It was well past six o'clock in the evening when Jack glanced up from the dossier he was working on and saw Peggy walking down the corridor towards the elevator, a brown leather handbag looped around her wrist. His brow furrowed at the sight of her, having thought that she had clocked out nearly half an hour ago - then his frown deepened to a full-on scowled as he realised that she had just come from the direction of the lab, where the Stark weapons were being kept.
Getting to his feet, he stalked after her and caught up just as she was passing the interrogation room, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a halt in the corridor. "Something you wanna tell me?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.
She didn't reply, looking almost shaken as she blinked up at him.
Jack glanced around them, seeing only a small handful of agents still in the bullpen. Not wanting this conversation to be overheard, he pulled her into the interrogation room, closing the door behind them for privacy and making sure the blind was down. Surprisingly, she didn't protest as he seized the brown bag from her hands and rooted through it. He quickly found the device and held it up between them. "Is this the mock up or the original?" he demanded, already guessing the answer since she had come from the lab.
"The original," she confirmed, looking at it in his hand.
"Dammit Carter," he bit out, frustrated and, inexplicably, disappointed in her – he had been there when Stark had asked her about the weapon and he'd thought she would at least talk to him before taking action. "You didn't have to steal it just because he asked you to, that doesn't do anything to clear his name or stop Leviathan," he lectured her, then paused as he realised that her eyes were still fixed on the device, almost as if she was worried he was going to break it or accidentally set it off. "What's wrong?" he asked bluntly.
She blinked and raised her gaze to his. "I didn't steal it because he asked me to," she told him, her normally clipped and assertive voice curiously sad. "I did it because Howard is one of my oldest friends and I could tell that he was lying," she said, surprising him with this revelation. "It's not an EMP."
He looked warily down at the device in his hands. "... What is it?" he wanted to know, knowing full well what Stark was capable of after everything that had happened with the nitramine. She didn't reply and he looked at her once more, startled to find her expression so broken looking. "Carter, what is it?" he asked again, softer this time.
There was a long pause, then she silently gestured for him to press the button. He gave her a sharp, wary look before slowly sliding the metal catch up with some trepidation – there was a small snick and a hiss of air as the device opened, revealing a tiny, innocuous vial secured in the centre.
"I was working at the SSR to uphold democracy, but I think I lost sight of that running around like some kind of corporate spy," Peggy said softly, her eyes fixed on the vial as she slowly shook her head. "I'm done."
"Done?" Jack repeated, carefully lifting the vial between two fingers to get a better look at it. It contained a viscous, dark red liquid, but knowing Stark it could be anything – an acid that could eat through flesh or metal, a chemical explosive, untraceable poison …
"Done pandering to Howard's whims," Peggy explained, a small amount of anger seeping into her voice. "He didn't believe in me, he didn't even trust me enough to tell me the truth, he just wanted another toy to manipulate."
Jack had his chin lowered, but flicked his eyes up to look at her, the vial still held between two fingers. "What's in the vial?" he asked her once more, knowing that it had to be something big to rattle Peggy's cage like this.
She bit out a small huff and tilted her head slightly. "I'm not certain," she hedged, a note of frustration in her voice.
"But you have a suspicion," he prompted.
Peggy sighed properly and briefly pressed her dark red lips together. "After Project Rebirth twelve samples were taken," she said plainly, with the air of one giving a report. "Eleven went to the US government, which were squandered, and one went to Howard." She paused and took a deep breath. "If I'm right, then that is the last sample of Captain Steve Rogers' blood."
The silence between them was deafening; Jack slowly placed the vial back in its holder and carefully closed the device once more.
"What are you going to do with it?" he asked, trying his damned hardest to keep his voice level as he held the metal container back out to her. They may joke around the office that she had been Captain America's squeeze during the war, but for the first time Jack realised just how much she had lost when the Valkyrie went down over the Arctic. There was no body, the coffin that they had buried in a State funeral picketed by the media had been empty.
That vial was all she had left of him.
Their fingers brushed as she took it from him. "Keep it safe," she said, the smallest catch in her voice as she carefully placed it in her bag.
His hands empty once more, he shoved them deep in his trouser pockets to cover the awkwardness he felt. "... You look like you could use a coffee," he said, noting how her normally porcelain skin seemed even paler than usual.
"I don't drink coffee," she reminded him, frowning a little.
"How about bourbon?" he countered, upping his offer. "Chief keeps a bottle in his bottom drawer."
She looked at him for a long moment, then slowly shook her head. "Not tonight, Jack," she told him simply.
He hesitated, wondering if he should just let this go, and then decided to press her further – she seemed so subdued from her usual poised and confident self and he didn't think being alone right now would be good for her.
"Come on, I need to show you what I pulled on Osva Morken anyway," he said, jerking his head towards the door and opening it for them. He paused in the doorway, looking pointedly back at her. "You here to work or just to steal from the SSR?"
To his surprise, a small smile crept up her face and she shook her head slightly as she followed him from the interrogation room. They headed over towards Dooley's office, which Jack had commandeered while their boss was away, with none of the agents still in the bullpen paying them much attention.
"No glasses, I'm afraid," Jack said, picking up two coffee mugs that seemed clean enough and handing one to her as he opened the bottom draw.
"That's fine,"she said, taking a seat in front of the desk and holding out her mug for him to fill.
He poured her about a double, the bottle clinking on the china. "You really loved him, didn't you?" he said, not looking at her as he poured a measure for himself and settled in Dooley's chair.
She gave him a sharp look, reproachful that he had raised the subject once more. "I don't think I can handle mockery right now, Thompson," she said bitingly.
"I wasn't mocking you, Marge," he said honestly, putting his feet up on the desk.
There was a long, awkward pause, then he reached over and picked up a file from the desk, handing it over to her.
"What's this?" she asked, taking it and having a look through.
"Everything I could find on Morken," he told her, taking a sip of the scotch – damn, Dooley bought the good stuff. "Stark's right in saying he is a hermit; aside from buying the odd relic on the black market he is pretty clean. Got an address for a residence but he seems to have several and all correspondence goes through a secretary." He jerked his chin at her. "What did you get on the gala?" he wanted to know.
"Invites are all sorted, I called in an old favour from Tromslo," she reported, her head still buried in the file. "The gala itself is going to be fancy though, so consider that when you're packing," she added.
He raised a brow slightly, wondering if he would get to see her all dolled up on their mission. "How sharp are we talking here - spit-shine and handkerchiefs or full black tie?"
"Somewhere between the two," she replied, closing the file and handing it back to him before taking a sip of her own scotch. "We'll go with fake names, but no reason to go to any great lengths with physical disguises, I doubt either of us are well known among the Scandinavian historian circles."
He snorted slightly at the truth in her statement – aside from when he had been briefly stationed on the Western front, jumping on a transfer to the Pacific after being caught in a blizzard behind enemy lines, he had never been to Europe. "So what's the plan, plant a tracking device on him?"
She nodded. "I've already spoken to the scientists, they have managed to miniaturise a transponder. It reduces the radius to just over a one hundred miles, but we should be able to track him easily enough."
He pressed his lips together and inclined his head. "Which will hopefully lead us straight back to the Tesseract, or at least give us further leads," he concluded, liking the plan for its simplicity. "Sounds like it should be a simple tag, track, and nab job."
"We can't go through official channels or we'll end up tied up in red tape," she reminded him pointedly. "We're not going to be on American soil. We have no warrant and certainly not enough to make an arrest – we are going to have to do this on the sly,"
He grimaced and took another mouthful of scotch. "So much for just tracking him and confiscating the device," he said. He then frowned as another potential problem occurred to him. "We could be gone for a couple-a days, what are you gonna tell …" he waved his hand vaguely, not remembering the name of her landlady. "...Mother-hen at your hotel?"
Peggy smiled a little, her expression slightly smug and self-satisfied. "I've been planning for the eventuality of having to leave at short notice for a mission," she admitted. "Several times since I moved into the Griffith I have mentioned a fictitious sick relative whom I am worried about. As far as Mrs Fry and the girls at the Griffith are concerned, I will be flying home to England for my aunt's funeral."
The corners of Jack's mouth turned up slightly, impressed with her forethought. "Yeah, you look real cut up about it," he said dryly.
She smiled slightly and then drained the rest of her scotch. There was a long, slightly awkward silence and she stood up, making to leave – she no longer looked quite so sad and he decided that he'd done the right thing in making her stay a little longer.
"You replaced the item with the mock-up?" he asked quietly as she placed the mug back on the desk and picked up her bag containing the device. "Made sure you didn't leave any fingerprints?"
Peggy nodded, the strap of her leather handbag looped around her wrist. She was watching him carefully, as if she thought he might demand that she had the device over – he knew that he probably should, but argued that if she had it then it was still in SSR custody, technically speaking.
He jerked his chin at the office door. "Go home, Carter," he said, dismissing her, then smirked slightly with his feet still up on the desk. "Only the men have to work overtime."
Daniel sighed and rubbed one hand over his eyes, squinting down at the reports he was reading in the dim light. It was getting late and he wanted to go home, but he knew that if he wanted to stay afloat in the office he had to keep on top of his workload.
He raised his head and glanced through the glass to the Chief's office.
Peggy was sat in the chair in front of the desk while Thompson was lounging in Dooley's chair with his feet up on the desk, the two of them having ensconced themselves in the office some minutes previously. She was sipping from a mug and looking over some documents with a faint frown while Jack spoke to her, but Daniel couldn't make out what was being said. She and Thompson were heading out on a mission to Norway, having found a promising lead after their discovery of the Stark weapons, and he couldn't help but feel a little jealous.
He looked back down at the report; jealously was the last thing he needed on top of the anxiety he already felt after having the forged letter that had been sent to the Bureau of Identification. He had kept the matter quiet, not wanting to go to Dooley with half-formed suspicions, and had been working on trying to deduce who the culprit was.
Peggy was, of course, the obvious choice if the persons motive in closing the investigation had been to protect Howard Stark since the two of them were old friends from the war. The problem was that Stark was looking progressively more innocent after they had linked Brannis to the break in, and who ever was protecting the blonde may well have another motive.
Which bought him to the men of the office – any one of them could have ties to the blonde and so far he was hitting brick walls as he tried to narrow it down. His prime suspects so far were Thompson, Krezminsky, and Yauch, all of whom had been on the mission to La Martinique to go after Spider Raymond. He could only assume that something had happened that night that hadn't been reported, causing one of them to send that forged letter protecting the blonde.
The door to the Chief's office opened behind him and he glanced up once more. Peggy emerged with the strap of her handbag wrapped firmly around her wrist and paused at her desk to make a quick phone call that he couldn't make out since she was turned away from him. Then, hanging up the phone, she walked down the bullpen. "Night Daniel," she said with a small, brittle smile as she passed him and he nodded in response.
Staring at her as she walked towards the elevator, an idea came to him. He quickly pulled out the pictures from the night club and, with a small stub of pencil, slowly started to darken the woman's blonde hair.
Peggy flexed her fingers as she descended the steps of Howard's secret penthouse residence and flagged down a cab to take her back to the Griffith, having gone straight to confront him after leaving the office. To say that they had argued had been an understatement – he had betrayed her, lied to her, used her for his own gain. In her opinion he had thoroughly deserved the solid punch she had laid on him.
She could still scarcely believe that he'd had Steve's blood, that he'd had it for months since the war ended. He had stood beside her when they had buried that empty coffin, supporting her in the darkest time of her life, and had never said a single word to her about it. "I know how much Steve means to you, because I know how much he means to me," he'd said, as if that was somehow justification for his lies.
He may claim that his motives were altruistic, trying to protect her and her emotions, but she knew full well that he would be set to substantially increase his own fortune with the scientific secrets the blood could unlock. Her own motives were easily understood and she had told Thompson as much earlier that evening; she simply wanted another chance at keeping Steve safe.
She hadn't been joking when she had said that she could trust the actions of the men at the SSR more than Howard, her oldest friend – Jack may be an utter arse at times, but at least he had always been straight with her in his previous disrespect and he hadn't stopped her from walking out of the office with the stolen device.
Peggy sighed and she paid the cabbie as he reached her hotel, knowing that she still had to stage a worried conversation down the phone that evening about her aunt's declining health; she had phoned the hotel from the SSR office before going to see Howard and pretended to leave a message from a relative in England. She didn't like the necessity of lying to the girls, especially Angie, but with the stringent Mrs Fry as her landlady she knew that it was essential if she wanted to go on this mission.
"I have some flowers for Peggy, may I deliver them to her?" a pale haired delivery man was saying to the woman in question as she entered the Griffith, standing in front of the reception desk and carrying a large bouquet.
"I am Peggy," she said with a slight frown at this highly unexpected delivery as she approached from behind, cutting off Mrs Fry before she could speak.
The man turned towards her and Peggy was instantly on her guard – he wore an ill-fitting, probably stolen uniform and there was the unmistakable outline of a gun shoved into the belt, poorly concealed by his shirt.
"Is this a suitor of yours, Miss Carter?" Mrs Fry asked, disapproval ringing in her tone as she looked the pale haired man up and down.
"It most certainly is not," Peggy said firmly, still eyeing the man lest he take the risk and attack in front of dozens of witnesses.
"I am merely the delivery man," he explained, brushing their comments aside as he handed the impressive vase of flowers to her, his narrowed gaze never once leaving her face. Knowing that the vase would make an effective weapon if the situation demanded it, Peggy took the flowers flicked open the card lodged among them as the girls tittered behind her.
With love on your birthday, it read – clearly not a message for her.
"So I see," she said coolly, staring the delivery man down once more, who seemed loathe to leave.
It appeared that they were at an impasse - she would not make a scene or blow her cover here as an Agent, and he could not attack her in front of so many people.
Mrs Fry unwittingly diffused the tense situation. "Having delivered your flowers you may now leave," she ordered the pale haired man sternly and, left with little choice, he grudgingly left the hotel with one last, baleful stare in her direction. Mrs Fry sniffed as the door closed behind him and turned her gaze to Peggy. "Miss Carter, I hope you are aware that as your de-facto guardian while living in the Griffith it is my duty to screen any young men you may be courting," she said in a prim, fussy voice.
"I am well aware of that, Mrs Fry," Peggy replied soothingly, wanting to keep the peace.
Mrs Fry looked pointedly down at the bouquet of flowers, the question evident behind the rims of her glasses. "It appears that these were sent anonymously," Peggy added, taking care to keep her tone demure and calm to appease her landlady. "I have no idea who they could possibly be from."
The girls hovering around the desk tittered at the idea of her having a secret admirer and Mrs Fry sniffed once more, shuffling some note cards around the desk. "You had a phone call while you were at work, Miss Carter. It sounded urgent and they wished you to return the message as soon as possible," she said in a clipped tone, handing her the message and fake return number that she had left for herself earlier.
Placing the flowers on the desk, Peggy stepped to the side to use the hall phone, preparing for the small piece of acting that she now had to do to secure herself several nights of freedom from the Griffith. She glanced warily out of the front doors as she dialled. There was no sign of the pale haired man who had delivered the flowers but she knew full well what his presence had meant - the Griffith was being watched and she was clearly a target.
On the morning of the mission to Norway Peggy Carter walked into the office drying her red-rimmed eyes on a handkerchief. She ignored all of the other agents as her heels clicked down the bullpen, settled at her desk, and pulled out a compact mirror to fix her smudged make-up.
It was clear to everyone that she had been crying.
"What's up with Carter?" Sousa said quietly to Krezminsky as she passed them, looking worriedly at her.
Jack glanced up at her and quickly stifled a knowing grin before looking back down at his report. "Five bucks says she's faking it," he drawled casually.
Sousa looked chagrined. "Jesus Jack, do you have to be so callous?" he asked with a note of disgust in his voice.
"That's the bet, take it or leave it," Jack said with a slight shrug, picking up his coffee mug to take a sip.
"I'll take that bet," Krezminsky chimed in, then waved a brown paper bag from a bakery that was sat on his desk. "And I'll raise you this bag of doughnuts against what's left of the scotch you filched form Dooley the other night," he added.
"Done," Jack said instantly, nodding his agreement and snapping the report closed.
"Peg-leg here can settle for us," Krezminsky said, jerking his chin at Daniel, who gave him a baleful look in response to the name. "Go on, see if she's okay."
Not one to pass up an opportunity to speak to Peggy with the torch he was carrying for her, Sousa slowly limped towards her station. "Carter?" he said cautiously, getting her attention from where she was busy with the compact mirror, running the tip of one finger under her eye to repair the smudges. "What's wrong?"
"Hmm?" she replied, glancing questioningly up at him.
"You look …"
"Oh, my fictitious aunt just died," Peggy said with a slight laugh, her voice as clipped and assertive as ever. "I can't very well tell my landlady that I'm off on a covert mission, so she thinks I will be flying out to England this morning to attend a funeral. I just had to say goodbye to Angie and Dottie so a few tears were necessary," she said, then cast Daniel a small smile as she snapped the compact closed. "But it's sweet of you to be concerned."
Jack grinned at Krezminsky. "Pay up," he said smugly.
"Dammit," Ray muttered, reaching into his pocket for the cash and shoving the bag of doughnuts across the desk towards him.
Peggy had her eyes narrowed, watching him carefully as he sauntered towards her with the bag of doughnuts in his hand and some files under his arm. "Was I the subject of a bet?" she wanted to know, mild disapproval in her tone.
"Maybe," he answered with deliberate vagueness, sitting on the edge of her desk as he surveyed the bullpen. "It was a risk after last time though."
"Last time?" she asked questioningly.
"Lost ten bucks to Sousa on that DiMaggio bet," he reminded her, then held the paper bag in her direction. "Here, you can share in the spoils," he added, offering her a doughnut.
Peggy smiled slightly. "You should probably find a way to get your money back," she told him quietly – Jack made a noise of incomprehension and she elaborated. "Joe DiMaggio, the so called 'Yankee Clipper,' has led New York to victory in the past nine titles," she said, flooring him with her knowledge; she took a large bite out of a pastry while he gaped at her. "And by the way, it wasn't him in the picture," she added inelegantly around her mouthful.
"I knew it," he muttered, having been overruled by the Chief that it had been the baseball player in the club that night. He then shot a look at Peggy once more. "Why did you lie?" he wanted to know.
She raised a brow at him and swallowed her mouthful of food. "You forget I was the blonde in those photos you were all studying so intently," she reminded him in a soft, but pointed voice.
"Huh, 'I don't follow boxing,'" Jack said, making his voice high and faux-British as he imitated her. "Not bad, Carter," he allowed. He glanced down at the carpet bag beside her desk as he took a sip of his morning coffee. "You ready to go?" he asked, since they would be heading to Norway straight from work.
"Just need to pick up my tactical gear and the transponder from the lab," she confirmed.
He nodded. "We're staying late after work, wheels up at twenty-one-hundred hours tonight, so we can kip on the plane," he told her and checked his watch, quickly working out the flight time and time difference to Europe. "With the time difference that should get us into Oslo with enough time to check in to the hotel and change before the gala." Shifting the files he still had under one arm, he fished one out and handed it to her. "Here's the finalised dossier for the mission."
There was a brief silence as she flicked through, then she raised her unimpressed gaze to his. "A double room, Thompson?" she asked, a clear note of warning in her voice as she found the reservation for a room in the hotel where the majority of the gala guests were staying.
"Come off it, Carter," he brushed off, having known full well how she would react when he'd made the booking. "It's not like we'll actually be staying there, it's for appearances sake."
She sighed heavily, still not convinced, and closed the dossier. "I realise that we are masquerading as a couple on this mission, but that is no excuse to take liberties, do you understand?" she asked, her tone implicit with threat if he didn't take her warning seriously.
He grinned down at her from his perch on her desk. "What kind of guy do you think I am?"
"The kind that probably has yet another bet going with Krezminsky regarding how far you can get on this mission," she retorted instantly, not missing a beat.
He opened his mouth to refute that, and then remembered hearing Agents Henry, Yauch, and Krezminsky complaining bitterly that he got to go play in the field with Carter when news of their mission had broke around the office, what they would like to do if they were in his shoes, and wagers of just how far he would be able to get with the supposedly frigid and untouchable Agent Carter.
He closed his mouth and then wisely decided to change the subject. "How did it go with Stark?" he wanted to know, taking care to keep his voice low so as not to be overheard.
"We're currently not speaking," Peggy said coolly as she organised the stack of files on her desk – Jack raised a questioning brow at her lofty tone, waiting for her to elaborate. "I gave him a black eye," she admitted, sounding an odd mixture of betrayed and self-satisfied.
"'Atta girl," Jack said with a proud grin, pleased to hear that she had knocked the arrogant and infuriating Howard Stark down a peg or two.
Any further conversation was cut off when the elevator doors at the far end of the bullpen opened to reveal Chief Dooley, looking tired and travel-worn as he headed towards his office. Knowing he had to report to his superior and debrief on everything that had happened since he had been in charge, Jack hopped off Peggy's desk to follow him as he passed them. "Twenty-one-hundred-hours, Carter," he reminded her, before vanishing into the Chief's office after their boss.
Checking her hair one last time to make sure it was perfectly done in the style currently favoured by the Americans, Dottie left her rented room, pulling the door closed behind her to lock it – only to pause at the sight of a man attempting to break into the room next door. "Hey Mister, are you lost?" she asked in her flawless Iowa accent. She knew full well that someone trying to enter Peggy Carter's room did not bode well for her own mission; she was currently shadowing the spy and federal agent for the US government and didn't believe for one minute that she had flown to England that morning for a funeral.
"Young woman, return to your room," the man ordered, attempting to brush her away as he turned his shoulder to hide what he was doing.
"Are you looking for Peggy?" Dottie pressed, maintaining her innocent demeanour as she stepped forward, analysing the situation. The man was probably armed and somewhat proficient at combat, but she knew all to well that he would not be as good as her.
"Return to your room, please," the man said, carefully articulating every word as he raised a gun and pointed it threateningly at her.
She cocked her head to look at it – it had six individual barrels and looked to be automatically loading, much more efficient than the Kovorin TK she was currently using. "Is that pistol an automatic?" she breathed covetously, then raised her steely gaze to look at the man holding the gun. "I want that," she said firmly, the only warning she gave him.
The man didn't have time to fire so much as a single round before she had scaled the wall and snapped his neck.
Peggy stowed her bags in one of the compartments on the SSR's plane and then rapped on the door to the cockpit, indicating to the pilot that they were ready to go. Despite finally – finally – being able to get out on a proper mission she was hesitant about leaving. The man she had seen at the Griffith had her on edge, worrying if the safety of the girls at the hotel was compromised, though she had not seen him again.
Thompson was already sprawled at an angle on one of the long benches with his back braced against a corner, one foot up on the bench and his hat low on his forehead. Peggy sat down opposite him and he glanced at her. "You ever been to Norway before?" he asked conversationally as the rumbling plane started to move.
"I know Oslo reasonably well," she said distractedly, still thinking about the light-haired man she had seen at the Griffith. "It was near a HYDRA incursion and I spent some time there during the war." Back near the start of the war she had been sent to investigate the armed incursion on a small village in the south of Norway and reports that an artifact had been stolen, which had turned out to be the Tesseract – strange that she was still chasing the very same artifact once again, years later.
Jack was frowning slightly at her, clearly having picked up something being off in her tone. "Everything okay?" he wanted to know.
She sighed slightly. "I have reason to believe that the Griffith is being watched," she admitted. "I have no wish to endanger the girls there, so I may shortly have to look for a new apartment once again."
"What makes you think that?" he asked intently, his frown deepening even further and a crease appearing between his brows at the idea on her being in danger.
"A man anonymously gave me flowers," she told him simply, looking out of one of the windows as the plane turned onto the runway.
Jack snorted, evidently amused. "And you don't think there could be any other reason for a guy to do that?" he asked pointedly, one corner of his mouth hitched up into a wry grin.
She scowled deprecatingly at him. "Considering that the card contained a birthday message clearly not meant for me and the delivery man was armed and wearing an ill-fitting uniform whilst trying to gain entrance to the hotel, I'm going to say no," she said coolly, irked at his dismissive attitude after she had confided in him.
That wiped the grin from his face. "He tried to get into the hotel?" he asked, serious once more.
"The attempt was shoddy at best, but it is still a worrying turn of events," Peggy said with a nod of confirmation. "I intend to monitor the situation and start making contingency plans in case there is a risk. Worst comes to worst, I will move into one of Howard's penthouses."
Thompson huffed slightly and moved down so that he was lying on the bench opposite her. "Yeah, 'cause that sounds like such a hardship," he said dryly, shifting to get comfortable. He then shot her a look, clearly thinking of something. "Thought you and Stark weren't talking?" he added questioningly as he lay down.
Peggy paused, then grimaced. "Well that throws a spanner in the works," she muttered, not having considered the fact that she was still furious with her old friend.
"You know, I have a guest room," Jack offered, taking off his hat and loosening his tie slightly.
She frowned at him. "I think I would sooner live as a target in a watched building, Thompson," she said with blunt honesty – they may got on passably well while out in the field, but there was no way on Gods green earth that she would ever consider living with him.
"Words hurt, Carter," he said mildly, stretching out on the bench as the plane started to gain speed down the runway. He folded one arm behind his head and put his hat over his eyes. "Wake me when we get to Oslo."
Back in the dim New York office of the SSR, Chief Dooley glanced up as the typewriter they found in Demidov's hotel room turned itself on and started typing out a message.
Sorry for the very long wait between chapters – I've moved into my new house, started my course and am now on placement in a school, so things have been very busy to say the least!
Hope you all enjoy the chapter, let me know what kind of things you might potentially want to see in the story!
Next up: Jack and Peggy go undercover …
Big thank you to #Craving Honeydukes for proofing for me!
And now back to lesson planning … :p