( once upon a time, there was a war. but a war so long ago and so shouldered out by larger wars involving metal men, aliens, and gods that many, even those who were there, are apt to forget. it was a war where all kinds of people fought — strong, weak, smart, dumb, kind, mean. it was a war that tested humanity's very nature. in the end, fascism and nationalism was rejected and democracy and freedom prevailed. it would be the last war of its kind. or so daniel thought. only several years after the war's end, joseph mccarthy himself began deciding who was american and who wasn't. a lot of people lost their reputations and livelihoods from that witch hunt. meanwhile, in place of nazism, white supremacy and ethnonationalism reared their ugly heads. and an organization that a kid from brooklyn sacrificed his life for began festering in every corner of american society. for daniel, these were the new wars (in addition to the ones that involved making sure the great u. s. of a was always on top of course), and it's a war that ultimately cost him his life.
yet here he is, embarking on a different kind of war. daniel was given another chance at life. this must be his seventh or eighth chance, but who's counting? instead of dying a hero's death in july of 1955, he was saved and brought to the future. this brave, new world daniel is navigating would seem like the antipode of the one he left, but it's not. seems like the more things change, the more things remain the same. he shouldn't be surprised. while good remains constant and everlasting, evil is always forced to change appearances. a rose by any other name, as they say.
thoughts of returning to los angeles or new york city come to mind but, to use that bromide famously spoken by dorothy gale, there's no place like home. so daniel's back in the old neighborhood — jeffries point, boston. but it's not the same. with the accretion of population and wealth, his neighborhood has changed. the apartment building daniel grew up in on maverick street is now a dunkin' donuts. the catholic church on gove street he went to every sunday as a kid closed in 2004. the thoroughbred race track of suffolk downs where his father and uncles would go every saturday is no more, having been bought and turned into a housing and shopping district by an investment group. places change, cultures evolve, time always marches. besides, there's more out there that frighten a local boy — new things, new people, new languages.
despite his trepidation, the future isn't all bad though. there's finally a second tunnel that connects east boston to north end now. almost every book, movie, radio show, and song he can think of is at his fingertips thanks to "google." after eighty-six years, his team finally broke the curse and won a world series. and that new leg, courtesy of jemma simmons, is a hell of a lot better than the wood and leather ones he used for almost a decade. still, all of this is an adjustment. even with the moral support and technical help from everyone, it's still a struggle somedays as he tries to figure out the dishwasher in his apartment or how to pay for his groceries using a plastic little card. as it turns out, however, he's not the only man out of time. captain america survived. as did his best friend, james buchanan barnes. and somehow their tales of survival are just as strange as his. there are days when he wants to call them but how does he introduce himself?
"hello, i'm daniel sousa. i'm the chief of s.h.i.e.l.d., west coast division. well, i was until i was assassinated by hydra in 1955. well, i wasn't killed. the colleague you thought was dead but is now a robot, phil coulson, helped fake my death so i could join his team to ensure s.h.i.e.l.d.'s survival and prevent an alien invasion. also, i briefly dated peggy."
that's a conversation he wants to save for in person. and it's a conversation that may be impossible anytime soon because, even with helping prevent an alien invasion, neither captain rogers nor sergeant barnes are welcomed back in the states quite yet. but just the thought of them out there is enough to soothe him. it's enough to know someone who has a faint idea of where he's been, what he's going through, and won't see him as less because he prefers to use a landline.
this isn't to say or imply that he's been struggling or wallowing in self-misery in his pokey little apartment on london st. in boston all alone. he's been keeping busy, trying to catch up on sixty-fiveish years of history and pop culture and figuring out where's the best place to get a pao de lo. in the month since daniel's moved back home, the members of the gang step in to check on him. for example, when fitzsimmons came by, fitz set up all his electronics while jemma and daniel chatted over english tea, with alya bouncing on his left knee. they've all swung by for a couple hours at least once over the past month.
all except daisy.
but hey, daniel gets it. well — not exactly. he's never found himself in the position of reconnecting with a sibling who's dead in this timeline and allied themselves with a fascist organization in the other. also they both have superpowers. like so many things with daisy, it's unique. he does, however, have experience in returning from war with a life-altering thing and needing time alone to process it. that he gets and is why he's keeping his distance from her. he won't push her. he'll wait until she's ready to see him again. after all, she's busy with her sister and resettling back into normal civilian life (for the time being at least). as his pai always told him: have the patience of job.
still, daniel would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed when his doorbell rang and daisy wasn't on the other side. their time together was brief (and hectic), but he misses her a lot. he'd call or write her a letter but he doesn't have her number and she's not in the phonebook. (yet another thing that he's been informed isn't really a thing in the future. phonebooks have been regulated to free door stoppers or boosts for short people to see over the car's steering wheel. like with everything, google now provides the needed information.)
about a month and a half has passed. it's midafternoon on friday. a light, cool breeze blows through the opened window as the radio on the table nearby plays the daily afternoon concert on whrb, 95.3. daniel knew he could trust his ole alma mater to broadcast the good stuff (aka jazz, blues, classical music, harvard football). the soft string music float through his apartment, reaching daniel in the kitchen, where he's preparing a thai butternut squash lentil soup. before, daniel would find his soup recipes from his sisters, friends, colleagues, and good housekeeping. but, nowadays, he can just type what ingredients he has into google and "soup" and bingo! a soup recipe pops up. add that to the list of things he likes about the future. today's soup is creamy and meatless but protein packed. even though he hasn't gone to church since '53, old habits die hard.
the onions and garlic is just starting to sweat in the dutch oven when the sound of the doorbell cuts through the apartment. he stops and thinks. was coulson stopping by today? no, no. daniel has him scheduled to come by next thursday (god bless coulson, but daniel can only handle so many questions about his war stories and the early days of s.h.i.e.l.d. per visit). as he turns down the heat of the stove, the doorbell rings again. he wipes his hands on a dishrag and makes his way to the door.
he calls out to his visitor to keep them from ringing the bell again, ) Alright, alright, I'm comin'. ( he mutters to himself, ) Keep ya shirt on. ( like he said, old habits die hard so he looks through the peephole to make sure it's not an — ahem unwanted visitor. )
[ the world nearly ended again. if daisy johnson kept a diary, that would be a far too frequent entry, usually accompanied by tales of tragedy and loss. this time is no different, but it is different. there was loss, yes, and grief reemerged from the shadows where it had been tucked away, but there were also gains. two new members of her family, both literal and figurative, each rescued from a terrible end they didn't deserve.
the last few weeks since returning to her own time and defeating the chronicoms have been anything but easy. watching almost every family of the only family she's ever known break off to live their own life has been... even though she knew it was coming, she wasn't prepared for the profound sense of loneliness that fills her up as each of them leaves. fitz, simmons, and their beautiful little girl are looking for their new home in the english countryside, and though they've popped back over a few times to help with shield matters, she knows it won't last. mack and yo-yo are busy rebuilding shield after the damage the chronicom invasion had left behind, along with getting flint settled in the twenty-first century. may's been spending time with her family while helping with the plans for a new shield academy, which seems so odd and yet so perfectly right after the years she's spent training dozens of incredible agents.
and coulson... she's woken up every day terrified it would the one when he would decide he'd had enough. for weeks now, she's lived with the guilt of pushing that button, giving in to the need for the only father she'd ever known despite knowing he wouldn't want to be brought back, so the relief she'd felt at his news was enough to leave her reeling. a year. he'll take a year to decide what to do. in the meantime, he's helping with the rebuilding, though in a different location than may, which is a whole mess that daisy isn't touching with a twenty-foot pole.
then there's kora. the sister she'd never known she had. the sister who'd made horribly misguided choices but still managed to come out on the right side. helping kora deal with the fallout of those choices has been all-consuming. after being released from medical after her brush with actually dying in space, mack had insisted she take a leave of absence to recover and process everything that's happened. it's been hard not having missions to hide behind, but having that time with kora has been a gift. a sometimes painful gift full of grief and anger and too many tears, but they've come out the other side with a stronger bond for it.
maybe that's what pushes her to visit sousa. with the weight of the worry over coulson lifted from her chest and kora settling in for shield training, she can finally breathe a little easier, dread and fear and grief unclenching from around her heart. she hadn't wanted sousa to see her like that, not when he's dealing with so much himself.
if she's being honest with herself, though, it's more than just that. whatever this is between them... it's complicated. at least, it is for her. they'd been in the middle of a war, with emotions running high and the threat of imminent death constantly looming over them. it would make perfect sense if one or both of them had gotten carried away and done things they might regret later or given the wrong impression. logically, she knows it's ridiculous, that sousa isn't that kind of person and she sure as hell isn't when it comes to relationships, but logic doesn't have much of a place in her world of always expecting the worst. because how could someone as incredible as daniel sousa want to be in a relationship with someone as broken as daisy johnson? he clearly hasn't seen just how broken she is. she's done too good a job of hiding her brittle edges. no, she isn't going to let herself hope for that, especially not when she'd just disappeared on him like this; she'll be lucky if he still wants to be her friend.
the drive to boston is full of anxiety, and she's practically vibrating with it by the time she arrives and takes the stairs up to daniel's apartment. (coulson had very helpfully provided the address with a pointed look when she'd admitted she hadn't been in touch with sousa since he'd moved to the city.) ringing the doorbell is a terrifying experience and she very nearly bolts right back out the door when she hears his voice call out. it takes a considerable amount of willpower to stay standing right where she is, nervously adjusting her grip on the potted houseplant in her arms.
( daniel puts his left eye to the peephole. damn jack thompson found himself in a coma and a wheelchair for several months because he forgot the first rule of spycraft which is, always check who's at the door before you answer it. not that daniel thinks he's developed any enemies in his only forty-five days in the twenty-first century although he was a little aggressive at fernandes fish market but he did have that norwegian cod first. anyways, it's a lesson he needs to now amend and modify. these days folks can wear a mask that completely changes their appearance. no longer do spies have to moonlight as theatrical makeup artists. with a push of a button, why, daniel could look and sound like howard stark if he wanted (once he soaked himself in a gallon of eau de toilette spray). but these are all scenarios and worries that daniel would never need to concern himself with, if he wanted. he could spend the rest of his life in this apartment in jeffries point, listening to whrb and making soup from recipes on the internet. governments could fall, alliances could shift, life could pass by, and daniel could stay here in his little bubble. but, again, these are concerns for another time, another place. right now his biggest concern is burning the onions and garlic if his visitor keeps him for too long.
his vision focuses through the tiny pinhole and in the dimness of the hallway. he'll have to remind his landlord to replace the lights because it really is too dark in the hallways and those young girls at the end of the hall work late and he's worried that something may happen to any of them in the darkness of the hallway and — oh.
daniel takes a step back.
and clutches for the cane that defined his life for almost ten years. (it's not there, something else he's getting accustomed to.)
the almost overwhelming want for daisy of a second ago has vanished, replaced by that familiar anxiety spiking through him. he regresses — back to a twenty-eight year old dredging up the courage to ask one peggy carter out. back to a twenty-six year old desperately trying not to embarrass ana with his new leg that he was still figuring out on what turned out to be their last date. back to a thirteen year old desperately trying to woo the prettiest girl in all of east boston, ana weinhardt, and only succeeding once he started getting his name in the papers after setting state records on the track. ultimately, back to that little snot-nosed kid from eastie who would cook up tall tales to scare his sisters but all the while scared of la coca.
he told his tall tale. he wanted her here. so why is he acting like a scaredy-cat now? it's the same reason why the wait before the battle is the hardest. why that trip across the atlantic to great britain, crammed in a troopship with a thousand other guys like sardines, was the most nerve-wracking time of the war.
it's hard to sit still when there's a wolf pack at the door.
during the past month and a half, daniel could let his mind wander, imagining what daisy would say or do if she was with him at that moment. she was smiling and laughing in these daydreams. he was too. but, in none of these daydreams, did he think of the conversations they'd have to have. was their intimate moments true or just him ascribing heightened meaning to a random act of stress? he thought it was true. he felt something between them. but he thought the same about peggy and that ended on a sour note. should he risk his heart yet again or keep it buried, protecting himself? maybe all this logorrhea is an excuse to stop from living. stay in this apartment with his whrb, and his soup, and his demarcation.
well, pardon his portuguese but foda-se! he's fought wolves before. what's one more? besides, daniel's sure that his sisters would rise from their graves just on principle only if he left a woman out in the cold. wolves, he's got. his sisters? never.
finally, a few seconds since he called out that he was coming, daniel unlocks the door and swings it open. the doorknob takes the place of the cane, providing him a measure of comfort and security in his left hand. he takes in the sight of her. she looks good. he inhales a breath, trying to dampen the loud pounding of his heart in his ears and steady his nerves. he goes for a casual, cool tone in his voice. happy to report that he succeeds. ) Hey.
[ for the few seconds that pass in between that call from within and the door finally opening, daisy goes through one of the worst emotional rollercoasters of her life. with only a few inches of door between them, she can feel daniel there on the other side, her attention focused so intently on that space that she couldn't possibly miss him. weeks may have passed since they were last together but she'd still know his vibration anywhere.
in those seconds when the silence stretches into hours, fear grips at her chest, twisting like a fist around her heart. what if he decides to just let her stand out there like an idiot, waiting for a chance that she's already lost? what if he opens the door and tells her to leave, that her silence has caused too much damage and he's not interested in her mess anymore? what if he's already started moving on with his life and there's no room for her—
but then the door is swinging open and just the mere sight of him standing there is enough to send relief rushing through her. he's there and he's okay, still in one piece and very firmly in this timeline. that relief is short-lived, though — his cool voice sends her anxiety spiking again, leaving her shifting her weight on her feet as she struggles to figure out what to say. ]
Hey. [ very eloquent. she clears her throat, looking past him into the apartment because she's not sure if she'll actually get to see inside, and then looks down. right, the plant, her own personal crutch against this incredibly overwhelming situation. ] I brought you a housewarming gift. Sorry it's late.
( from her words, a smile blooms on his face, dispersing some of the uneasiness jolting through him. daniel would like to believe that he's gotten good at reading people — reading their thoughts, their emotions, their next movements. it's a necessary trait for any spy to develop if they want to survive more than a day. so it's easy to pick up on daisy's emotions: the way she shifts her feet, the grip on the potted plant tightening, the nerves cracking her voice. to put it simply, she's aquiver with fright. and, in a way, it kinda soothes daniel. they're in the same boat; both wracked with nerves.
if daisy wasn't interested in him any longer, she didn't have to come by. she could've just disappeared and never see him again. that's a valid option. but, no, he didn't think she was that kind of person. from the, admittedly, very short time that daniel's known her, daisy johnson does not run away from her problems. if she was indeed no longer interested in him, at least she came in person to tell him. he likes to think that this courtesy would attenuate the heartbreak that may or may not be coming. (of course, he'd still drown himself in soup and billie holiday, but hey. at least he finally got an answer to that burning question.)
daniel tilts his chin, gesturing to the plant. ) Better late than never. ( that's not an outdated phrase, right? he swears he heard it on a television commercial a couple days prior. granted, it was for a medicare ad (whatever medicare is, but he assumes it's a program for senior citizens, what with the elderly actors and the spokesman mentioning being for those over sixty-five years old). so it could be a phrase used only by his generation. )
[ damn, he has a nice smile. she'd forgotten just how nice in the weeks since they last saw each other but those warm fuzzy feelings are bubbling right back up again now. it helps to counter the nerves a bit, because no way could he smile at her like that while preparing to slam the door in her face. daniel sousa might be a highly trained spy capable of a great many things, but she doesn't believe he's capable of that. at least, not with his gentlemanly sensibilities.
better late than never. it's certainly not an outdated phrase, and the words leave her smiling back at him as relief floods through her. ]
I was hoping you'd say that. [ though 'hoping' is putting it mildly. holding the plant up, she turns it so he can see the little card poked into the soil. ] It's got instructions and everything. I went for low maintenance so, hopefully, you won't turn into a plant killer because of me.
[ is she rambling? a bit. but she's still standing in the hallway and this all seemed so much easier when they were busy trying to save the world. where's a high-stress situation when you need one? ]
( daniel's head tilts, brown eyes slowly going over the big red words on the little card poking from the soil, stating the species and its care instructions. lightly chuckling, he smiles again and returns his gaze back to daisy. ) I'm sure a city boy like me can figure it out.
( their brown eyes meet. a slight breeze ruffles the millefleur curtains as the classical piece ends on the radio and the college aged host reappears to recite the piece's name. but the name falls on deaf ears. to daniel, it's like time stops for a moment. right here, right now, it's just the two of them. what does it matter that captain rogers and his friends are still not allowed back in the states? what does it matter that alien ships from thano's failed quest still litter the jungles of wakanda? what does it matter that, right now, the literal god of thunder, thor, is arguing with the nations of earth to accept his people as refugees? and what does it matter that he's struggling to find his place in this new world? all that matters to daniel is the woman standing across the threshold of his door. a woman who has endured so much pain and faced so many threats and, yet, has come out a stronger person. who cares about anything else?
the freedom brought on by the thought jolts him awake from his somnolence. it's like he's been asleep for the past month and a half. it's the twenty-first century! captain rogers is alive! aliens exist! the literal god of thunder, thor, is a real figure! daniel's in a new world with all these new opportunities laid out in front of him! all he has to do is reach out and stick his foot in the breadfruit (don't ask, it's a portuguese idiom his pai would always say).
daniel takes a half step forward towards daisy, letting go of the doorknob. it's no longer needed.
suddenly, the scent of something burning fills his nostrils. it takes his brain a second to register the smell.
his soup!
daniel hisses, ) Oh shoot. ( turning on his heels, he rushes back to the kitchen and pulls the pot of smoking blackened onions and garlic off the burner. the pot gets pushed into the sink. the water leftover at the bottom of the sink sizzles from the heat. )
[ she'd forgotten how nice his eyes are too. it's only been a few weeks and yet everything feels new again, like any progress they'd made in their time together was put on pause and is still trying to catch up. the way she wants to both kiss him senseless and run right out of the building speaks volumes of the way he still affects her when their eyes meet and time seems to stop.
she'd missed this. the feeling of falling for someone, the excitement and thrill mixed with sheer terror and a yearning for something she hasn't had in so long. and even though her anxiety is trying to tell her there isn't a hope in hell of this working out, she remembers all those time loops and the way she now knows without a shred of doubt who daniel sousa is, and she tells that anxiety to shut the hell up.
he starts to move toward her and her heartbeat quickens, her pulse racing at all the possibilities — and then that smell reaches her as well. it really is hard not to laugh at the way he rushes, but she does her very best.
rather than continue standing in the hall waiting for an express invitation, she hesitantly enters the apartment, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. with a cursory glance around, she notes the open window and walks to it, carefully setting the plant down on the nearest flat surface. then she takes a moment to make sure the window is open as far as it can go before turning back and moving to the edge of the kitchen with a cautiously curious expression. ]
Anything I can do to help? [ he's already burned something, so whatever her disastrous skills can manage surely has to be better than that. right? ]
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yet here he is, embarking on a different kind of war. daniel was given another chance at life. this must be his seventh or eighth chance, but who's counting? instead of dying a hero's death in july of 1955, he was saved and brought to the future. this brave, new world daniel is navigating would seem like the antipode of the one he left, but it's not. seems like the more things change, the more things remain the same. he shouldn't be surprised. while good remains constant and everlasting, evil is always forced to change appearances. a rose by any other name, as they say.
thoughts of returning to los angeles or new york city come to mind but, to use that bromide famously spoken by dorothy gale, there's no place like home. so daniel's back in the old neighborhood — jeffries point, boston. but it's not the same. with the accretion of population and wealth, his neighborhood has changed. the apartment building daniel grew up in on maverick street is now a dunkin' donuts. the catholic church on gove street he went to every sunday as a kid closed in 2004. the thoroughbred race track of suffolk downs where his father and uncles would go every saturday is no more, having been bought and turned into a housing and shopping district by an investment group. places change, cultures evolve, time always marches. besides, there's more out there that frighten a local boy — new things, new people, new languages.
despite his trepidation, the future isn't all bad though. there's finally a second tunnel that connects east boston to north end now. almost every book, movie, radio show, and song he can think of is at his fingertips thanks to "google." after eighty-six years, his team finally broke the curse and won a world series. and that new leg, courtesy of jemma simmons, is a hell of a lot better than the wood and leather ones he used for almost a decade. still, all of this is an adjustment. even with the moral support and technical help from everyone, it's still a struggle somedays as he tries to figure out the dishwasher in his apartment or how to pay for his groceries using a plastic little card. as it turns out, however, he's not the only man out of time. captain america survived. as did his best friend, james buchanan barnes. and somehow their tales of survival are just as strange as his. there are days when he wants to call them but how does he introduce himself?
"hello, i'm daniel sousa. i'm the chief of s.h.i.e.l.d., west coast division. well, i was until i was assassinated by hydra in 1955. well, i wasn't killed. the colleague you thought was dead but is now a robot, phil coulson, helped fake my death so i could join his team to ensure s.h.i.e.l.d.'s survival and prevent an alien invasion. also, i briefly dated peggy."
that's a conversation he wants to save for in person. and it's a conversation that may be impossible anytime soon because, even with helping prevent an alien invasion, neither captain rogers nor sergeant barnes are welcomed back in the states quite yet. but just the thought of them out there is enough to soothe him. it's enough to know someone who has a faint idea of where he's been, what he's going through, and won't see him as less because he prefers to use a landline.
this isn't to say or imply that he's been struggling or wallowing in self-misery in his pokey little apartment on london st. in boston all alone. he's been keeping busy, trying to catch up on sixty-fiveish years of history and pop culture and figuring out where's the best place to get a pao de lo. in the month since daniel's moved back home, the members of the gang step in to check on him. for example, when fitzsimmons came by, fitz set up all his electronics while jemma and daniel chatted over english tea, with alya bouncing on his left knee. they've all swung by for a couple hours at least once over the past month.
all except daisy.
but hey, daniel gets it. well — not exactly. he's never found himself in the position of reconnecting with a sibling who's dead in this timeline and allied themselves with a fascist organization in the other. also they both have superpowers. like so many things with daisy, it's unique. he does, however, have experience in returning from war with a life-altering thing and needing time alone to process it. that he gets and is why he's keeping his distance from her. he won't push her. he'll wait until she's ready to see him again. after all, she's busy with her sister and resettling back into normal civilian life (for the time being at least). as his pai always told him: have the patience of job.
still, daniel would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed when his doorbell rang and daisy wasn't on the other side. their time together was brief (and hectic), but he misses her a lot. he'd call or write her a letter but he doesn't have her number and she's not in the phonebook. (yet another thing that he's been informed isn't really a thing in the future. phonebooks have been regulated to free door stoppers or boosts for short people to see over the car's steering wheel. like with everything, google now provides the needed information.)
about a month and a half has passed. it's midafternoon on friday. a light, cool breeze blows through the opened window as the radio on the table nearby plays the daily afternoon concert on whrb, 95.3. daniel knew he could trust his ole alma mater to broadcast the good stuff (aka jazz, blues, classical music, harvard football). the soft string music float through his apartment, reaching daniel in the kitchen, where he's preparing a thai butternut squash lentil soup. before, daniel would find his soup recipes from his sisters, friends, colleagues, and good housekeeping. but, nowadays, he can just type what ingredients he has into google and "soup" and bingo! a soup recipe pops up. add that to the list of things he likes about the future. today's soup is creamy and meatless but protein packed. even though he hasn't gone to church since '53, old habits die hard.
the onions and garlic is just starting to sweat in the dutch oven when the sound of the doorbell cuts through the apartment. he stops and thinks. was coulson stopping by today? no, no. daniel has him scheduled to come by next thursday (god bless coulson, but daniel can only handle so many questions about his war stories and the early days of s.h.i.e.l.d. per visit). as he turns down the heat of the stove, the doorbell rings again. he wipes his hands on a dishrag and makes his way to the door.
he calls out to his visitor to keep them from ringing the bell again, ) Alright, alright, I'm comin'. ( he mutters to himself, ) Keep ya shirt on. ( like he said, old habits die hard so he looks through the peephole to make sure it's not an — ahem unwanted visitor. )
no subject
the last few weeks since returning to her own time and defeating the chronicoms have been anything but easy. watching almost every family of the only family she's ever known break off to live their own life has been... even though she knew it was coming, she wasn't prepared for the profound sense of loneliness that fills her up as each of them leaves. fitz, simmons, and their beautiful little girl are looking for their new home in the english countryside, and though they've popped back over a few times to help with shield matters, she knows it won't last. mack and yo-yo are busy rebuilding shield after the damage the chronicom invasion had left behind, along with getting flint settled in the twenty-first century. may's been spending time with her family while helping with the plans for a new shield academy, which seems so odd and yet so perfectly right after the years she's spent training dozens of incredible agents.
and coulson... she's woken up every day terrified it would the one when he would decide he'd had enough. for weeks now, she's lived with the guilt of pushing that button, giving in to the need for the only father she'd ever known despite knowing he wouldn't want to be brought back, so the relief she'd felt at his news was enough to leave her reeling. a year. he'll take a year to decide what to do. in the meantime, he's helping with the rebuilding, though in a different location than may, which is a whole mess that daisy isn't touching with a twenty-foot pole.
then there's kora. the sister she'd never known she had. the sister who'd made horribly misguided choices but still managed to come out on the right side. helping kora deal with the fallout of those choices has been all-consuming. after being released from medical after her brush with actually dying in space, mack had insisted she take a leave of absence to recover and process everything that's happened. it's been hard not having missions to hide behind, but having that time with kora has been a gift. a sometimes painful gift full of grief and anger and too many tears, but they've come out the other side with a stronger bond for it.
maybe that's what pushes her to visit sousa. with the weight of the worry over coulson lifted from her chest and kora settling in for shield training, she can finally breathe a little easier, dread and fear and grief unclenching from around her heart. she hadn't wanted sousa to see her like that, not when he's dealing with so much himself.
if she's being honest with herself, though, it's more than just that. whatever this is between them... it's complicated. at least, it is for her. they'd been in the middle of a war, with emotions running high and the threat of imminent death constantly looming over them. it would make perfect sense if one or both of them had gotten carried away and done things they might regret later or given the wrong impression. logically, she knows it's ridiculous, that sousa isn't that kind of person and she sure as hell isn't when it comes to relationships, but logic doesn't have much of a place in her world of always expecting the worst. because how could someone as incredible as daniel sousa want to be in a relationship with someone as broken as daisy johnson? he clearly hasn't seen just how broken she is. she's done too good a job of hiding her brittle edges. no, she isn't going to let herself hope for that, especially not when she'd just disappeared on him like this; she'll be lucky if he still wants to be her friend.
the drive to boston is full of anxiety, and she's practically vibrating with it by the time she arrives and takes the stairs up to daniel's apartment. (coulson had very helpfully provided the address with a pointed look when she'd admitted she hadn't been in touch with sousa since he'd moved to the city.) ringing the doorbell is a terrifying experience and she very nearly bolts right back out the door when she hears his voice call out. it takes a considerable amount of willpower to stay standing right where she is, nervously adjusting her grip on the potted houseplant in her arms.
please don't let this be a terrible idea. ]
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his vision focuses through the tiny pinhole and in the dimness of the hallway. he'll have to remind his landlord to replace the lights because it really is too dark in the hallways and those young girls at the end of the hall work late and he's worried that something may happen to any of them in the darkness of the hallway and — oh.
daniel takes a step back.
and clutches for the cane that defined his life for almost ten years. (it's not there, something else he's getting accustomed to.)
the almost overwhelming want for daisy of a second ago has vanished, replaced by that familiar anxiety spiking through him. he regresses — back to a twenty-eight year old dredging up the courage to ask one peggy carter out. back to a twenty-six year old desperately trying not to embarrass ana with his new leg that he was still figuring out on what turned out to be their last date. back to a thirteen year old desperately trying to woo the prettiest girl in all of east boston, ana weinhardt, and only succeeding once he started getting his name in the papers after setting state records on the track. ultimately, back to that little snot-nosed kid from eastie who would cook up tall tales to scare his sisters but all the while scared of la coca.
he told his tall tale. he wanted her here. so why is he acting like a scaredy-cat now? it's the same reason why the wait before the battle is the hardest. why that trip across the atlantic to great britain, crammed in a troopship with a thousand other guys like sardines, was the most nerve-wracking time of the war.
it's hard to sit still when there's a wolf pack at the door.
during the past month and a half, daniel could let his mind wander, imagining what daisy would say or do if she was with him at that moment. she was smiling and laughing in these daydreams. he was too. but, in none of these daydreams, did he think of the conversations they'd have to have. was their intimate moments true or just him ascribing heightened meaning to a random act of stress? he thought it was true. he felt something between them. but he thought the same about peggy and that ended on a sour note. should he risk his heart yet again or keep it buried, protecting himself? maybe all this logorrhea is an excuse to stop from living. stay in this apartment with his whrb, and his soup, and his demarcation.
well, pardon his portuguese but foda-se! he's fought wolves before. what's one more? besides, daniel's sure that his sisters would rise from their graves just on principle only if he left a woman out in the cold. wolves, he's got. his sisters? never.
finally, a few seconds since he called out that he was coming, daniel unlocks the door and swings it open. the doorknob takes the place of the cane, providing him a measure of comfort and security in his left hand. he takes in the sight of her. she looks good. he inhales a breath, trying to dampen the loud pounding of his heart in his ears and steady his nerves. he goes for a casual, cool tone in his voice. happy to report that he succeeds. ) Hey.
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in those seconds when the silence stretches into hours, fear grips at her chest, twisting like a fist around her heart. what if he decides to just let her stand out there like an idiot, waiting for a chance that she's already lost? what if he opens the door and tells her to leave, that her silence has caused too much damage and he's not interested in her mess anymore? what if he's already started moving on with his life and there's no room for her—
but then the door is swinging open and just the mere sight of him standing there is enough to send relief rushing through her. he's there and he's okay, still in one piece and very firmly in this timeline. that relief is short-lived, though — his cool voice sends her anxiety spiking again, leaving her shifting her weight on her feet as she struggles to figure out what to say. ]
Hey. [ very eloquent. she clears her throat, looking past him into the apartment because she's not sure if she'll actually get to see inside, and then looks down. right, the plant, her own personal crutch against this incredibly overwhelming situation. ] I brought you a housewarming gift. Sorry it's late.
[ smooth, johnson. oh so smooth. ]
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if daisy wasn't interested in him any longer, she didn't have to come by. she could've just disappeared and never see him again. that's a valid option. but, no, he didn't think she was that kind of person. from the, admittedly, very short time that daniel's known her, daisy johnson does not run away from her problems. if she was indeed no longer interested in him, at least she came in person to tell him. he likes to think that this courtesy would attenuate the heartbreak that may or may not be coming. (of course, he'd still drown himself in soup and billie holiday, but hey. at least he finally got an answer to that burning question.)
daniel tilts his chin, gesturing to the plant. ) Better late than never. ( that's not an outdated phrase, right? he swears he heard it on a television commercial a couple days prior. granted, it was for a medicare ad (whatever medicare is, but he assumes it's a program for senior citizens, what with the elderly actors and the spokesman mentioning being for those over sixty-five years old). so it could be a phrase used only by his generation. )
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better late than never. it's certainly not an outdated phrase, and the words leave her smiling back at him as relief floods through her. ]
I was hoping you'd say that. [ though 'hoping' is putting it mildly. holding the plant up, she turns it so he can see the little card poked into the soil. ] It's got instructions and everything. I went for low maintenance so, hopefully, you won't turn into a plant killer because of me.
[ is she rambling? a bit. but she's still standing in the hallway and this all seemed so much easier when they were busy trying to save the world. where's a high-stress situation when you need one? ]
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( their brown eyes meet. a slight breeze ruffles the millefleur curtains as the classical piece ends on the radio and the college aged host reappears to recite the piece's name. but the name falls on deaf ears. to daniel, it's like time stops for a moment. right here, right now, it's just the two of them. what does it matter that captain rogers and his friends are still not allowed back in the states? what does it matter that alien ships from thano's failed quest still litter the jungles of wakanda? what does it matter that, right now, the literal god of thunder, thor, is arguing with the nations of earth to accept his people as refugees? and what does it matter that he's struggling to find his place in this new world? all that matters to daniel is the woman standing across the threshold of his door. a woman who has endured so much pain and faced so many threats and, yet, has come out a stronger person. who cares about anything else?
the freedom brought on by the thought jolts him awake from his somnolence. it's like he's been asleep for the past month and a half. it's the twenty-first century! captain rogers is alive! aliens exist! the literal god of thunder, thor, is a real figure! daniel's in a new world with all these new opportunities laid out in front of him! all he has to do is reach out and stick his foot in the breadfruit (don't ask, it's a portuguese idiom his pai would always say).
daniel takes a half step forward towards daisy, letting go of the doorknob. it's no longer needed.
suddenly, the scent of something burning fills his nostrils. it takes his brain a second to register the smell.
his soup!
daniel hisses, ) Oh shoot. ( turning on his heels, he rushes back to the kitchen and pulls the pot of smoking blackened onions and garlic off the burner. the pot gets pushed into the sink. the water leftover at the bottom of the sink sizzles from the heat. )
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she'd missed this. the feeling of falling for someone, the excitement and thrill mixed with sheer terror and a yearning for something she hasn't had in so long. and even though her anxiety is trying to tell her there isn't a hope in hell of this working out, she remembers all those time loops and the way she now knows without a shred of doubt who daniel sousa is, and she tells that anxiety to shut the hell up.
he starts to move toward her and her heartbeat quickens, her pulse racing at all the possibilities — and then that smell reaches her as well. it really is hard not to laugh at the way he rushes, but she does her very best.
rather than continue standing in the hall waiting for an express invitation, she hesitantly enters the apartment, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. with a cursory glance around, she notes the open window and walks to it, carefully setting the plant down on the nearest flat surface. then she takes a moment to make sure the window is open as far as it can go before turning back and moving to the edge of the kitchen with a cautiously curious expression. ]
Anything I can do to help? [ he's already burned something, so whatever her disastrous skills can manage surely has to be better than that. right? ]