had all gone cold. None of her contacts, personal (few though they were) or professional, was within reach. On her person she had a sleek purse that contained her Walther, several tubes of lipstick, a compact, a folded packet of napkins, a pen, a small notebook, and some money that was now only a few inches from useless, considering the age of the bills.
At this point she was deciding on the relative foolishness of strolling into a police station and requesting that they ask all the wrong questions, which would bring someone down on her head. Good or bad, Peggy liked to elicit a reaction. It was better than spending the night in the rough and skulking around the city.
The park was a block from the station, and ever practical, Peggy was moving from point A to point B. She didn't expect a grown woman to come from the playground to her right, but of course she saw her, because Peggy was extremely aware of her surroundings at this point. She shifted her weight expertly on her leather heels, settling back in her cotton suit and her raincoat shifted against her knees as she gave the woman a perplexed stare.
The resemblance to Peggy's sister was unmistakable, and Peggy's lips twisted slightly as she tried to decide if she was supposed to belong here. God willing, "Aunt Peggy" was still the spitting image of her twenty-something self? "Er. Hello."