When Peggy Carter had walked into the SSR, all fitted blouses, red lipstick and heels, Jack had thought for a moment that his day was looking up. The past few weeks were taking their toll on him and he was starting to understand why Dooley had kept a blanket and pillow in the office – twice he had fallen asleep at his desk and been woken by the cleaners in the early hours of the morning. He'd had his eye on the position of Chief ever since starting at the SSR, but he had rapidly realised that the role wasn't just a private office and delegating, especially with a mole within their ranks that was doing their damned best to sabotage them at every turn.
And so he had tracked down Peggy (not a particularly difficult task, finding her in the diner where her friend worked) and thrown his pride to the wind to ask for her help. He'd tried to hide how pleased he was to see her when she sauntered into his office, having been uncertain if she would want to come back after that day when the men from Congress had dropped by. His gut had said that she would take the mission, but that hadn't stopped him worrying about it until the moment she appeared in his office doorway.
But, as usual when it came to Peggy, she hadn't done what he had expected. She had thrown a curve-ball worthy of DiMaggio at him, taking charge and completely changing the parameters of the mission he had given her. He'd thought she would come back to work for them, that she would root out the mole from her desk with some investigative work within the office - not that she would stroll in with fake files, set an trap, slap him in the face and then walk back out with her damn heels clicking with every step.
God, that woman had a mean swing, he thought, rubbing his stinging cheek as he watched her leave from his office door, smiling her red smile as the elevator closed on her and leaving a room full of stunned men in her wake.
The second the elevator doors closed all eyes swung to Jack – some were confused, some intrigued and others downright accusatory, no doubt thinking he had deserved the slap: Sousa wasn't the only one he'd had to deal with the backlash from after he'd been made Chief and Carter's achievements had been dismissed, after having seen her in action in Russia Agent Ramirez was a staunch defender of hers as well. Ignoring them with some difficulty, he grabbed the file on the francium stabilising agent that Peggy had left on his desk and headed out to Sousa's station. He was still frozen with his coffee cup held in the air to be filled, while Betty (the girl he had hired to do coffee, lunches and filing instead of using the menial jobs to bully perfectly good Agents who could be doing proper work) was standing at his shoulder with the half-full coffee pot and a highly confused expression, evidently in the middle of doing the morning coffee rounds.
He dropped the file on his desk atop of his other work. "Get a team together, Carter just dropped off your next assignment," he said brusquely, still feeling wrong-footed by Peggy simply breezing in and stirring everything up.
Sousa automatically picked up the file and flicked though it. "Francium?" he said questioningly, glancing up at Jack from his seat.
"She and Stark have been cataloguing the recovered weapons and this one is still missing," he explained, automatically slipping into the role of Agent and building upon the cover story for the fake file that Peggy had given him. "I want it found as soon as possible."
He nodded, his face set into a frown. "Are you gonna explain to me why Peggy just cleaned your clock?" Daniel asked pointedly, the disapproval and – Jesus, was that jealousy? - evident in his usually mild voice.
"No I am not," Jack said simply, his cheek still stinging. He was already in a bad mood, not helped by seeing people sending glances his way and whispering. Damn, it was no wonder they had a leak when all his men were practically clucking like a gaggle of mindless hens; he had to remind himself that this was part of Peggy's plan. "Betty, grab me a coffee, would you?" he ordered over his shoulder as he headed back to his office: it was his third cup that day, but he felt like he would need it to get through the rest of the afternoon.
By the time he clocked out his mood had not improved. All afternoon the office had been buzzing like a disrupted hornets nest and, thanks to the phony-file that half the team was working on, he felt like they hadn't achieved anything all day. He'd stayed late, as usual, and it was only about half an hour before he was due to meet Peggy, sitting at his desk with his head braced in one hand as he poured over a report, that he realised he had better get going, grabbing dinner from a take-out joint and eating it behind the wheel as he drove down-town.
He parked a few blocks from the club that acted as a front for the underground gambling den and, leaving his coat in the car since it was a warm night, walked to the rendezvous point with his hands in his pockets.
He paused when he noticed Peggy standing beside the curb about two-hundred yards from the club. She was wearing a black dress with a halter neckline and heels with a strap that went around her ankle. Her stockings were sheer black and he could just make out the seam that ran up the backs of her legs - on any other woman it might have looked overly promiscuous, fitting for the kind of neighbourhood they were in and the gambling den they were about to visit, but on Peggy it was sophisticated, sensual and, perhaps, just a little bit dangerous.
"Not your usual look," he said by way of greeting as he approached, used to seeing her in bright, bold colours and office wear, not dressed for a night on the town.
She gracefully turned her head to look at him, her eyes dark and inscrutable. "My usual look would be rather conspicuous in Dixon's establishment," she said crisply, then her gaze flicked down his body. "You came straight from work," she added disapprovingly at his attire, and he shrugged in response.
"Adams has the details of the supposed exchange, need to know only, I told him he wasn't to share the intel with anyone," he told her, sounding like he was reporting to a superior and feeling slightly annoyed at himself for the fact – this was a mission and he had to get his head on straight. "The entire office is buzzing about both the francium and why you hit me, so I would say your plan is working so far," he added somewhat irritatedly, having dealt with whispers and comments all afternoon – the prevalent theory he'd picked up on was that some kind of love-triangle existed between him, Stark and Peggy.
"Then let's see if Adams is our man," she said in a business-like tone, then she nodded her head towards a narrow alley between two buildings. "First we need to make you look the part more."
He followed her several yards down the mouth of the alley, frowning at her as she pulled a comb from her handbag and handed it to him "Sort out your hair, you've picked up the habit of running your fingers though it recently," she told him briskly, then she eyed his clothing critically as he did so.
Once he had combed his hair back into its usual neat style, years of practice making a mirror unnecessary, she stood right in front of him and pulled at his loosened tie, undoing it completely. She then turned up his collar and started to retie his tie, not the usual Windsor-knot that his father had taught him, but a narrower, more intricate shell-knot. He stood still as she worked, acutely aware of her hands on his clothing, the extra height of her heels putting her almost directly at his eye level.
"You're pretty good at that, for a dame," he observed, keeping his chin up as she finished with his tie – if they hadn't been standing in a back alley and about to go on an undercover mission in a gambling den it would have been almost domestic.
"A woman's military uniform included a tie," she reminded him crisply as she worked, loosening the finished knot ever so slightly as if it had been pulled on during the day. "And my younger brother, Benjy, was incapable of doing his own tie until the age of fourteen, I used to have to do it for him before he went to school," she added with her eyes fixed on her work, and Jack thought that it was quite possibly the first piece of personal information that she had ever shared with him.
I didn't know you had a brother," he said as she plucked his handkerchief from his breast pocket and refolded it in neater, far more elaborate folds than he would have bothered with before returning it to his jacket.
"There is rather a lot that you don't know about me, Chief Thompson," she said brusquely, running her gaze over his clothing once more to inspect her changes."There, now you're less undercover cop and more stressed, city-slicker banker looking to waste some of his hard earned money." She then held out her prettily manicured hand towards him. "Gun," she ordered simply.
He looked at her with a single raised brow and Peggy sighed in exasperation. "We're about to enter the stomping ground of a well known mobster, do you really think they'll let you walk in there with a .357 Magnum at your side?"
He reluctantly handed it over, not liking to be unarmed on a mission; he removed his holster as well, tossing it away down the alley, knowing he could grab another one from the SSR. Peggy stored his gun in a cleverly concealed pocket within her handbag and then flicked her gaze over him once more. "Let's go," she said determinedly, meaning that he apparently passed muster.
"Yes ma'am," he muttered under his breath, following her from the alleyway. Despite the fact that she was wearing heels instead of combat boots, her cool and dogged determination reminded him of their mission in Russia. She was in her element – confident, bossy and assertive - and he was practically drinking in her presence.
"Relax, we're there to observe, nothing more," she reminded him as they approached the doors of club, no doubt having felt his tension at being disarmed as he fell naturally into step alongside her.
"Thanks Carter," he said sardonically, one hand in his trouser pocket as they walked. "But this isn't my first rodeo," he told her, their usual quick verbal sparring coming naturally to him as breathing.
Much as he hated to admit it, he had damn well missed her these past weeks.
The front for Dixon's gambling den was a rather swanky, though undeniably seedy, club on the Lower East Side. Upon entering Peggy's eyes immediately swept over the room, taking note of the windows, exits and the stairs that undoubtedly led down to the casino, guarded by two suited goons. It was busy without being crowded and she led Jack over to the bar.
It was a minute or so before she was able to catch the bartenders attention, but they were eventually served. "What's your poison?" the man asked in a vaguely Italian accent, his dark hair slicked back off his forehead.
"Two sidecars, shaken," she said, affecting an American accent and giving the pass-phrase to get downstairs.
The bartender nodded and slid two poker chips across the bar towards her; she handed one to Thompson and then headed over towards the stairs. They handed over the chips and the two goons patted Jack down to check for weapons. They also gave a cursory glance into Peggy's handbag, not bothering to look in any of the concealed pockets when they saw lipstick, a compact mirror, a comb and a coin-purse in the main compartment, and waved them down the stairs.
"How did you know the pass-phrase?" Thompson asked curiously as they entered the main casino floor – it was a fairly large area, no doubt the basement of the entire building, and contained tables for poker, Craps, Blackjack, Pai Gow and roulette, as well as another bar.
"Just because I wasn't in the office today doesn't mean I wasn't working on the case, I haven't been idle this afternoon," she said, her eyes automatically scanning the room. The men outnumbered the women two-to-one at least and there was not a single woman who seemed to be there on her own, all of them either with an arm around their waist or sitting on a man's lap. "Bourbon?" she offered, knowing that they would have to blend in and be inconspicuous.
Jack nodded, also casting his eyes around the joint. "I'll grab us a table."
They split up and she headed to the bar, weaving her way between the men with ease. She kept her eyes open, taking note of every person that she saw, as well as cataloguing the number of men on Dixon's security team and the doors that lead down to the casino cages, where the nights takings would be kept. She was quickly served at the bar, no doubt being bumped up the queue above already inebriated men due to her clothing, and bought two bourbons, neat.
She was just paying for them when she felt a hand on her back – she turned, instinctively on the defensive, and found herself face to face with a well dressed, but obviously drunk middle aged man. "Hey there, beautiful, looking for a good time?" he slurred at her.
She cast him a smile. "Thanks sugar, but I've already got a date for the night," she said dismissively, affecting an American accent once more.
The man patted his breast pocket, where there was an obvious wodge of money. "I've won big, maybe I can offer you a better time," he said, and she realised with some chagrin that he thought she was a woman of extremely loose morals.
An arm suddenly draped heavily around her shoulders. "Need some help carrying the drinks, doll?" Thompson said from beside her, looking every inch like a man staking his claim as he stared the drunk down.
She gave him a saccharine smile. "Thanks honey," she said in a purposefully vapid voice, passing him his drink and nodding at the drunken man. She allowed Jack to lead her away, towards a small table in the corner. "Keep your arm around me, Thompson, I overestimated the calibre of people here," she ordered quietly, still keeping a careful watch on their surroundings.
"We can always bail," he said as they sat down, with him in the corner with his arm spread out possessively over the back of her seat.
"And risk missing our prime suspect?" she said with mild incredulity, and then shook her head. "We'll do just enough not to draw attention to ourselves," she said, purposefully sitting far closer to him than she would normally, so that the arm over the back of her seat was draped casually around her shoulders. His fingers brushed against the bare skin of her upper arm and she could smell his aftershave, as well as a hint of coffee.
He'd picked their table well: it was out of the way in a corner, but still had a clear view up the stairs to see people entering the club as well as the doorway that led to the cages. Jack kept his arm loosely around her as they sipped on their drinks and catalogued the people coming and going to the establishment. Even if their mission tonight came to naught, it was good to have eyes inside Dixon's operation as a potential suspect linked to Leviathan – though based on the two women that Dixon had sitting in his lap on the far side of the room and the amount that he was drinking he did not appear to have the temperament for espionage – the whole thing could well have been a bad tip.
Some time later, one of the bar-staff came over to clear their table. "You two were nursin' those drinks for quite some time," he said pointedly as he cleared their empty glasses, and she realised that by sitting out of the way and not going straight to the tables they were actually standing out.
"Trying to decide where to start, scoping out the competition" Jack said, jerking his chin at the tables.
"Poker tables hot tonight," the barman told them, speaking solely to Thompson, she noticed.
"I'll keep it in mind," he said, then the arm that wasn't around her shoulders dipped into his jacket pocket and he handed the man a note. "Another round for me and the lady," he said lazily.
"You got it," he said, and then headed back towards the bar.
"Seen anything?" Thompson murmured to her once the man had gone.
Peggy shook her head. "The only people coming and going down to the cages are Dixon's employees."
"Adams could have stolen a uniform," he pointed out, though he didn't sound particularly convinced by the idea.
"Security is tight – look at them, they all know each other," she said, having been carefully watching the men at both the stairs and the cage doors. "An outsider wouldn't get in easily."
The barman returned with their drinks (and no change for the note even thought it had been more than enough to cover the cost, she noticed) and wordlessly headed back to the bar. From the corner of her eye she noticed him talking to another member of staff and sending covert glances in their direction.
Peggy turned to Thompson with a falsely sweet smile and put her hand on his knee. "We're starting to draw attention to ourselves," she said, leaning towards him as if to keep a seductive conversation under wraps, knowing that they had to up their game. "How are your poker skills?"
"Passable, not a fan though," Jack said, glancing down at her elegantly manicured hand resting on the knee of his grey work trousers. "Me and the boys used to play when I was stationed in Japan. Rations had only been issued that day and I lost the first bar of chocolate I'd seen in months to a bad hand."
She smile she gave him in response was partly genuine, amused by the note of annoyance that was evident in his voice. "The games a five card stud, with a royal deck," she said to test him, having been paying attention to the tables.
"Not a problem," he said instantly, evidently recognising the lingo.
"They're playing high," she pointed out as well, hoping that he had taken this into consideration before their mission.
He sent a small, sideways smile her way. "That's why I cashed in this weeks payroll at the bank this morning," he retorted, looking smug.
"You are a gambling man, aren't you," she said, slightly impressed with his forethought. She looked around the casino floor and made a decision. "Let's go for the poker table on the left, that gives us a view of the stairs and the cages. Nurse the drinks, we both want to be on guard."
Picking up their drinks, they headed over to the poker table on the left, where there was a haze of smoke lingering above the players – Peggy bit her tongue in annoyance as another man took one of the last remaining seats just before they reached the table, leaving only one empty space. Several men had a woman sitting in their lap, and she knew that she had to appear as if this wasn't a problem, perching on Thompson's knee with her arm draped around him – she could feel his surprise in the tension of his shoulders, but he masked it well and slipped an arm loosely around her waist as he was dealt into the round.
He was surprisingly good, knowing a lot of the slang involved in the game and playing with confidence, arrogance, even, that blended in well. Even whilst keeping her eye on the doors, she was able to help him, noticing the tells of the other players and patterns in their betting. She didn't let him win all the time, knowing that would draw even more attention to them.
As the night wore on, Thompson's arm around her waist slipped lower, pushing the boundaries of propriety (not that anyone else in the establishment was paying attention to such boundaries) and his thumb was brushing back and forward on the material of her dress. Peggy leant into him under the guise of whispering seductively to him. "Stop it," she hissed right into his ear, growing annoyed at him.
"This was your idea, sweetheart," he whispered back, casting her a half grin with his cards held loosely in his other hand. "Besides, compared to the others I'm not even being that bad." His hand slipped an inch lower, his smile lingering around his mouth. "I could do worse, if you like?" he offered, though she could tell that he wasn't being entirely serious.
Nevertheless, she surreptitiously dug her nails hard into the back of his neck to punish him.
The night wore on and Jack remained on reasonably good behaviour, doing his best to ignore Peggy sitting in his goddamn lap and focus on the mission at hand, a difficult task when he could feel the silk of her dress beneath his fingers and her nails digging into the back of his neck. The most exciting thing to happen in the gambling den was a man being caught cheating on the Blackjack table; he was beaten by the security and dragged out up the stairs, but no one so much as blinked an eye.
The poker table started to wind down: they were not the best at the table, both of them had been conscious not to draw more attention to themselves by winning even though Peggy had been able to scope out the competitions tells in minutes, but they still had near double what they had came with and others had lost heavily.
"I think this is a dead end," Peggy said softly to him as he sorted his cards, her sharp eyes constantly darting around the establishment.
"I'm starting to agree with you," he murmured back. There was no sign of Adams and no suspicious activity – well, nothing linked to Leviathan at any rate, there had been plenty of shady characters and dealing under the deck. "He could be waiting for closing, break into the cages when everyone is gone," he said, though his voice held little conviction.
Peggy shook her head. "Nothing is stored in the cages over night," she told him, leaning in to whisper in his ear to maintain their cover. "Takings will be transferred to an armoured car and driven to an undisclosed location. If I couldn't discover the destination then our mole won't have been able to in a single afternoon."
He nodded his understanding and some minutes later they both observed an unobtrusive, wheeled trolley being led from the cages, no doubt taking the houses extensive takings for the night. "Do we follow the car?" he asked her, raising his bet to meet the remaining players.
"We're not here to disrupt business, if there is an incident with the car then Dixon will be alerted," she said, her eyes flicking over towards where the notorious mobster was playing Pai Gow with a pretty blond perched on each knee.
Dixon had been guzzling drink and playing high all evening: he had been on their suspect list as being affiliated with Leviathan due to his notoriety in several criminal circles, but Jack was starting to think it had just been shoddy investigative work on his Agent's part to put him on the list. Dixon may be notorious, but based on the impression he gave this evening he was a run of the mill mobster, a big fish in the small New York pond and not linked to international espionage.
Several minutes later last call was announced and Dixon ambled up the stairs, a hand on the backside of each giggling blonde – they'd seen nothing suspicious, which meant it was time for them to transfer their attentions to Agent's Davis and Geller.
Jack threw down his cards. "Let's get out of here," he said, ready to call it a night, and he and Peggy left the table, walking with his arm around her shoulders once more.
It was midsummer though given the early hour of the morning the air was cool, refreshing after spending half the night in an underground basement. It was still dark, with the morning light not even showing in the sky over the East River yet. There were very few cars on the road, the only people around being party-goers making their way home after a night on the town. Jack tucked the nights winnings into his inside jacket pocket as they left the club. "We may not have got Adams but we still didn't do too badly out of the night. Looks like the boys are getting bonuses this week."
"We're being followed," Peggy said crisply, ignoring his offhand comment with her gaze fixed straight ahead as they walked and setting him instantly on the alert again. "The man just coming out of the club."
Jack glanced around casually, immediately noticing the man she was talking about – middle-aged, balding and wearing an expensive suit. He'd been at their poker table for half the night and had stared at Peggy more than his cards. Nevertheless, he had won big, evidently celebrating based on the amount he had drunk. "Could be nothing, he's stinking drunk," he said, ready for action and keeping his arm around her.
"Could be something if he is just pretending," Peggy pointed out, the handbag containing their weapons looped around one wrist as they walked.
"Circle the block, see if he follows," Jack ordered, and they kept walking, maintaining their charade with his arm slipping down her back to wrap around her waist instead. He didn't turn around, but he could still hear the staggering footsteps behind them.
"Still following. Let's see what he wants, shall we?" she suggested, the anticipation clear in her voice as they rounded the corner of the block.
Jack jerked his chin ahead of them towards a gap between two buildings . "There's an alley up ahead. We can lure him in, make him think he has us off guard."
"What did you have in mind?" she asked as they approached the mouth of the ally, intrigued.
He thought for a moment and then grabbed her hand, pulling her into alley. "Draw your gun and play along," he told her, leading her a dozen or so yards away from the road. He glanced over his shoulder, estimating that he had less than fifteen seconds before the man caught up with them. "Don't shoot me," he told her somewhat wryly since her gun was already drawn and in her hand, and then pushed her back against the brick wall.
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked, glaring fiercely at him as her back hit the wall.
"What does it look like?" he retorted, glancing at the mouth of the alley once again and then picking up her leg to hitch it around his hip, feeling the lace top of her stocking beneath his fingers. He bent over her neck as if to kiss her throat, his mouth not actually coming into contact with her skin; he could smell the subtle scent of her soap and perfume, the scent that had been teasing him half the night with her sitting on his knee.
He heard the safety being clicked off the gun and then felt the barrel pressed firmly into his common iliac artery. "I realise this is part of your idiotic plan, but if that hand moves any higher I will nail your balls to this wall, do you understand?" Peggy snarled into his ear, pressing the gun into his abdomen hard enough to bruise.
"Noted," he breathed with a small chuckle, just below her ear – the hand on her thigh moved no higher, but he could not stop his thumb sweeping once, twice, over the lace top of her stocking that was right beneath his fingers. "Now play along," he chided.
He could feel her irritation, no doubt wanting nothing more than to push him off and slug him in the jaw, then the hand not pressing a gun into him came up to grasp his hair a little too tightly, showing her annoyance. His breath caught on her skin at the feeling of her fingers in his hair and he wondered briefly if she could feel it. Other than the hand at her thigh he was not actually touching her, his other hand braced on the wall beside her head. "Did he follow?" he asked, speaking into the hollow between her neck and shoulders.
He felt her tilt her head towards the road. "Yes," she said quietly.
Jack pulled away from her ever so slightly, keeping his hand holding her leg up around his hip but turning his head to look down the alley – sure enough, the drunk man was lingering at the mouth, one hand braced on the wall for support. "Something we can help you with, pal?" he asked his voice dry and sardonic.
The man was looking solely at Peggy. "How much for a turn when he's done?" he slurred, almost falling against the wall. Jack blinked once, realising what the man wanted – considering the calibre of the women he'd seen in the club, his assumption was not really surprising, nevertheless he was torn between indignant anger and amusement that Peggy Carter, of all people, could ever be mistaken for a call-girl.
There was a beat of silence, then Peggy smiled at the man. "I'm not taking any other customers tonight, sugar," she drawled, faking an American accent flawlessly.
The man sighed. "Figured my luck wouldn't last," he said, pushing himself off from the wall. "Another time, perhaps."
"You got it, hon," Peggy said, and they waited until he stumbled away down the road.
Amusement won out – he dropped his head and chuckled into her shoulder. This whole night was a bust: no suspicious activity in the club and their tail turned out to be nothing more than your average-Joe, chasing after some skirt.
His laughter turned to wheezing when Peggy slugged him hard in the gut, sending him staggering back. Winded, he rubbed his stomach. "What the hell was that for?" he demanded, staring at her.
"You enjoyed that far too much, you rat," she snapped, stalking past him towards the main road with her heels clicking, her gun still in her hand.
That was true, he thought with a grin as she walked away. He was more than a bit tickled at the idea of her being mistaken for a red woman and he wasn't too proud to admit to himself that this whole night had been some kind of strange torture, what with constantly having his arm around her, having her perched on his lap and then having her goddamn leg wrapped around his hip with his hand on her thigh. Still rubbing his stomach, he followed after her. "Considering that I know from experience that you can knock me out with a single punch, I can only assume that you're not actually that mad."
She didn't reply, pausing on the kerb and casting her gaze up and down the road. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Getting a cab, we're done for the night," she said in a tone that brooked no argument – if he wasn't made of sterner stuff he probably would have withered on the spot.
"My car's around the block," he pointed out, but she didn't reply.
A cab drove passed and she lifted her hand, but the yellow light was off, indicating that the cabbie already had passengers, and the car didn't stop. While they waited Jack pulled off his jacket, draping it over his arm; the night was mild enough that he didn't need it.
Twice more cabs drove by over the next few minutes without stopping and Peggy let out a gusty sigh. Jack gestured down the block with his hand. "Come on, Carter," he said simply, walking down the road without waiting to see if she would follow him – he hid a smile when she fell into step beside him, easily keeping up with his long strides, even in heels.
When they reached his car Jack automatically walked around to the passenger side to open the door for her. As he did so, he noticed that she was still seething with anger, a fetching red high on her normally pale cheeks. He grinned at her. "What's the matter, Carter? Did I ruffle your feathers back there?" he asked as she climbed into the car, giving him a view of the seam that ran up the backs of her nylons once again.
His were certainly ruffled, he couldn't stop thinking about the lace-top of her stocking and had spent the past few minutes imagining rolling it down her leg while they'd waited for a non-existent cab.
"You are incorrigible," she snapped as she settled into the front seat. He shrugged to himself as he closed the door behind her: considering the direction his thoughts had taken, she was not wrong.
Getting in behind the wheel, he started up the ignition. "I'm guessing you're not at The Griffith any more," he said rhetorically, knowing that this was the case from his investigative work to track her down for the mission, though he hadn't been able to trace her current address.
"Not since you and Daniel terrorised the place, no," she said coolly and then rattled off a fancy address on the Upper East Side. Jack raised his eyebrows at the up-market address and drove in silence. The streets were relatively empty this time of night, with those out on the town long since heading to bed and the morning workers and commuters not yet up, so they made good time, whizzing through several intersections.
He pulled up in front of the towering, ostentatious block that she had mentioned and leaned forwards to look up at it through the windscreen. "Nice building," he said honestly, wondering how the hell she afforded such a place on SSR wages. The Griffith had been nice, but this was another calibre of fancy altogether.
Wordlessly, Peggy unbuckled her seatbelt and he started to do the same – she instantly shot a glare in his direction. "What are you doing?" she demanded, her ire evidently not cooled at all.
"Walking you up," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He hadn't been out on a date in some time (not that this was a date, he reminded himself) but it had always been drummed into him that it was only good manners to make sure that a lady got home safe.
"I can manage," she said coolly as she opened the car door herself, pausing only to hand his gun back to him.
Well, she was evidently still annoyed; he wondered if she was as frustrated as he was that it had been a dead end or if she was still ticked off at his actions in the alley. "Hey," he said, leaning over the passenger seat to speak to her through the open door. "You're still coming in later, right?"
"Mission isn't finished yet," she said pointedly, then cast an annoyed look his way. "Looks like you missed the mark with your guess of a prime suspect," she said bitingly.
Jack shrugged. "It was a long shot anyway," he admitted, having picked Adams the prime suspect over Davis and Geller due to his slightly slovenly attitude, thinking it might have been an act. He drummed his fingers on the bottom of the steering wheel, still leaning over to talk to her. "What are you in the mood for tomorrow night? Stake out at Levourne's, or a night swing dancing at Becket's joint?" he asked, the way he said it almost making it sound like a date.
Peggy thought for a moment, lingering by the open car door. "Levourne," she said simply. "After tonight I think I need a break from being out in public with you," she added, her tone slightly catty.
Stake out then. She didn't want to be in public with him but she was happy to sit in a car alone with him in a secluded spot for half the night, Jack thought, hiding a smile at the implication – he had some fond memories of parking with a couple of girls back when he was a teenager. He would have to be on his best behaviour if he didn't want to be on the receiving end of her aggression again, twice in one day was bad enough.
He nodded and Peggy continued. "We'll let Davis overhear plans for a supposed exchange taking place at Levourne's home tomorrow," she said, drumming her fingers on the rim of the car door. "His desk is beside the coffee machine, so we will discuss plans there at eleven hundred hours, if he is our mole it gives him enough time to call it in."
Jacks mouth twitched up into a smirk. "A coffee date it is then," he said, purposefully trying to rile her some – he couldn't help it, he enjoyed seeing her eyes flash with fire. He grinned when she glared at him again. "Night Carter."
NEXT UP, Jack and Peggy are on their stake out when the case take an unexpected turn ...
Every time you review Jack will take off his shirt - and if that isn't an incentive then I don't know what is :p
Also, Thanks to #dontbesillywefall for proofing for me and #cravinghoneydukes, if your reading this, I saw your offer to beta but didn't have a way to contact you on Tumblr. If you're still interested I'd be happy to have a second (or third, even!) pair of eyes for the next chapter :)