Moments


A/N: In honor of the holidays, my gift to you...


Family, That Could Be


That first phone conversation had started out absurdly awkward.

She and Jack just did not do small talk, unless he forced it out of her while in closed confined spaces on stake-out.

He had asked about her niece, and she had told him begrudgingly that she was an adorable roly-poly thing that was making them all go soft in the head.

His response had been slow in coming, almost as if he had to work at being his normal bastard self, and he didn't quite manage to hide his anxiety when he snarked, "You're not getting baby-fever are you, Carter?"

She snorted, "No, but my mom is having grand-baby fever, and my dad is wondering when I am going to give up on my adventure and come home."

"I thought your dad was the American in your parental pair," Jack had noted in confusion, understandably so in her opinion.

"He is, but home is where the heart is," she attempted to explain. "And my father found his here in his adopted country and he can't seem to believe that I will ever find it there in his own mother country."

Before he could ask any further questions, because that was a whole story too lengthy for a costly long-distance call, she changed the subject by asking, "So how is playing tour guide?"

Jack's dramatic groan was a good indicator that she was going to get her money's worth. And she did, for she was regaled with a highly entertaining tale of the elderly grand-mamas' culture shock to 'loud', 'rude', and 'brash' New York City.

"At the end of the day, did they ask you to transfer back to San Francisco?"

"No, they didn't," Jack replied, and the way he did so, after clearing his throat kind of abashedly, let her know that he was blushing a charming shade of pink.

"No?" she prompted casually, trying to keep her delighted glee (and twinge of jealousy) from leaking out.

Whether she managed that or not, she didn't know, but he mercifully satisfied her avid curiosity with a sheepish if reluctantly amused sigh, "No, they were of the opinion that I am right where I need to be to find a 'good strong woman to keep me in line', quote unquote."

There were so many responses to this that she was grateful she was saved from having to pick one by their tenuous connection going dead. According to the inn's manager, the late summer storms were making all calls 'a bit spotty.'

~A~

When she explained this to Jack on their next call, he asked curiously, "So you're abandoning the comfort of your own home almost every night at nearly midnight to call me from an inn in town?"

"Yes," she grumbled. The reason she had to 'abandon' her home comforts so late in the evening was so that he could enjoy the comforts of his own home once he got off work or finished playing host to Gam-Gam and Nana Maria, who lucky for him were staying at a hotel. "My mother has no qualms about eavesdropping on conversations, and she would make assumptions about our relationship."

Assumptions that she would be fine letting her have if it would mean she would quit trying to play matchmaker, but as good of an agent as she was, not even she could withstand The Inquisition that this would invite about Thompson and their fictional relationship. More importantly, she wanted her mother to stop because she trusted her to know what would bring her happiness and fulfillment, even if that was not a husband and children as of right now, or only those later on.

"Where does she think you go at this late of an hour?"

"Out with friends at the local pub," she answered. Which she was, with friends at least. Well, a friend. One of her old school chums happened to be married to the inn's late night manager, and so she was given free rein of his office after they had a round of drinks. A favor she abused in the extremes, by curling up on his sofa by the fire with the phone base in her lap and the handset cradled close to her ear, while she treated herself to a shot or two of bourbon or whiskey.

And because she did not want him to think that he and their 'support buddy' relationship was the only reason she was going to extremes, she added, "I also don't want her to hear anything that she shouldn't" (i.e. classified information.)

Because Jack knew this was not a secure line, he had never asked anything about her mission other than a vague 'how's business?'. To which, she had been consistently replying with some variation of 'slowly' and 'not well.'

Even now, he didn't ask for any work-related details, but instead remained focused on her family, as he inquired, "So what is the cover story for your daytime disappearances? Did your brother ever manage to concoct one?"

"No, he did not," she grumbled again. "The only reason he ever managed to get away with half of what he did growing up was because I was there to cover for him. Providing me with ample amount of blackmail material let me tell you."

His deep appreciative chuckle sent such shivers down her spine that she knew that Angie would be in a right state of triumphant giggles if she had been there to witness her reaction. Thinking of Angie pulled her from memory lane and reminded her of Jack's original question.

"I came semi-clean with my parents and told them the story I gave Angie," she admitted.

"Which was what again?"

"That I am a cryptographer and here on business."

"How did they react?"

"My father was quietly pleased actually. He always thought I was wasting my potential as a secretary at a telephone company," she softly confessed. His quiet support had buoyed her against her mother's reaction.

Not that her mom had not also been proud of her doing her patriotic duty. But now that the war was over, she was of the opinion like so many others, that it was time for her to return to the life she had been destined for before the Great Evil had been unleashed upon the world.

Jack sensed this, she could tell by his gentle prompting: "And your mother?"

She snorted lightly, "She reminded me of Mrs. Fry when she interviewed me for my boarding at the Griffith. She asked me 'how long I was going to do that', you know work for the telephone company."

"Did you give her the same answer?" This time there was less gentleness and more dry amusement in his query. The one time he had met her friend (aside from when she cried all over his shoulder), Miss Martinelli had regaled him with her (if she did say so herself) clever handling of the woman, concluding 'If Peggy here can bamboozle that old battle-axe, you blokes in the office never stood a chance.'

"I told her that I would still do it even when I am married and maybe even when I have kids," she admitted somewhat defiantly, daring Jack to sneer at such an unconventional dream.

She had forgotten that this wasn't the Jack of a year ago. This was the Jack who was her partner, even outside of the office.

So instead of sneering, he told her simply, "Good. I couldn't imagine you doing any differently."

Perhaps it was the midnight hour, the bourbon she had been nursing, or the fact that he was a whole ocean away, but she somehow managed to muster up the courage to ask, albeit with a hesitant clearing of her throat, "You don't think I'd be setting myself up for failure, juggling a career and family?"

"Peggy, the only way you of all people would fail at that is if you didn't have a bloke who was 100% behind you and you didn't accept his help when he offered. If there is anything that I have learned to expect about you, is that you defy expectations."

After a speech like that, what was a self-respecting girl supposed to say?

She couldn't cope with anymore soul-baring, so she made a jest of it and chuckled lightly, "I can understand why they call you the charmed devil. You do have a way with words, Jack."

Because he was an astute observer, he picked up on her change of mood and sniffed with dramatic conceit, "Yeah, I do," before quipping boyishly, "I suppose, I would lose brownie points if I were to tell you about the time I sweet-talked the local Methodist's preacher and his wife into letting me take their daughter to the school dance and to extend her curfew?"

She attempted to sound disapproving. She truly did. But her badly muffled chuckles of amusement ruined the effect, as she brokenly rebuked, "You are a – semi-conceited, incor- incorrigible arse, Jack Thompson."

"Only semi-conceited? You wound me, Margaret Carter."

On that note, she hastily bid her adieus, before she encouraged his incorrigibility any further.

~A~

She had been in England for a little over a week, had made very little progress, and it had been a no-good, terrible day - which is why she had completely forgotten that Jack had told her that his grandmother and his grand-godmother would be over for dinner at his place that evening.

"Jack, if I have to see one more blacked out report and hear one more 'you don't need to know', I'm going to – "

"Uh, Marge, now is not a good time," he cut in, uncomfortably, (and probably fortuitously as it would not be very good for her career or long-term health if she were to threaten violence towards any British government agent or office).

Before she could ask why her timing was so poor, she could hear in the background a thin, croaky voice asking, 'Marge? As in 'your Marge'? Give me that phone, Jackie my boy.'

There was some muffled protesting at the other end of the line, before it went silent, but as there was no click from a disconnect, she waited.

And was rewarded with the wheezy yet strong female voice greeting her with, "Hello, dear. You must be Miss Carter."

"Hello, Mrs. Thompson. Most people call me Peggy," she greeted her warmly. From all of Jack's stories of this woman, she would be honored if this woman did, but while they were on the subject of names, she couldn't help but ask, "What did you mean by 'his Marge'?"

"Oh, he talks about his Girl Friday all the time," the woman replied either in an attempt to reassure or to purposefully get her grandson in hot water. Most likely the latter, as she gleefully admonished him in an aside, "Stop your groaning, boy. You brought it on yourself you did."

And then to her, she said, "Please, call me Gam-Gam. Most people have since Jack started talking and couldn't say Grand-mère."

Peggy had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing uproariously in Mad Hatter delight at all of this, especially when she heard a more huskier, Spanish-accented voice admonishing in the background, 'Do stop embarrassing the boy. Can't you see he's turning as red as a tomato? He'll have a stroke, and at such a young age.'

"Oh, alright," harrumphed Grand-mère Thompson, before stating in a much more no-nonsense voice, "Peggy dear, do please wrap up whatever business you have out there and come home. My Jack needs to be knocked down a peg or two - no pun intended - as he tends to get a big ambitious head and then he can't see the victims for the politics…"

Unfortunately, for the sake of hearing why Jack's grandmother thought he needed to be humbled, Peggy lost track of the conversation as the words "can't see the victims for the politics" rang through her head.

Fortunately, for the purpose of discovering the 'mole', it sent her mind spinning and she was able to realize that the deaths of the British agents were not the result of being victims of espionage warfare but rather of being victims of a far more personal vendetta and their political enemies being used as convenient scapegoats.

When she came to, Gam-Gam was talking about how '…across from every good man sits a woman feeding him humble pie or so my own grandmother told me...' and Nana Maria was admonishing 'No, that was my Tia who said that. And quit your yammering and let the young ones finish their conversation. Phone calls are expensive, sí?'

"Sorry about that," Jack apologized as soon as he got the telephone back.

"No worries, Jack," she hastily cut in, "They were a delight, but I have to go."

There must have been something in her tone of voice, because he asked in wonder, "You figured it out, didn't you?"

"Yes, thanks to your Gam-Gam," she said in all honesty.

That startled him and there was a moment of silence before he stated simply, "Good. Go get 'em, Marge. I'll hold down the fort here."

She rang off, but instead of racing back to the cramped storage room that was her 'office', she stared at the phone and wondered if this is how it could work in the future – long distance calls to the home front, but instead of visiting grandmas piping in, it would be kids.

Oh how her mother would be horrified at the alteration of the natural order of things.

At that thought, a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Jack's said, 'But since when have you ever done anything the conventional way? Why change things now, Marge?'

Why indeed…

And for the first time she had hope for her impossible dream.