Moments

A/N: In honor of Red-White-and-Blue weekend...

Enjoy.

Interrogation

Jack walked into the Observation Room to see Carter nursing a cup of tea as she watched the no doubt disappointing show on the other side of the glass.

"How long have you been back?" was his less than welcoming query.

"Long enough to see that you are having as fruitless a day as I," she answered with a nod to the spectacle in the interrogation room, her voice sounding as tired as he felt.

"Boston was a bust, huh?" he grunted.

Carter pursed her lips and gave a curt nod before pressing on, "Who's our latest guest?"

"Vincent 'Vinnie' Hobbes, a Belgium import-export specialist."

His answer caused her to snort. "Smuggler, huh?"

"Yes," he admitted, his lip curling in distaste. The weedy man with a cheap suit, a half a day's beard, and too long hair, which was slicked back by cheap pomade, was indeed a smuggler. Not that they could prove it – which he knew, and thus was why he was still vacillating between a knowing smirk and a far too innocent 'Who me?' expression, even after being put through the grinder.

"Who brought him in?"

"Ramirez. Rumor has it that he has snuck a thing or two past customs from Russia lately."

Carter made a noncommittal sound as they both watched Sousa point again to the file in front of him, as if by doing so for the third time would break the man. His futile action prompted Carter to observe dryly, "I take it Ramirez's 'Let's make a deal' approach, Daniel's 'Be the better man I know you can be' approach, and your many variations of the Carrot-and-Stick, all have met with little success?"

He bristled a little at the censure he heard in her tone of voice, snapping, "If you think you can do better, Marge, be my guest."

And Carter, being goddamn gracious Peggy Carter, once again showed that she could be the bigger and better man, by only saying mildly, "Well, I don't know if I can do better, but I can certainly bring something to the table that you gentlemen don't have."

"And what, pray tell, is that?"

"A skirt."

Her reply was so blunt and out-of-the-blue that it took him a moment to realize she had set her cup down and was striding for the door, asking beseechingly, "…trust you to follow my lead?"

He nodded dumbly and silently prayed that his acting ability was on par with that of Krezminski's 'office ice queen' – and also that he wouldn't come to regret that decision.

~A~

When he finally caught up, it was not the Carter that he knew. Her brown eyes were big and wide instead of narrowed in judgment. Her posture was looser somehow, not the straight and military rigid that was her usual. Most significantly, she was actually waiting for him to open the door for her.

When he did, she simpered in a thicker version of her British accent, "Oh, I am so sorry for being late! That drive from Langley was just appalling, Mr. …?"

"Thompson, Chief Thompson," he supplied, with more self-importance than he normally did – mostly to hide his amusement at her dramatics, both the simpering and the heavy accent, and to hide his confusion at the mention of the new headquarters for the nation's recently formed intelligence department.

Whether she noticed his confusion or his abysmal attempt to hide his smirk, he didn't know, because without a backwards glance she zeroed in on their 'guest'. Well, 'zeroed' is not quite right. Her whole attention was on him, but instead of her purposeful stride, Agent Peggy Carter sashayed towards the bastard.

It took all of his professionalism (and years of his Gam-Gam's training on proper gentlemanly behavior) not to blatantly admire the swaying of those hips.

"Mr. Hobbes, I do apologize for the inconvenience of having these gentlemen bring you down here and interrupt your life. I hope that they have not been living up to the stereotype of Yankee coppers in their hospitality."

"Well, as a matter of fact, missy, they have been askin' a rather large amount of questions about my business, insinuating that I ain't on the up-and-up, while depriving me of my right to a lawyer," the weedy cur declared with as much 'righteous' indignation as a man of loose morals had any claim to.

"Now, wait a moment," Sousa cut in. "You never once asked for your lawyer."

Jack wanted to beat the man with his crutch for reminding slimy Vinnie of this fact.

Carter came to the rescue though, cutting in with, "Pshaw, Mr. Hobbes, our conversation shouldn't necessitate the meddling of the barristers. MI-5 has no interest in how you conduct business in the U.S."

If he was behind the glass, Jack would have let out a low appreciative whistle. Without uttering a single lie, Carter had just made it seem that she was British intelligence – an entity that Hobbes had little to fear from as they had bigger fish to fry and he knew it.

It took Vinnie Hobbes a moment to respond to her declaration. From Jack's point of view, he could clearly see the man's gaze and dirty mind being quite preoccupied with Carter's well-endowed sauntering figure. However, Carter's use of her skirt wasn't as effective as she predicted, because when Vinnie's eyes met hers they were cool and assessing.

With an unattractive sneer, the man retorted, "Well, I ain't gonna answer any questions about my dealings across the pond either. No lawyer, no answers."

"Oh damn, these Yanks have put you on the defensive, haven't they?" She cursed with a pout. Carter then continued her role of put-out and defeated dame by cocking her hip against the table, crossing her arms like a petulant child, and whining, "I mean, it's my first real case back home, and I'm stumped. I have been trying to tell my boss that you can help me, but he doesn't believe me. And when I found out you were here, while I was, well… it was like serendipity, you know?

"But it would just be my luck that the Yanks would provoke you into lawyering up, when all I care about is how you do business, not what your business actually is."

Jack couldn't see Carter's face, but he would bet his paycheck that her liquid brown eyes were welling up with tears of frustration as she batted those long dark eyelashes at the poor smuggler.

He had to admire her technique. Disassociating herself from the 'bad cops', playing a little bit at damsel-in-distress, identifying with the small man against the big unappreciative bosses, and then throwing in that last hint of how he can help the poor undervalued but very attractive dame with little risk to his self. It was very impressive indeed.

He could tell the poor S.O.B. was grasping at whatever he could not to drown in those pools, when he cleared his throat uncomfortably, muttering in bewilderment, "'How' I do business, er, miss…?"

"Miss Elizabeth Carver," she supplied readily, and then with a graceful hop, she was sitting on the table, her shapely legs crossing demurely. And while the man was thus distracted, she pressed her advantage, leaning forward with conspiratorial eagerness, "And, yes, how you do business, but more like how a man with your – business acumen – would go about overcoming the – er – overzealousness of customs' officials."

Her efforts were almost a waste, as Boy Scout Sousa was struggling to maintain his poker face, twitching at Carter's allusion to her most hated radio show with her choice of nom de plume and at her rather risqué pose.

While Jack was debating on how to get the man out of the room without his interjection of authority further damaging Carter's rapport building, she provided a solution. With a toss of her head, she leaned back and looked over shoulder to ask primly, "As this is not an official inquiry, Mr. Thomas, is it really necessary to have you charming lads here?"

He scowled deliberately at her 'forgetting' his name and rank, even as he gave careful consideration to her request. Not knowing if she wanted both of them gone or not, but deciding against it (not because she was a woman and shouldn't be alone with a lounge lizard like this sleeze, but because making it too easy would mostly likely arouse the wary man's suspicions).

"Nah, we only legally need one for supervisory purposes," he admitted lazily from his slouch against the wall. With more authority, he directed, "Sousa, go and make yourself useful. Make sure Matthews doesn't botch our case on Sykes."

Sousa did as he was asked, frowning at him the whole time as he hobbled past, and because Jack couldn't resist asserting his authority or hamming up his indolent jackass boss persona, he added, "Oh, and slip my crossword puzzle under the door while you're at it."

As soon as the door shut on Sousa's muttered "yes, sir," Carter continued spinning her honeyed web, saying, "So, Mr. Hobbes, I have been meaning to ask you – do you – no, does a man like you use the burn man scam, the three card Monte, or the Zanzibar marketplace to outwit his opponents?"

Her question so took Vinnie by surprise that he momentarily forgot his wariness of the Chief of the New York SSR standing in the corner, and blurted, "How does a dame like you know of shady dealings like those?"

"Oh, I picked up a thing or two while helping with the Resistance," Carter breezily and truthfully admitted.

And just like that, Vincent 'Vinnie' Hobbes was putty in Carter's oh-so-capable hands. For once she confirmed that she knew fellow French Resistance fighters from his glory days, she established their common ground on something that was more sacred and substantial than shared opinions of Yankee police officials and idiotic authority figures.

While Jack pretended to muddle his way through a crossword, he observed Carter's skillful and masterful manipulation of the man as she wheedled information out of him.

They reminisced about the Resistance glory days exchanging information on mutual acquaintances' lives, like old classmates at a reunion. This was how they learned who was still in the smuggling and fencing ring and what their connections were to the Soviets and their 'comrades'.

Carter got him to brag in hypothetical scenarios about how he had accomplished past jobs or how much of his competitors' operations he knew. Vinnie's catch-phrases of the day were "If I was to have done that job, I would…" and "If I were to know a fella to do that, it would be…not that I am saying who that is mind you…"

By the end of it all, they didn't have enough to charge the man but they had far more information to work with than they ever would have likely gotten with a deal for lesser charges.

Carter thanked Vinnie so sweetly for his time and willingness to help her out that the hardened crook blushed as he stammered about it being 'his pleasure'.

Of course, as soon as the bright shiny 'Miss Carver' was leaving the room, the disgruntled malcontent returned and Vinnie hollered, "Hey! Can I go now, Mr. Thomas? Or do I need my lawyer?"

With a hand to Carter's back, he escorted her out and blatantly ignored the man.

~A~

Once they were on the other side of the door, Carter swiftly stepped away from his hand, straightened her posture, and smoothed her skirt, saying briskly, "I don't think we should hold him for too much longer. We might get more out of him, if we put a tail on him."

"Ramirez did a good job of finding him in the first place. He should be able to keep up," he concurred. "Give him a description of anyone you think he should make note of."

"Will do," she acknowledged with a nod. "Anything else?"

He considered it a moment, and then said, "Coordinate with Sousa on all the follow ups you'll need to do to confirm what oh-so-trusty Vinnie has shared, and let me know if there is anything I can to do to help."

That last bit caused her guarded eyes to widen a smidge, before she gave yet another acknowledging nod.

He shook his own head in a dismissing nod, but just as she started to walk away, he added, "Oh, and Carter? Good job," and because he couldn't resist, he went one step further and smirked, "It's amazing how handy a skirt can be in a fishing expedition."

Jack half-expected a scowl, grimace, or roll of the eyes in reaction to his patronizing tone, but instead, this woman who constantly kept him on his toes retorted with a knowing smirk of her own, "Yeah, they do cast a wide and rewarding net, don't they?"

Before he could respond in kind or try to decipher if she intended a double entendre or not, she turned smartly on her heels to go confer with Sousa.

It might have been his imagination, but he could swear that there was an extra sway to her hips as she walked away.

Either way, he decided that Agent Carter was a dangerous woman whether she was suited up in full combat gear or decked out in whatever was the latest from Dior or even Sears & Roebuck. She knew how to use her assets.

He just hoped that he was able to use her as his asset to her fullest potential. He did not want to make the same mistake twice.

A/N: Up next, I think Peggy will get to play white knight to a team member's damsel-in-distress.

Oh, the 3-card Monte, Zanzibar Marketplace, and burn man schemes are all referenced in Leverage, another entertaining show with strong female leads.

Anywho, thoughts?