Moments
A/N: as a Fight Club fan, I have been dying to use this chapter title every time I see any reference to Jack's characteristic expression. And so I have seized upon the opportunity here, at of course Howard Stark's expense ; )
And now may you be equally entertained by...
Jack's Smirking Revenge
"Attention everyone! I have an announcement to make!"
Theodore Clifford's deep bass voice managed to cut through the office hubbub of Jack's 'Welcome-Back-We're-Happy-You're-Not-Dead' party, as Ramirez had so aptly if facetiously put it.
As soon as he had everyone's attention, he continued, "As you all know, my contract as your training instructor was renewed."
There were some half-hearted cheers at this, but mostly good-natured groans, and among the select few who knew how it came to be, there were smirks. Jack had told her that Johnson had done a complete 180 on his decision to discontinue the program; for when Wallace had 'offhandedly' told his highly competitive chief that per his uncle, the NYPD was trying to steal the man out from under them – Johnson had apparently decreed that this was a 'dirty underhanded move that was not to be born.'
"What you don't know is that it had the condition of my writing a training manual."
This time there were boos and hisses amidst the groans. Peggy, herself, couldn't help but think that this was just par-for-the-course for bureaucratic Johnson – more paperwork.
Clifford waved away the groans, and smiled toothily as he concluded his announcement with: "In light of recent events, I thought you should all know that the chapter "How Not to Get Shot" was inspired by our dear friend and hero of the hour, Jack Thompson."
Jack grimaced but did a half-bow from his seat on the couch, which had been brought out especially for the occasion.
Before the appreciative chuckles could return to the former din of good cheer, Ramirez stood up on a chair and clapped his hands, declaring, "Since we are at the awards portion of tonight's revelries, I would like to present my good friend, the lucky bastard, the dubious honor of being the Most Holey-est of Agents!"
At his words, Reese and Palmer dramatically knelt before the guest of honor and presented him with a sports trophy. From her seat at the other end of the couch, she could see that it was one of those brassy figurines that are suspended mid-athletic motion, but as Jack held it up for all to see, she (and to the amusement of most others) noted that this one had been drilled and its numerous holes were painted with splashes of red.
Daniel was probably the only one who noticed that she was not amused. Jack might have, but his attention was soon caught by the third announcement of the evening.
From the conference room desk chair, which he sat in as if it were a throne, Johnson declared, "You all laugh now, but word is the mayor intends to present you with a medal."
To Peggy's surprise (and no doubt Daniel's heart-stopping amazement), Jack, the bloody office peacock, did not preen at this, but rather he looked…uncomfortable, to say the least. Tugging at his collar, he diffidently replied, "Oh, well, sir, I don't think I'm sufficiently recovered from my injuries for any award ceremonies, so I think I'll send my partner to accept on my behalf."
The room went entirely silent at this. No one, no one – not even her and she knew that Jack had come a long way from the male chauvinistic asshole that had plagued her for months – had been expecting that.
It took Johnson a full minute to recover. Finally, he settled with a placating, "Well, I'm sure any ceremony can be held off until you're in tip top shape." And then to make sure that Jack knew he had no choice, Johnson asserted firmly, "It's good P.R., Thompson."
She could tell that Jack recognized that there was no escape to be had, especially in the sacred name of "Good P.R.", when he sighed and nodded reluctantly.
But then the Jack that they all knew and loved/hated was back, as his grudging grimace turned into a mischievous smirk of vengeance, "Well if it's for public relations... I insist that the famous fella I saved be the one to present it to me."
Once again the room erupted into appreciative laughter, but for Peggy, all she wanted to do was hit something and several someone(s) – Jack, Cliff, Ramirez, Reese, Palmer…anyone of them would do, really.
She was used to gallows humor, had even been known to participate in it, but when Cliff talked of 'how not to get shot', all she could think about was that if she had been more observant, more something…her partner never would have needed to use himself as a shield in the first place. Not that she wasn't proud of him for overcoming his paralyzing in-combat fear, but he never should have had to.
The defaced trophy was just too much. It brought forth images that she wished she could forget but knew she never would.
And while she could appreciate the poetic justice of making Howard do a press conference, she couldn't be satisfied with him blowing out all that hot air, which was practically his favorite thing to do aside from tinkering and 'fondueing'.
No, she would only be satisfied by holding him to his promise.
~A~
Jack could tell that Peggy had been itching to go after Johnson's announcement – well, even more so than she had been before.
So it had come as no surprise to him that as soon as everyone returned to their previous conversation, that she attempted to slip away.
Luckily for him, the elevator took its time reaching their floor after she summoned it, so he was able to limp his way to her side as it opened.
He was also able to hobble inside before anyone could protest the guest of honor ditching the party. And before she could, he complained with just a tad too much whine, "How the hell Sousa uses one of these all the blasted time I'll never know."
Sure enough his inconsiderate comment about crutches diverted her ire, as instead of raising objections to his presence, she was indignantly rebuking him with, "I imagine out of necessity and with great fortitude."
He must not have hid his smirk well enough because she arched an eyebrow and queried warily, "Why are you here, Jack?"
"To walk you out to your, no doubt, waiting taxi."
She gave a scoffing snort, "Unnecessary, as I am sure you well know." 'Especially in your condition' was left unsaid but heavily implied by her nod to his crutch.
He let that go, and answered truthfully, "I wanted you to know that I really didn't want to accept the medal. I have never wanted any medals, just …"
He hadn't meant to refer to his undeserved Navy Cross and didn't know where he was going with that, but Carter seemed to as she nodded and stated with quiet understanding, "Just the respect of your colleagues for a job well done."
"Yeah."
They rode the rest of the way in contemplative silence, but before the elevator doors could open, Carter hit the emergency stop button.
Out of all the things he had been expecting her to say to him, the following wasn't one of them:
"Why did you jump in front of Howard? You don't even like him."
"It's my job, Carter," he snapped, more than a little offended that she thought he would let his personal feelings interfere with his duty.
"Bullshit," she fired right back. "You forget. I saw you. You didn't make that choice to sacrifice yourself for him out of duty."
As her accusing gaze locked with his irate one, he flashbacked to that moment – seeing Carter's horrified and gutted expression as she calculated the impossible distance between her and the shooter who was already tracking Stark's progression across the stage.
"Alright, I admit that I am rather ambivalent about Stark's benefit to mankind," he blurted irritably, but because her dark gaze seemed to be able to pull anything from him, to motivate him to do anything even if it was highly contradictory to his nature, he confessed softly, "But I would do it again to prevent you from grieving another devastating loss."
His words seemed to satisfy her somewhat as she relaxed a smidge, enough to relax her jaw to nod and murmur quietly, "And now you know you're not the man from Okinawa."
Her words sent him reeling.
He wasn't that man anymore. As he thought about it, he knew it to be true, deep in his bones. Even though he now knew what it was like to be shot to hell and back, he knew that if he were under fire again, he would not freeze. The time for second-guessing himself or for letting his fear cloud his judgment was over. He knew that if he were to ever be put in that position again, he would make the same choice.
When he resurfaced from his mind-blowing revelation, he realized that Carter had yet to release the hold on the elevator. She had more to say.
With great wariness, he prompted, "Carter?"
For another few moments, she said nothing, and then with more introspection and far less fury than he had been expecting, she mused aloud, "You know someone once asked me why a girl like me liked Howard the way I do…"
''Liked', who now?'
"I told him that Howard is like a fungus – he grows on you…" She stopped her quiet contemplation of the elevator's carpet pattern to once again fix her gaze with his, as she concluded her out-from-left-field speech with: "And you are Cantharellus cibarius."
"Huh?" was all he could articulate at her bizarre pronouncement. He was definitely not tracking with her. Stark, 'like', and metaphorical mushrooms was not a rabbit hole he had been prepared to follow her down.
She smiled pityingly at him, even as she yanked the carpet figuratively out from underneath him for the second time that night.
"My point is – what makes you think that I wouldn't be just as devastated by you getting shot and dying?"
Before he could entirely process this bombshell that she had just dropped, she released her hold on the elevator doors and slipped through the impatiently waiting crowd that was now piling into the lift.
And all that he could do was stare at her as she walked away with her dark head held high and all that he could think was that his Gam-Gam and Nana Maria would both agree – if he was a yellow-colored mushroom, then that woman was an onion, one that is full of layers.
~A~
A few weeks later on the steps of New York Bell Company…
"I owe Agent Jack Thompson a tremendous debt of gratitude – a life-debt – for his willingness to selflessly sacrifice himself for me…He is a hero, a hero for all Americans – nay all those who uphold the values of liberty, justice, and valor. I am humbled by his act of altruism and gallantry on my behalf…Yes, humbled, and pleased that he is alive, well, and fully recovered from his substantial injuries to be presented with this medal for exemplary service today, and not posthumously like so many others, er, without further ado, Agent Thompson."
All the while Howard Stark grudgingly stumbled his way through his speech, Jack stood next to him, quietly prompting him. And although Peggy could not keep herself from rolling her eyes at his antics, she would be forever grateful that he was standing there at all – even with his goddamn smirk and all.
A/N:
If you didn't pick up on it, some of Stark's speech mirrors Jack's in episode 8, so I can't take complete credit for it.
Anywho, thoughts?
