Moments
A/N: I wanted to do an undercover party-crashing story with some Peggy Carter background and so my Muse latched onto the plot line of 'Madeline Pratt' of Blacklist, which was then adapted and incorporated into this universe. So my disclaimer is that I obviously in no way own or profit from Blacklist. Jon Bokencamp and the peeps from NBC get all the glory and monies. I just really like to play in everybody else's sandboxes.
Also, there is a Firefly character reference. What can I say? I have a thing for strong female characters : )
As always, enjoy!
Retrieval at Shindig
"I don't like this plan."
"No, it's not ideal, but – "
"Not ideal? Now there's the understatement of the year. I mean,come on, Carter. Grey is a notorious arms and black market dealer. The question is not 'if' he will stab us in the back for his real agenda, but 'when'."
Jack was sitting across from her in the exact same seat at Endroit Cache that Ethan Grey, her former mentor, had been in three hours ago, but instead of the cool reserve and charming smiles that he had worn, Jack was staring at her with understandable if unhelpful incredulity.
"One, his 'agenda' is that he is being coerced via extortion by this Ms. Bridges. He wants to recover his documents," she argued, attempting to allay her partner's fears of her mentor's potential backstabbing.
Before he could ask 'what documents?', she continued, "Two, he needs me, not the SSR, but me to help him out because he trusts me and Emil Balder knows all his people or will hear rumor of his contracting someone else and will see them coming. And three, I think he truly wants us to have the list. Grey and his business thrive on chaos – HYDRA, Leviathan, Zodiac, all of their agendas are ultimately at cross purposes to his."
Jack's face went blank as he stared her, weighing the consequences of whatever decision he made.
She stared back, willing him to decide in her favor, to choose to truly be her 'partner in crime'.
And it would be crime. Because although what she was proposing to do would be in the name of protecting the nation and all it stood for, it would not be a sanctioned mission.
Johnson could not know. If their ambitious chief was to become aware that her C.I. was Ethan Grey, an infamous crime-lord of the Underworld, he would make it a priority to bring him into custody, which would ensure that Grey would turn on them, vanishing into the void with The List.
That list was far too important for some truly unattainable feather in Johnson's cap.
And far too important for her not to pull out all the stops.
With a heavy sigh, she fiddled with her shot glass, as she admitted softly, "And it's really not him I am worried about. It's her." Saffron Bridges, a.k.a. 'Yolanda'. From beneath lowered lashes, she pleadingly looked up at him and went for the sucker punch: "Which is why you are my ace in the hole."
Jack snorted, in both disgust and honest amusement. "Stop it with your womanly wiles, Carter. I'll do it."
She could have kissed him in that moment. She was so overwhelmed with gratitude. But as that probably fell under the category of 'womanly wiles', she settled for a soft smile and a signal to the bartender to bring over another round of shots.
~A~
"Mr. and Mrs. Raymond, welcome to my humble abode," Emil Balder, host of the charity gala and also dabbler in black market fencing, politely greeted them with the aliases that Ethan had provided them.
Jack replied with equally courteous nothings, and then he suavely swept them into the grandiose ballroom that could only be in the home of a man from 'new money'. There was a lot of glitter and gold.
Peggy couldn't decide if it was a good or bad thing that she had chosen to wear the red silk evening gown rather than her gold one. If she had worn the gold, she might have blended in more with her surroundings – practically blended in with the wallpaper. But even as she thought that, she realized she had still made the best decision. The gold had too many memories attached to it, memories tainted with guilt and grief for Colleen and of being a lone wolf. She wasn't that girl anymore.
"Who are we supposed to be again?"
"Some mid-level banker and his wife," she reminded Jack absentmindedly, as her gaze scanned the room, looking for familiar faces and noting the strengths and weaknesses of the security.
"Mid-level? For the purposes of blending in and remaining anonymous?"
"Yes, Jack."
"Well, you failed miserably in that dress, my dear."
His back-handed compliment pulled her out of her reverie and brought her gaze to meet his openly appreciative one, and when he saw that he had flummoxed her, his blue eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth, even as he drolly noted, "Now's the time, wife, you say something along the lines of how I 'clean up nice too' or I 'look dashing in that tux'."
"I would, husband, but I'm a little bit miffed that you are too busy fishing for compliments and have yet to ask me to dance," she retorted with faux-annoyance.
At her words, Jack eyed the already twirling couples warily, but upon seeing that it was a simple waltz, he gallantly offered her his arm and asked, "Shall we?"
She agreed with alacrity and they swiftly and seamlessly merged with the others. She was a little bit amazed at how effortlessly they were able to do so, but more amazed at how unconsciously she had let him take the lead. It had been a long time since she had instinctively trusted someone like that.
This, and the fact that she was enjoying a little too much the feeling of being in Jack's arms, distracted her from her goal of room surveillance, which was why Grey was able to sneak up on her.
"Do you mind if I cut in?"
His cool voice startled her so much that she literally jumped out of Jack's arms, allowing her mentor to step right in and steal her away.
She shot Jack an apologetic glance before she got twirled away to the other end of the room, much closer to their objective than she had been before.
"I was expecting Howard's stooge to be your back-up," Ethan noted dryly.
"This is a little bit beyond his getaway driving skill-set. Is that a problem?" she asked, trying to act as if she did not care if it was – but she really did. Grey was known to quietly, if not bloodlessly, sweep 'problems' under (or neatly rolled up in) the nearest rug.
Ethan Grey had been her mentor in the French Resistance, when as a young rebellious seventeen year-old she had runaway to help out her brother who was fighting in the war and her French cousins who were fighting for their freedom. He had taken a shine to her 'spirit' and had found her 'cunning' useful and thus worth fostering. She had been so out of her depth that she had been thankful for his almost fatherly (and certainly non-lecherous) self-appointed role that she had not minded that he was a kingpin in the black market dealing world. In fact, that had proven to be quite the asset in their endeavors.
He had been the one to curb her idealism with practicality, and that same very highly instilled pragmatism was what had persuaded her to agree to dance with this devil again.
After a moment, he replied thoughtfully, "No, he certainly looks capable enough…just possibly too capable. Like a cop."
"He's off the clock, just like I am," she reassured.
"As you say," he replied blandly, and then before she could sigh her relief that he still trusted her word, he twirled her around and then pulled her close so that his mouth was next to her ear, "Over my shoulder, do you see her?"
She didn't have to question which 'her', and she did indeed see and recognize the curvy redhead that valued no one and no cause but her and her interests alone. Saffron bloody Bridges. Or as she had been cursed many times in the Resistance 'Yo-putain de-landa.'
"I thought the reason she stole your little black book was because she couldn't steal this statue herself."
"So one would think," he mused, but then he shrugged the question and all its implications of treachery off to look down at her and ask, "Are you ready?"
"As much as Lizzie Ross ever was," she replied nostalgically.
Grey smiled in appreciation at her reference to her Resistance alias, and then he spun her out and into the passing waiter.
And with a great crash, champagne went flying.
~A~
Jack watched old chrome-dome whisk Carter away. Although he was envious of the man's dexterity, he was proud to note that his Marge looked to be far more stiff and uncomfortable in the arms of her urbane old friend than she had felt in his.
He didn't allow himself to revel in the satisfaction, tempting though it may be. He was a professional after all.
No, instead he moved to stand in an unobtrusive corner, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing server to better blend in with his surroundings. It was difficult to do as he had never been a party wallflower before. It helped to channel his inner-Sousa, or what he imagined Sousa would act like at this sort of shindig – slouched, shy and nervous, and dour-looking. Perhaps, like a lost puppy dog. No, a lost Basset Hound puppy dog. Yeah, that was it.
From beneath lowered eyes and from behind a potted fern, he spotted 'Her'. The curvaceous red-head in the emerald green dress was no longer sporting the demure charming smile of a few seconds ago, but was curling her pouty lips in distaste at…Ethan Grey and Peggy Carter.
The gentleman at her elbow had leaned down and whispered something into her ear, and Ms. Bridges' look of disgust transformed into one of coquettish delight.
That fleeting look of loathing and that look alone confirmed for him Carter's suspicions that Grey's former lover was up to something, and not just anything, but plain and simple revenge.
'What did he do that caused her to hold a grudge all these years?'
'He chose the Cause over her, left her to defend herself after a job went wrong so that he could get information to the Underground. And she felt he chose it over her because it was filled with young, idealistic, and impressionable girls.'
'Was she wrong?'
'Yes and no, you're quickly disillusioned in those first few weeks…but he did manage to recruit quite a number of the survivors for his organization…and she failed in managing getting any of us killed in her sabotage attempts…'
As Jack recalled this almost soul-revealing conversation with Peggy and he watched Saffron's covert glances in the dancing couple's direction, he knew that the woman recognized her – if not actually her, then at least her as one of Grey's 'type'. And he knew that the con-woman was quickly including her into her vengeance plans.
But before he could figure out a way to warn her – Grey spun her into the server.
Champagne went flying, ladies went shrieking about ruined dresses, and Carter went slipping stealthily away amidst the commotion.
He would just have to trust that she could handle it. And in the meantime, wait and watch the shrew for any sudden and shady moves.
'I am a professional. Carter is a Howling Commando in all but name…And damn it, I will not worry myself into an early grave like Susan…I am a professional…"
~A~
"Jesus Christ, man! Watch where you're going!"
"Oh my dress! David, my dress! It cost – "
"Can you believe the clumsiness of the – "
"Look, I am sorry, sir. If you'll…"
Peggy took a deep breath and shut out all the noise along with the door to the stairwell behind her. No one had noticed her slip away. Ethan had picked her target well.
Now, for the mission.
Her objective was a safe two floors up this monstrous mansion, one hallway corridor over, and with two sets of guards that do sweeps every 15 minutes.
Glancing at her watch, she saw that she had 3 minutes to make it to her window in which the door she needed to get into would be in the blind spot of each team.
Forty-six stair-steps (in an evening dress and high heels) and 360 seconds later, she reached the double oak doors only slightly winded.
She tried the handle. It moved, but when she tugged, the doors did not.
'Stars and stripes. I have 45 seconds until…'
Taking a deep steadying breath, she pulled a bobby pin from her up-do and inserted into the dead-bolt, trying not to let her racing heart and pounding blood distract her from the feel of the tumblers.
'Thirty-five…
Thirty-six…
Thirty-seven…'
Click.
She slipped in through the doors and quietly shut them behind her. Just in time too, because she could hear the heavy-tread of one of the guards rounding the corner at the end of the hall.
She turned from the doors and stared at the behemoth-sized, steel-plated, shiny new vault.
She was at the point of no return. If she was caught now, she could get charged with trespassing. If she touched that safe and tried to crack it with Ethan's or her own trade gizmos, she would be once again jeopardizing her career for an old war buddy – hers and Jack's.
She could just picture how that conversation would go:
"So tell me, Ms. Carter – or is it Mrs…Raymond? – why is it that you were trying to steal a nearly priceless cultural artifact at a charity fundraiser, no less?"
"Well, officer, I am an agent of the SSR and it was a matter of national security. You see inside the statue is a list – "
"Uh-huh, SSR and national security, you say? Then how come Chief Johnson is denying any sanctioned missions? Would it perhaps be because you are really working for the man you were seen with earlier, one Ethan Grey, underworld crime-lord and Interpol's most wanted?"
Peggy thought about it a moment longer, thought of what the information on that little piece of paper could mean, and decided that hell yes it was worth it.
'Besides the trick is not getting caught'.
She pulled the safe-cracking gadget pieces from her small clutch. She then assembled it as per Grey's directions and attached its tri-pod points to each side of the dial, and then with baited breath she watched it as it spun it around and around and back and forth as it searched for the combination.
She was just at the point of telling Ethan he could take his fancy thingamajig and shove it because she was about to miss her next and last window while these sets of guards were on shift, when there was a sudden whir of the dial and hiss of the safe's seal release.
She quickly dismantled the device and stowed it into her purse, before swinging the door fully open.
And that is when the not-so silent alarm went off.
All over the building.
A/N: French-to-English translation: putain de = fucking
Also, 'chrome-dome' = 'baldhead' in 1940's slang
'Lizzie Ross' is in reference to Marvel's Elizabeth 'Betsy' Ross, whom Hayley Atwell's character is partly based on; my Peggy's French Resistance origins prior to joining military and later SSR is my attempt to include some of the original Peggy Carter backstory into this universe.
Anyways...thoughts?
