Yeah, I have no idea what the hell this is.

Prompt: "I just committed a crime and I need to use you as a hostage I am so sorry au."

Enjoy.

Her day had started with Angie's singing in the shower; the sound had filtered through the apartment, coming through the vents and piercing Peggy's ears with the harsh sound. Peggy rolled over, her ankles hitting against each other as she slams the pillow over her head, letting out a groan. Angie was a brilliant roommate most of the time, but when the other girl (bless her heart) was rubbish at singing. She could act her way into any man's heart, but when she started singing, Peggy swears that all of the cats in the building mysteriously disappear for the next hour or so.

But there's no use trying to get anymore sleep, so Peggy rolls over, running a palm over her hair to smooth it down. She steps out of the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. She walks across the floor quickly to the bathroom, grasping the door handle and pulling it open.

Angie pokes her head out from behind the shower curtain when Peggy enters, shooting her a smile. "Hey, English," she calls, before retreating back behind. "Did I wake you?"

Peggy rolls her eyes, grabbing a brush from the side cabinet and starting to pull it through her hair. "Of course not," she replies. "Why would your singing ever wake me? Is that even possible?"

She can almost feel Angie sticking her tongue out behind her back, so Peggy lets a small smile flicker onto her face. "So," Peggy continues, "What time do you get off your shift?"

"Four," the other girl calls, her humming starting up again. "You?"

Peggy flickers her eyes towards Angie's form, trying to ignore the feeling of guilt that creeps up her spine. As much as Angie was a good roommate, she still thought that Peggy's job was at the phone company. "Eight," she replies, pushing away the skittering down her spine. "Same as always, Angie, and I do not think that it is ever going to change."

"Pity," the other girl replies. "Anyway English, I've got an audition later, so I probably won't be home until nine or so. You've got your keys, right?"

Peggy puts the brush down, pulling a face towel from the side and running it under the cold water. She splashes it on her face, looking up into the mirror. "Of course," she replies. "I'm not the one who's always loosing my keys."

"I take offense to that," Angie calls, and Peggy smiles.

She makes her way down the street quickly, trying to get to the telephone company building as soon as possible. She looks at her watch: 8:47 it reads, and she curses, trying to walk as fast as she could without breaking a heel. If she walked into the bullpen with a broken heel, she'd never hear the end of the fragile women taunts.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, police sirens filter up. She'd been looking at her watch instead of where she was going, so when the noise appeared, her head snapped up – and she promptly careens into someone.

"Sorry," she muttered, but she barely had time to utter the words before there's a hand wrapped around her waist, spinning her around and splaying over her stomach. Her muscles tense up and her fingers inch towards the knife she keeps under her dress, but then she feels the press of cold metal against her temple.

Peggy freezes, her hands stilling by her sides. She can't see who is holding her, but judging from the gun against her temple it can't be anyone good.

Suddenly there's warm breath by her ear, tickling and sending chills down her spine. "I'm sorry," a man's voice whispers, "but I've just committed a crime and it appears that I am using you as a hostage."

At least he's honest, she thinks. Peggy tries not to make any sudden movements as the man backs them up. Ordinarily, she'd wrap her ankle around his and force his knee forward, but then there's the matter of the gun pressed to her head. The police sirens come into full circle as the police men carefully get out of their cars, hands stilling in place by their weapons.

"Son," one of them yells. "I'm asking you to let the lady go."

Peggy fights the urge to roll her eyes. She sees how they picture her; the weak woman in the arms of a fierce criminal.

"So," Peggy whispers back. "Is there anyway you can let me go? I'm terribly afraid that I'm going to be late to my job." Act dumb, she tells herself. Just enough to get the knife.

He loosens his grip a bit, a laugh rumbling through him. "Are you – Jesus, you're a piece of work aren't you? You've got a gun to your head and all you can think is that you're going to be late to work?"

She stretches her fingertips down, slipping just underneath her skirt. If she could just reach the hilt of the knife…

"I'm Jack," he offers. "Jack Thompson." His lips brush against her ear.

"This is an awfully bad time to be giving me your name, isn't it?" A few more inches…

"Maybe," the man admits, adjusting his grip on her. "But what the hell? I'm going to jail anyway. Beside, what's your name? And you sound – what is that, British?"

If she could see his face, she'd punch him. "If you can't tell that I'm British, you are dumber than you sound."

"So…is that a no on the name?"

The police officer calls out again for the man – Jack, he had said – to let her go. Jack, in turn, tightens his grip, forcing her hand away from the knife.

"Bloody hell," she whispers, rolling her eyes. Enough. Faster than he can notice (or any of the officers really) she's jabbing her fingernails into his thigh, causing him to let out a bark of pain. Her hand is slamming against his wrist, rendering it unreactive for a split second as she slips her own fingers around the gun.

She steps back a few feet from him, her heels clicking against the pavement, as she raises an eyebrow, getting a good look at her former captor.

He's cute, she thinks. He's got gelled blonde hair that peaks up in the front and darkened blue eyes. She eyes him as he stares at her, impression spreading over his face.

"Nice try," she says, dipping her head towards him, "but not good enough."

The cops swarm him as he puts his hands up, but his gaze doesn't leave hers, even after they force his hands down behind his back. As he's being forced into the back of the police car, he winks at her.

Arsehole. She returns an expression of disbelief in return.

(She makes it to work on time though, refusing to take the police officer's offer of escorting her into work. Bloody hell, that men at the office would've had a field day with that.)

She doesn't see Jack for six months after that, and he quickly slips from her mind. Life goes on; the men continue to treat her as if she's their secretary and Angie scores one small acting job after another, leading to the other girl's immense happiness.

There's a knock on the door one day, early in the morning, just as Peggy's ready to head out the door. She's not surprised, exactly, that there's someone knocking on their door. Angie's got a line of scorned suitors that occasionally show up at their apartment, but never this early in the morning.

Peggy's just putting on her lipstick, sliding it smoothly over her upper lip when she hears, "Why hello there, tall, blond, and handsome. How might I help you?"

Peggy rolls her eyes as she caps the lipstick, setting it clean with her pinkie nail. She runs the brush through her hair one last time before walking out the door, pulling her heel back on as she does.

"Angie," she starts. "Who's at the…" Her voice trails off as she looks up, her eyes narrowing.

It's the blond that point a gun at her head all those months ago. Her hand goes immediately to the knife pressed to her thigh.

"Angie," she says slowly. "Please back away from the door."

Angie raises an eyebrow. "Is this one yours?" She eyes him up and down, and he smirks at her. "Damn, English, I never woulda thought…"

Peggy steps closer to them, causing the man to raise his hands in the air. "Relax," he says, flitting his gaze between the two of them. "I'd just like to talk."

She doesn't belief that for a second, but relaxes her expression, stepping around Angie and grabbing his wrist. "I'll be right back," she calls as she pulls him out.

He doesn't seem armed, but that doesn't stop her from slipping her knife over his throat and slamming him against the wall. "I swear," she growls, "if you come anywhere near her–"

He doesn't look alarmed at the knife on his throat. "I'm here to apologize," he says carefully.

She raises an eyebrow. "And why haven't you been bloody arrested?"

He smirks. "Got off early for good behavior. Anyway," he continues, putting his hand up slowly over hers, bringing the knife down. "I'm just here to apologize."

Her heart pings at those words, but she steps back, running a hand through her hair. "Bloody hell," she snaps, "how daft do you think I am? You used me as a hostage and now you're trying to apologize? How did you even find me?"

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, quirking an eyebrow. "Yes," he replies, answering none of her questions.

She shakes her head. "You're crazy," she tells him. "You're bloody crazy."

"That I am," he smoothly replies. "So – do you accept my apology?"

She gestures towards the staircase. "Get out," she tells him. "Get out."

He dips his head at her, tipping his hat. "Okay then," he says. "Ma'am." And then he's gone, leaving her shaking her head at the pure idiocy of the situation.

Angie pokes her head out of the door. "So," the brunette says, "can I have him?"

Peggy frowns at her.

I just got this idea in my head and could not let it go. It's only slightly Cartson, but I sort of enjoyed writing it.