may I hold you, as you fall to sleep when the world is closing in, and you can't breathe may I love you, may I be your shield when no one can be found, may I lay you down ♫
[ This wasn't part of the plan.
The thought goes through Daisy Johnson's mind a thousand times as she walks the streets of 1940s New York City. The clothes she wears feel wrong, like she's in a costume with hair and makeup to match, but this is real. The Zephyr had jumped without her, a glitch in the system that had sent them hurtling forward in time seconds before she'd reached the ship. It had blinked out of existence right in front of her eyes, leaving her standing in an empty lot on the edge of one of the boroughs, alone and without any idea what to do next.
At least the Chronicoms seem to have jumped as well. She doesn't have to worry about them messing up the timeline, only herself, which is... difficult. Ripples, not waves. It's a mantra she's repeated hourly, keeping her head low as she moves through the city, realizing that she might be stuck here for a while. Days, maybe. Weeks. Years. There's no telling when the Zephyr might pop up — there's no telling if it ever will. She might be stuck here for the rest of her life, seeing the team again only as an old woman when they eventually pop back up again. The thought is beyond terrifying if she's honest. The very idea of never seeing her family again is horrifying.
Maybe that's why she ends up back in the part of town where she and the team had been just hours earlier. The speakeasy turned SHIELD watering hole, except it's not even SHIELD yet. Strategic Scientific Reserve is stamped across her flawless identification and she can't stand to look at it. She is a SHIELD agent and her team is out there, somewhere, without their strongest fighter while she—
She orders another drink from her seat at the end of the bar. ]
[ It's been a long day, filled with more paperwork to fill out and reports to write than is healthy for any one individual to have to contend with, but the work day is over now, and Sousa's pulled up a spot at the bar, and there's a glass containing an amber liquid resting on the surface in front of him.
He's about to take a drink from it when he notices the girl- woman, rather, who's seated just a few bar stools away from him. If anyone were to ask him, he'd say he doesn't come here often, but that would be a half-truth. He does frequent this particular bar often enough that he can recognize at least half of the regular clientele, and he can safely say she's not one of them.
Is it his business? Of course not. He's only here for a drink and to unwind at the end of a long day, but as clichéd as it is, she's caught his eye. Maybe it's the way she carries herself, or maybe it's how she seems just the slightest bit troubled by something, but he finds himself wondering about her, even though he knows he has no business doing so.
He knows how this will play out: one of them will end up leaving first, and odds are good their paths will never cross again. But fate, or fortune, or whichever it actually is, seems to have different ideas. Draining his glass, Sousa grabs hold of his crutch, and pushes himself up into a standing position, intending to pay for his drink and head home.
But before he can do so, his elbow catches the glass just right, and as he's turning, said glass goes falling off the bar and onto the floor where it shatters.
So much for a graceful exit. The bartender is glaring, and Sousa's down on the floor, trying to collect the larger pieces with one hand while propping himself up with his crutch in the other. It's about as successful as one would expect, but he can't just leave the mess there for someone else to clean up. ]
[ Lost in her own thoughts, she doesn't actually notice her fellow bar patron until the sound of the glass hitting the floor jolts her out of that twisting spiral of dismay. It's shocking and shoots a burst of adrenaline through her system, but all it takes for her nerves to settle is one look at the man trying to clean up the mess he's made.
The silver crutch is a clue, of course, but she'd recognize that profile anywhere. Daniel Sousa, one of the first agents of SHIELD and Peggy Carter's old partner. Daniel Sousa, who Coulson had waxed poetic about on more than one occasion. A legend, living and breathing just feet away from her... in post-WWII New York.
Maybe three seconds pass of her watching him before she grabs a napkin and slides off her chair. With heels tapping against the hardwood floor, she stops within reach of him and crouches down to start picking up pieces as well, carefully depositing them into the napkin that is conveniently held out between them. ]
You sure you're licensed to operate that thing under the influence? [ The words slip out while she's picking up a smaller piece with care, her eyes focused on the task at hand but at least some of her attention focused on him as humor colors the words. Not malicious humor — there's nothing hurtful intended in the gentle jab and she hopes he gets that. ]
[ This really is very embarrassing, because he's usually not so clumsy, even with the bad leg and the crutch. But at least the mess is contained to a relatively small area, and he's making decent progress picking up the glass. He's so absorbed with the task that it takes him by surprise when the pretty woman from the end of the bar stoops down and starts helping pick up the pieces. ]
Uh-
[ He opens his mouth before he even knows what he's going to say, but then she's coming at him with that line, and his reaction is to become a little bit flustered, even if he can recognize the humor behind it. ]
Of course I am. I've only had it for about three years. I should know my way around it by now. [ But then he has to pause to think about exactly how long it's been since he lost his leg and took up carrying a crutch to aid in walking, and while he's doing so, he absentmindedly reaches for another piece of glass, only to accidentally prick his finger with it.
It's just enough to superficially puncture the skin, but he hisses and glares at the offending piece. This really isn't helping disprove his claim, is it? ]
[ Okay, so not entirely the joking reply she'd been hoping for, but also not a terrible response. At least he seems to have realized it was a joke and he's not offended. That would have been a terrible first impression to make with a literal SHIELD legend.
A legend who is, apparently, a bit of an idiot, because the next second he's gone and cut himself. Daisy narrows her eyes at the small cut, making sure it's nothing too serious, before turning an incredibly unimpressed look on said idiot. ]
Oh yeah, you've absolutely got it. But while you've got it, I'm going to keep helping so maybe we can save the rest of your fingers from that same gruesome fate.
[ And really, they're almost done, so just cool it, Agent Sousa. ]
[ Ordinarily, he might have responded with a joke or a quip, but it has been an awfully long day and he's just thoroughly embarrassed himself with the broken glass. And besides, she's inconviencing herself helping to clean up his mistake, and that's just adding to his consternation. ]
I'm serious, I'm sure you didn't come here to pick up glass.
[ He appreciates the help, but he imagines she has better things to do with her time. ]
But uh, thanks. Thanks for the help.
[ It's around this time that one of the rowdier bar patrons chooses to interject and give him a little ribbing. ]
Yeah, why don't you leave the lady to a real man?
[ It's nothing Sousa hasn't heard before, and he's learned how to just let it roll off, but still, he finds himself balling his right hand into a fist, a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by the heckler. Said heckler just laughs and tips a wink at Daisy, now completely ignoring Sousa in favor of flirting with her. ]
[ Well, it's true that she didn't come here for this, but that doesn't make a bit of difference to Daisy. She didn't come here for anything, in fact. She's not supposed to be here, she's supposed to be on Zephyr-1 with her team, trying to stop the Chronicoms from wiping out SHIELD and thus Earth's main defense against the species. To just be stuck back in time while the others are off facing all of that...
At least she has good company for the moment. Polite company, even. She offers him a smile that fades instantly as their conversation is so rudely interrupted. ]
By a 'real man', you mean... you? [ Gesturing with a finger, she gives him a solid once-over before grimacing and shaking her head. ] No, thanks. I think I'd rather have the fake one.
I don't want the world to turn without you And I don't want the sun to burn without you I don't want to live a life without you I will watch the world burn without you♫
[ She doesn't sleep much most nights. A few hours and then she's awake, wandering the halls of the Lighthouse, the secret underground base where SHIELD has been building itself back up. There aren't usually many people awake at that hour, just the occasional agent pulling the late shift, so she takes the time to wander the familiar halls. Always, she finds herself in that particular hallway, standing in the spot where she'd lost something so precious. Again.
Some nights, after an amount of time that she can never place, her steps take her to the gym, where she works herself into exhaustion in the hope of forcing her body to sleep a few more hours. Other nights, she just continues to walk the halls like a ghost, losing herself in the levels that hold all sorts of equipment and storage. And when morning finally arrives, she drinks her weight in coffee to keep herself going.
For perhaps the fiftieth time since the team had gone their different ways, Daisy wonders if maybe she should too. SHIELD is her life, of course, that will always be true no matter that Simmons and Fitz have retired, that Coulson is reassessing and May is helping establish a new Academy, that Mack and Yo-Yo are setting up other bases. But just because she's still an agent doesn't mean she needs to stay here, where her own ghosts haunt her, where she keeps thinking her family will walk around a corner with a laugh and a story to share or some crazy mission for them to go on.
That's not going to happen though. She's on her own again, even her miraculous sister leaving her to learn how to be a SHIELD agent herself. The only person who is still at her side—
Daniel Sousa. The man out of time. A truly good man who, in just a few short weeks, has become her solid ground to stand on. With everything else in her life falling apart and changing, he's the one thing she knows she can count on. That's why she's terrified of screwing it up. He's seen her when she's strong and when she's been hurt, when she needed to push through the pain and when she needed someone to take care of her injuries. It's the broken parts that she worries about, the shattered pieces that want her to cut her heart to shreds and leave her crying on that concrete floor. She doesn't want him to see that.
She knows it's inevitable, though. There's no way he misses every time she climbs out of bed in the middle of the night, or the distant exhausted look in her eyes that just gets worse the longer they stay here. But there's work to do and he's settled in so well here, immediately winning over everyone he meets. Does she have the right to ask him to leave the only place he's familiar with in this strange future they pulled him into?
So, she walks.
This night is no different. She wakes, tears burning at her eyes as she remembers, and she pulls the covers back to slip carefully out of bed, like all those moments in the time loops when she'd slipped past his sleeping form, hoping to spare him whatever horrible fate lay in store for them in that loop. She can do this alone. She'll be fine. ]
[ The man out of time, he's been called. Sometimes, he feels more like he's a fish out of water, floundering on dry land trying to find his footing and where he belongs. This world is crazy, completely mad compared to what he's used to. Sure, things in his own time weren't exactly calm, but they were familiar. Now, there's technology he's still wrapping his head around, and the existence of people with powers, and robots that look so lifelike, no one would ever know they weren't human. And that's just the beginning.
Daisy's called him her solid ground, but in so many ways, she's filled that role for him as well. When she needs someone to lean on, he tries to be there for her. And when the constant noise and speed with which this world runs becomes too much for him, she's right there when he needs her.
Now, though, he's sprawled out on his side of the bed, features relaxed in sleep, but he's always been a fairly light sleeper. He always manages to get enough rest, but it really doesn't take a lot to wake him up.
When Daisy leaves the bed, he frowns in his sleep, and reaches out with one hand, as if to reach for her, to pull her back in. But his hand grasps empty air, and that frown deepens, because the bed feels cold without her in it.
It takes a few more minutes, but some warning bell is going off in his mind, attempting to rouse him to the point that he'll get up and go after her. Finally, he listens to those warning sounds, his eyes open, and he blearily realizes she's gone again. Knowing what that means, he's quick to sit up and swing his legs out over the side of the bed and get up to follow her.
Maybe she doesn't want company, but he'd be very remiss indeed if he didn't at least try to check on her. He finds her down an all-too-familiar hallway, and for just a second, he hesitates. These moments when she walks alone at night feel intimate and private, but he's been there for half a dozen of them now, so he feels a little less like he's intruding.
And, of course, if she asks him to leave, he'll comply. She deserves her privacy, and he'd never dare intrude on it. But for now, he just settles for clearing his throat quietly to announce his presence. ]
Daisy? Can't sleep?
[ Each time before now, when he woke to find her gone and wandering down the halls, the conversations all started the same way. It's comforting, in some confusing way. ]
[ It shouldn't be surprising to hear Daniel's voice behind her, yet every time it is. They're still so new, she's still adjusting to having somewhere there to worry over her like this, to notice when she's missing and be concerned, that she forgets until he reminds her. The bone-deep exhaustion doesn't help matters, of course. She spends all her energy putting forth her strong facade during the day, helping to lead the SHIELD agents who had survived the Chronicom's massacre. So at night, when she lets her guard down, everything becomes so much harder.
The other times he's followed her, she'd let him see how tired she is (as if she could possibly hide it at this point), but she acknowledged the pain. Shrugging off her own problems but showing gratitude for his concern, she'd made her way to the gym, sometimes with his company and sometimes without. But tonight...
She can't do it tonight. Suddenly, the idea of putting on that facade is more than she can bear. So she nods before leaning against the wall and slowly lowering herself to sit on the floor, just inches away from where her mother's broken body had lay — in another world where she would never exist. ]
[ There's the smallest part of him that wishes Daisy didn't have to take on so much. Sure, she's a born leader, and she's so good at it too, but he worries about her and how she's coping. Her facade of strength is no act or pretense, because there's a well of strength backing her up, but he knows she takes on so much and internalizes even more, and that concerns him.
He can't force her to care for herself, to stop and take a break, but seeing her push herself to the brink of exhaustion really scares him more often than not.
At least she allows him to come alongside her when she's at the end of her rope and when she can't keep up that mask of strength anymore. If she didn't, he'd be even more at a loss for what to do and how to help.
He doesn't get too close, not wanting to crowd her before she's ready, but he stands beside her, but a little bit behind her as well, just to give her some space. ]
Nah, you didn't. [ It doesn't take a lot to wake him anyway, and her leaving the bed wasn't the only reason he woke up. ]
I needed to get some water anyway. Mind if I sit?
[ He knows what this place means to her, and he'd sooner die than encroach on the space, so if she says no, he'll respect it. ]
[ Taking care of herself is something Daisy Johnson is truly horrible at. Even years of being gently hounded by Simmons and scolded with care by Coulson and May haven't been enough to instill those instincts in herself. So for Daniel to place such importance on her wellbeing, to stay by herself to make sure she doesn't let things get too bad — it's what she needs. Honestly, she can still hardly believe that anyone would willingly want that job for themselves, but he's still here with her despite everything.
So when he asks to sit, she gives him the best answer she can manage: she rests a hand on the ground her and turns it palm up. An invitation and a request in one simple gesture. It isn't much but she hopes it's enough. ]
[ He knows she is, and that's why he's planted himself firmly by her side to try and be there for her when and if she needs him. There's a fine line between being there for a person and forcing oneself on them, and he tries not to cross the line in either direction. Their relationship has to be one between equals, and if she gives him the slightest indication that he's going too far, of course he'll step back.
For now, though, she's given him permission to sit down next to her, so that's just what he does. He doesn't say anything, deciding she needs to be the one calling the shots here, since she's the one who's having a sleepness night. Of course, if she decides that what she wants is to sit there in companionable silence, he's happy to oblige. He's happy to do whatever she wants, including doing nothing.
What he does do, however, is reach out for her hand and attempt to take it in his, if she'll let him. ]
Loving and fighting, accusing, denying I can't imagine a world with you gone The joy and the chaos, the demons we're made of I'd be so lost if you left me alone♫
[ They'd had a close call that day. She'd gone to sleep with the memory of his blood on her hands, even as he lay warm and safe beside her, but she couldn't shake the fear of what would have happened if the shot had been just a few inches to the side. His arm was bandaged but he's going to be fine — so why does her mind insist on showing her what could have happened?
She'd been too slow. She should have spotted the shooter sooner, should have quaked his ass the second she saw him, but she'd hesitated. An attempt at reasoning with a monster had nearly cost her everything, only Daniel's own quick reflexes saving him from a worse fate. But in the dream, the nightmare, she watches him crumple to the floor, a dark stain spreading across his shirt as pain and fear fills his eyes.
She's seen that look before. Her mind pulls up the memory of the time loops, when she'd held him in her arms as he'd drowned in his own blood. Somehow, she'd managed to avoid these particular nightmares until now, others taking precedent in the months they've been together. Her mom, the barn, a dozen other horrible tragedies, but never this. Now that it's arrived, though...
The bed begins to shake as the worst of it sets in, the Daniel in her dream asking her why she didn't save him. The shaking moves to the nightstand, the dresser, everything in the bedroom of their small temporary apartment beginning to vibrate while she sleeps. While she dreams of something that will haunt her forever. ]
[ Close calls happen in their line of work, even if some days, he really wonders just what that work is. It certainly isn't easily labeled, or he'd have done it already. But today, the close call was a little too close, and while they both walked away from it, there was still bloodstained bandages and broken skin left in its wake.
For his part, Daniel's asleep, but the slight frown on his face suggests that his slumber isn't completely peaceful. His wound is minor, a through-and-through, but it's still uncomfortable, even though he's taken medication to lessen the discomfort.
He can't know what horrors are playing themselves out in Daisy's nightmares, but they're not so different from the scenarios chasing around his own. Instead of him being the one who's been shot, it's her, and it's not just a gunshot wound to the arm.
In the nightmare, there's so much blood, and try as he might to stem the flow, there's too much of it. He can't save her, can't do anything, and that frown deepens into a look of complete despair.
But without warning, inexplicably, an earthquake occurs in his nightmare, and it's so unexpected that Daniel's eyes fly open and he sits up in the middle of the darkened room. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up to what's happening, and he realizes it's not an earthquake: it's Daisy.
This has happened before, and there's no easy way to pull her out of it. But soft words and gentle touches go a long way, and somehow, Daniel's always been good at that. Don't ask him when or where he learned it, but it feels like it comes naturally to him.
Ignoring how the nightstand and the dresser shakes, and everything in the room as well, he reaches out with the arm that's not hurt and bandaged, to place a light touch on the closest part of Daisy he can reach: her shoulder. ]
Hey.
[ His tone is soft, but still loud enough to hopefully penetrate whatever horrible thing she's seeing. ]
I'm right here.
[ The words he's saying might as well be a script by this point. They're committed to his memory regardless. ]
You're safe. We're safe.
[ If this fails to reach her, there's more that he can say, but he waits for a moment to see if she responds. Her nightmares always run so deep, and the hold they have on her is hard to break, but his place is right here beside her, helping her fight them off from this side of awareness. ]
[ Of course, he's dreaming of it too. They haven't been together long, but already they've both been through too much, remembering the fear and utter panic of almost losing the other. The terror of realizing how close it had been. And as much as they might joke about each member of the team having died or spent time as a zombie over the years... After everything with Coulson, Daisy knows she couldn't do that to Daniel. When she loses him, she will do everything in her power to save him, but there has to be a line that cannot be crossed.
And it is when, not if, in her mind. Because everyone she loves dies eventually.
Maybe that's why her mind is so set on twisting these memories, overlapping them and showing her what it knows will happen one day. It's not the first time she's dreamt of losing him, but it's never been quite this intense, the nightmare sinking its claws into her so deeply that it physically aches. So when his voice does finally break through its hold on her, she wakes with a gasp, her throat so tight from the fear and grief that she can hardly breathe. There's a panic in her eyes as she struggles to focus on him there beside her, alive and safe.
But then she sees him and everything in the room stops shaking — except for her. She's a trembling mess as she crosses the mile-like inches between them, her hands immediately clinging to him as she feels his unique vibration sink into her bones.
[ Some might say that maybe they moved too quickly, that they began relying on each other much too fast, but that's the thing: after everything they've been through, after everything they've seen, it doesn't feel too fast, not to him. And while there's a part of him that sometimes questions whether or not this is really what Daisy wants, he's also seen her in their vulnerable moments together, and he feels like he has no reason to doubt her or her word.
But he doesn't have time to think about that right now, because she's waking up, and she looks terrified. When she reaches out for him, he reaches right back, pulling her into a close, comforting embrace.
He's gotten used to how she feels when he has her between his arms, and he's also adjusted to the subtle vibrations he feels coming from her in vacillating waves, especially in emotionally charged moments like these. ]
You're safe, I promise.
[ He says that again, hoping the words help calm her and shake loose whatever terrifying images that seem to still be clinging to her. ]
[ No one who has lived their kind of life would ever accuse them of moving too fast. Theirs is a life where friends are lost every day, where each new mission could be their last, where the stakes always seem to keep getting higher. They give their all to this job that is so much more than just that, and some days the only thing that keeps them going is knowing they have someone to come home to. Without Daniel in her life...
She burrows further into his embrace, breathing in the smell of his aftershave and hating the light whiff of antiseptic that still clings to his skin. ]
It wasn't about me, you dork.
[ The hushed words are weak and slightly raspy, no strength or nuance behind them to provide humor. She can't manage that yet, not when the panic is still in her lungs like thick smoke. Will he understand? Can he, when he's still learning just how broken she can be? ]
[ During all this, the scene that keeps playing through his mind is finding her in that barn, badly hurt and barely with him. He knows that she's physically fine, but mentally? Emotionally? He knows she's been hurt, and badly, just like Mack had said she was. He wishes he could reach in and pull out all that hurt and put it on himself instead, but wishes aren't real. They're not possible or sensible.
What is real, possible, and sensible, is just sticking with her. Staying beside her so when she needs him, when the nightmares come, he's there to hold her and remind her that she's all right.
But then she's speaking, and it's not exactly what he expected. He thought maybe she was reliving one of the many traumatic events from her past, but she says it wasn't about her, and that can only mean one thing. ]
Well, I'm just fine, so whatever you saw?
[ He smiles and shakes his head, placing a hand against the small of her back, hoping the support helps comfort her. Also, he wishes the smell of antiseptic would wear off already, because it's not any more pleasant to him than it is to her. ]
It can go jump off a cliff. [ And for a second, he worries that maybe that's the wrong thing to say, that she'll hate him for being flippant, but he hopes that his presence here beside her will chase away all the nightmares her mind conjured up. ]
And fate is pullin' you miles away And out of reach from me But you're here in my heart So who can stop me if I decide That you're my destiny?♫
[ Weeks. How has it already been weeks since she'd been left behind in the past? Every day she looks at the calendar and adds another day to the count, it gets a little bit harder to hold onto the conviction that she'd see her team again. And every day Sousa continues to help her without question or suspicion kills her a little inside — she hates lying to such a genuinely good man.
Yet she keeps doing it. She lies about the letters she never sent, about finding some temporary work to help pay for her own things, and about how she spends her days while Sousa is working for the SSR. The stationery and stamps that were never used are tucked into a dresser drawer in the formerly spare room. She's been picking the pockets of wealthier individuals who could stand to lose a few hundred dollars here or there. And she spends her days wandering the city, trying to learn as much as she can in case she really is stuck here, and trying to right whatever wrongs she comes across. It's risky, she knows, but when she finds someone trying to rob an elderly couple or accost a young woman, she can't just stand back and let it happen.
She's taken too many risks lately, though. Her powers haven't stayed as hidden as they should be, a getaway car or twelve needing to be stopped every other day, or a runner needing to be tripped by a sonic blast. That day, though, she'd been saving someone from a burning building in true superhero fashion — a little boy who'd been crying for his mom. Between holding back the flames long enough for him to run past her and keeping the ceiling from falling in on them, her arms were aching. But she'd made a plan and she's sticking to it.
After washing her hair twice, she still feels like she can smell a bit of smoke in it, but it's the best she can manage while still having time to prep dinner. She's watched Sousa enough over the past few weeks to know how to work this ancient stove and she'd asked his very nice elderly Italian neighbor for tips on how to cook the dish without ruining it or giving him food poisoning. So here she is, triple-checking her notes as she prepares the sauce for the spaghetti and trying her damnedest to not make too much of a mess as she works. She's even in an apron, for crying out loud. Who would ever have thought this day would come? ]
[ Sousa's always been at least a little perceptive. He has to be, in his line of work, but even before he became an SSR agent, he always had an eye for spotting things and putting pieces together. He doesn't like to look gift horses in the mouth, but as easy as Daisy is to be around, and as much as he likes having her staying in his apartment...
There's something about her that he can't quite put his finger on. Yes, on one hand, he's inclined to believe her story, but on the other, there's just some little things that make him wonder if everything is really as it seems.
Truthfully, he doesn't believe she's doing anything nefarious (little does he know that she's picking people's pockets), but there's small gaps in her story, and it's enough to make him wonder. It's not even that he snoops around, because he doesn't, but he imagines that even the neatest person would still leave a letter or an envelope lying around. And if she's corresponding with her friends and coworkers, surely there'd be some sign of it.
But then again, he reasons that maybe she is just that neat and tidy. He figures too that if something strange is going on, things like that usually have a way of working themselves out.
As it happens, it's near the end of day, and Sousa's left the office and is just about to enter the apartment. He's approaching the door, and even from outside in the hallway, he can smell something delicious coming from inside. That's encouragement enough, and he puts his key in the lock and lets himself in. ]
[ It feels too good to hear his voice travel through the apartment. She's never been the homemaker type, never once considered that life of cleaning house and having dinner ready when the husband got home from work, but in that moment she can almost understand the appeal.
The thought is squashed quickly. This isn't her life; she isn't supposed to be here. She can't let herself settle into something that can't last, especially when she's been here for so long already. Some part of her is just waiting for Sousa to politely suggest she might be more comfortable at one of the women's boarding houses in the city — maybe if she prepares herself enough for it, she won't feel the oh so familiar sting of rejection and being unwanted.
Turning, she gives him a natural smile over her shoulder, still stirring the sauce per her carefully recorded notes. ] I wanted to surprise you. You're always cooking for me, it's about time I return the favor.
[ The truth is, if he did ever suggest a thing like that, it won't be because he wanted to be rid of her. He'd only ever mention it if he thought it would make her feel more comfortable than living with a veritable stranger. But she doesn't seem too uncomfortable, although she has every right to be. And truthfully, he likes having her around. His apartment would seem very quiet if she left, so he's just determined to enjoy this while it lasts. ]
Oh, I'm very surprised, but you know you don't have to do things like this if you don't want to. I know you're busy too, and for what it's worth, I'm happy to keep cooking for you.
[ But he can't stop the wide grin that forms, and he takes in another long inhale to draw in that scent. ]
I'm not going to complain, though. That smells delicious and I can't wait to try it.
[ And then he remembers the little something he stopped to get on the way, and now, considering what she's making, it seems especially fitting. ]
I, uh- I picked us up a little surprise.
[ Is it inappropriate? Perhaps. But they passed appropriate behavior a few weeks back. ]
I hope you like wine. [ He takes out a bottle of red wine and he sets it on the counter. ]
[ Everyone in this time is a veritable stranger. At least with Sousa, she knows he's a good man, one of the best SHIELD ever saw. She knows she can trust him more than anyone else in this time, even if that's nowhere near as much as she would trust a member of her team. It's something that's begun to wear at her bit by bit with each day that passes.
That smile of his helps though, a lot more than she cares to admit to herself. Glancing at the bottle he produces, her own smile grows. ]
I do, yeah. Though I'll warn you that I know nothing about wine and couldn't tell the difference between a $2 bottle and a $20 one, so I hope it's not the latter.
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The thought goes through Daisy Johnson's mind a thousand times as she walks the streets of 1940s New York City. The clothes she wears feel wrong, like she's in a costume with hair and makeup to match, but this is real. The Zephyr had jumped without her, a glitch in the system that had sent them hurtling forward in time seconds before she'd reached the ship. It had blinked out of existence right in front of her eyes, leaving her standing in an empty lot on the edge of one of the boroughs, alone and without any idea what to do next.
At least the Chronicoms seem to have jumped as well. She doesn't have to worry about them messing up the timeline, only herself, which is... difficult. Ripples, not waves. It's a mantra she's repeated hourly, keeping her head low as she moves through the city, realizing that she might be stuck here for a while. Days, maybe. Weeks. Years. There's no telling when the Zephyr might pop up — there's no telling if it ever will. She might be stuck here for the rest of her life, seeing the team again only as an old woman when they eventually pop back up again. The thought is beyond terrifying if she's honest. The very idea of never seeing her family again is horrifying.
Maybe that's why she ends up back in the part of town where she and the team had been just hours earlier. The speakeasy turned SHIELD watering hole, except it's not even SHIELD yet. Strategic Scientific Reserve is stamped across her flawless identification and she can't stand to look at it. She is a SHIELD agent and her team is out there, somewhere, without their strongest fighter while she—
She orders another drink from her seat at the end of the bar. ]
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He's about to take a drink from it when he notices the girl- woman, rather, who's seated just a few bar stools away from him. If anyone were to ask him, he'd say he doesn't come here often, but that would be a half-truth. He does frequent this particular bar often enough that he can recognize at least half of the regular clientele, and he can safely say she's not one of them.
Is it his business? Of course not. He's only here for a drink and to unwind at the end of a long day, but as clichéd as it is, she's caught his eye. Maybe it's the way she carries herself, or maybe it's how she seems just the slightest bit troubled by something, but he finds himself wondering about her, even though he knows he has no business doing so.
He knows how this will play out: one of them will end up leaving first, and odds are good their paths will never cross again. But fate, or fortune, or whichever it actually is, seems to have different ideas. Draining his glass, Sousa grabs hold of his crutch, and pushes himself up into a standing position, intending to pay for his drink and head home.
But before he can do so, his elbow catches the glass just right, and as he's turning, said glass goes falling off the bar and onto the floor where it shatters.
So much for a graceful exit. The bartender is glaring, and Sousa's down on the floor, trying to collect the larger pieces with one hand while propping himself up with his crutch in the other. It's about as successful as one would expect, but he can't just leave the mess there for someone else to clean up. ]
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The silver crutch is a clue, of course, but she'd recognize that profile anywhere. Daniel Sousa, one of the first agents of SHIELD and Peggy Carter's old partner. Daniel Sousa, who Coulson had waxed poetic about on more than one occasion. A legend, living and breathing just feet away from her... in post-WWII New York.
Maybe three seconds pass of her watching him before she grabs a napkin and slides off her chair. With heels tapping against the hardwood floor, she stops within reach of him and crouches down to start picking up pieces as well, carefully depositing them into the napkin that is conveniently held out between them. ]
You sure you're licensed to operate that thing under the influence? [ The words slip out while she's picking up a smaller piece with care, her eyes focused on the task at hand but at least some of her attention focused on him as humor colors the words. Not malicious humor — there's nothing hurtful intended in the gentle jab and she hopes he gets that. ]
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Uh-
[ He opens his mouth before he even knows what he's going to say, but then she's coming at him with that line, and his reaction is to become a little bit flustered, even if he can recognize the humor behind it. ]
Of course I am. I've only had it for about three years. I should know my way around it by now. [ But then he has to pause to think about exactly how long it's been since he lost his leg and took up carrying a crutch to aid in walking, and while he's doing so, he absentmindedly reaches for another piece of glass, only to accidentally prick his finger with it.
It's just enough to superficially puncture the skin, but he hisses and glares at the offending piece. This really isn't helping disprove his claim, is it? ]
Look, don't worry about this. I've got it.
[ Does he really, though? ]
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A legend who is, apparently, a bit of an idiot, because the next second he's gone and cut himself. Daisy narrows her eyes at the small cut, making sure it's nothing too serious, before turning an incredibly unimpressed look on said idiot. ]
Oh yeah, you've absolutely got it. But while you've got it, I'm going to keep helping so maybe we can save the rest of your fingers from that same gruesome fate.
[ And really, they're almost done, so just cool it, Agent Sousa. ]
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I'm serious, I'm sure you didn't come here to pick up glass.
[ He appreciates the help, but he imagines she has better things to do with her time. ]
But uh, thanks. Thanks for the help.
[ It's around this time that one of the rowdier bar patrons chooses to interject and give him a little ribbing. ]
Yeah, why don't you leave the lady to a real man?
[ It's nothing Sousa hasn't heard before, and he's learned how to just let it roll off, but still, he finds himself balling his right hand into a fist, a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by the heckler. Said heckler just laughs and tips a wink at Daisy, now completely ignoring Sousa in favor of flirting with her. ]
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At least she has good company for the moment. Polite company, even. She offers him a smile that fades instantly as their conversation is so rudely interrupted. ]
By a 'real man', you mean... you? [ Gesturing with a finger, she gives him a solid once-over before grimacing and shaking her head. ] No, thanks. I think I'd rather have the fake one.
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don't leave me behind;
[ She doesn't sleep much most nights. A few hours and then she's awake, wandering the halls of the Lighthouse, the secret underground base where SHIELD has been building itself back up. There aren't usually many people awake at that hour, just the occasional agent pulling the late shift, so she takes the time to wander the familiar halls. Always, she finds herself in that particular hallway, standing in the spot where she'd lost something so precious. Again.
Some nights, after an amount of time that she can never place, her steps take her to the gym, where she works herself into exhaustion in the hope of forcing her body to sleep a few more hours. Other nights, she just continues to walk the halls like a ghost, losing herself in the levels that hold all sorts of equipment and storage. And when morning finally arrives, she drinks her weight in coffee to keep herself going.
For perhaps the fiftieth time since the team had gone their different ways, Daisy wonders if maybe she should too. SHIELD is her life, of course, that will always be true no matter that Simmons and Fitz have retired, that Coulson is reassessing and May is helping establish a new Academy, that Mack and Yo-Yo are setting up other bases. But just because she's still an agent doesn't mean she needs to stay here, where her own ghosts haunt her, where she keeps thinking her family will walk around a corner with a laugh and a story to share or some crazy mission for them to go on.
That's not going to happen though. She's on her own again, even her miraculous sister leaving her to learn how to be a SHIELD agent herself. The only person who is still at her side—
Daniel Sousa. The man out of time. A truly good man who, in just a few short weeks, has become her solid ground to stand on. With everything else in her life falling apart and changing, he's the one thing she knows she can count on. That's why she's terrified of screwing it up. He's seen her when she's strong and when she's been hurt, when she needed to push through the pain and when she needed someone to take care of her injuries. It's the broken parts that she worries about, the shattered pieces that want her to cut her heart to shreds and leave her crying on that concrete floor. She doesn't want him to see that.
She knows it's inevitable, though. There's no way he misses every time she climbs out of bed in the middle of the night, or the distant exhausted look in her eyes that just gets worse the longer they stay here. But there's work to do and he's settled in so well here, immediately winning over everyone he meets. Does she have the right to ask him to leave the only place he's familiar with in this strange future they pulled him into?
So, she walks.
This night is no different. She wakes, tears burning at her eyes as she remembers, and she pulls the covers back to slip carefully out of bed, like all those moments in the time loops when she'd slipped past his sleeping form, hoping to spare him whatever horrible fate lay in store for them in that loop. She can do this alone. She'll be fine. ]
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Daisy's called him her solid ground, but in so many ways, she's filled that role for him as well. When she needs someone to lean on, he tries to be there for her. And when the constant noise and speed with which this world runs becomes too much for him, she's right there when he needs her.
Now, though, he's sprawled out on his side of the bed, features relaxed in sleep, but he's always been a fairly light sleeper. He always manages to get enough rest, but it really doesn't take a lot to wake him up.
When Daisy leaves the bed, he frowns in his sleep, and reaches out with one hand, as if to reach for her, to pull her back in. But his hand grasps empty air, and that frown deepens, because the bed feels cold without her in it.
It takes a few more minutes, but some warning bell is going off in his mind, attempting to rouse him to the point that he'll get up and go after her. Finally, he listens to those warning sounds, his eyes open, and he blearily realizes she's gone again. Knowing what that means, he's quick to sit up and swing his legs out over the side of the bed and get up to follow her.
Maybe she doesn't want company, but he'd be very remiss indeed if he didn't at least try to check on her. He finds her down an all-too-familiar hallway, and for just a second, he hesitates. These moments when she walks alone at night feel intimate and private, but he's been there for half a dozen of them now, so he feels a little less like he's intruding.
And, of course, if she asks him to leave, he'll comply. She deserves her privacy, and he'd never dare intrude on it. But for now, he just settles for clearing his throat quietly to announce his presence. ]
Daisy? Can't sleep?
[ Each time before now, when he woke to find her gone and wandering down the halls, the conversations all started the same way. It's comforting, in some confusing way. ]
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The other times he's followed her, she'd let him see how tired she is (as if she could possibly hide it at this point), but she acknowledged the pain. Shrugging off her own problems but showing gratitude for his concern, she'd made her way to the gym, sometimes with his company and sometimes without. But tonight...
She can't do it tonight. Suddenly, the idea of putting on that facade is more than she can bear. So she nods before leaning against the wall and slowly lowering herself to sit on the floor, just inches away from where her mother's broken body had lay — in another world where she would never exist. ]
I'm sorry I woke you.
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He can't force her to care for herself, to stop and take a break, but seeing her push herself to the brink of exhaustion really scares him more often than not.
At least she allows him to come alongside her when she's at the end of her rope and when she can't keep up that mask of strength anymore. If she didn't, he'd be even more at a loss for what to do and how to help.
He doesn't get too close, not wanting to crowd her before she's ready, but he stands beside her, but a little bit behind her as well, just to give her some space. ]
Nah, you didn't. [ It doesn't take a lot to wake him anyway, and her leaving the bed wasn't the only reason he woke up. ]
I needed to get some water anyway. Mind if I sit?
[ He knows what this place means to her, and he'd sooner die than encroach on the space, so if she says no, he'll respect it. ]
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So when he asks to sit, she gives him the best answer she can manage: she rests a hand on the ground her and turns it palm up. An invitation and a request in one simple gesture. It isn't much but she hopes it's enough. ]
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For now, though, she's given him permission to sit down next to her, so that's just what he does. He doesn't say anything, deciding she needs to be the one calling the shots here, since she's the one who's having a sleepness night. Of course, if she decides that what she wants is to sit there in companionable silence, he's happy to oblige. He's happy to do whatever she wants, including doing nothing.
What he does do, however, is reach out for her hand and attempt to take it in his, if she'll let him. ]
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hold on, i still need you;
[ They'd had a close call that day. She'd gone to sleep with the memory of his blood on her hands, even as he lay warm and safe beside her, but she couldn't shake the fear of what would have happened if the shot had been just a few inches to the side. His arm was bandaged but he's going to be fine — so why does her mind insist on showing her what could have happened?
She'd been too slow. She should have spotted the shooter sooner, should have quaked his ass the second she saw him, but she'd hesitated. An attempt at reasoning with a monster had nearly cost her everything, only Daniel's own quick reflexes saving him from a worse fate. But in the dream, the nightmare, she watches him crumple to the floor, a dark stain spreading across his shirt as pain and fear fills his eyes.
She's seen that look before. Her mind pulls up the memory of the time loops, when she'd held him in her arms as he'd drowned in his own blood. Somehow, she'd managed to avoid these particular nightmares until now, others taking precedent in the months they've been together. Her mom, the barn, a dozen other horrible tragedies, but never this. Now that it's arrived, though...
The bed begins to shake as the worst of it sets in, the Daniel in her dream asking her why she didn't save him. The shaking moves to the nightstand, the dresser, everything in the bedroom of their small temporary apartment beginning to vibrate while she sleeps. While she dreams of something that will haunt her forever. ]
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For his part, Daniel's asleep, but the slight frown on his face suggests that his slumber isn't completely peaceful. His wound is minor, a through-and-through, but it's still uncomfortable, even though he's taken medication to lessen the discomfort.
He can't know what horrors are playing themselves out in Daisy's nightmares, but they're not so different from the scenarios chasing around his own. Instead of him being the one who's been shot, it's her, and it's not just a gunshot wound to the arm.
In the nightmare, there's so much blood, and try as he might to stem the flow, there's too much of it. He can't save her, can't do anything, and that frown deepens into a look of complete despair.
But without warning, inexplicably, an earthquake occurs in his nightmare, and it's so unexpected that Daniel's eyes fly open and he sits up in the middle of the darkened room. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up to what's happening, and he realizes it's not an earthquake: it's Daisy.
This has happened before, and there's no easy way to pull her out of it. But soft words and gentle touches go a long way, and somehow, Daniel's always been good at that. Don't ask him when or where he learned it, but it feels like it comes naturally to him.
Ignoring how the nightstand and the dresser shakes, and everything in the room as well, he reaches out with the arm that's not hurt and bandaged, to place a light touch on the closest part of Daisy he can reach: her shoulder. ]
Hey.
[ His tone is soft, but still loud enough to hopefully penetrate whatever horrible thing she's seeing. ]
I'm right here.
[ The words he's saying might as well be a script by this point. They're committed to his memory regardless. ]
You're safe. We're safe.
[ If this fails to reach her, there's more that he can say, but he waits for a moment to see if she responds. Her nightmares always run so deep, and the hold they have on her is hard to break, but his place is right here beside her, helping her fight them off from this side of awareness. ]
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And it is when, not if, in her mind. Because everyone she loves dies eventually.
Maybe that's why her mind is so set on twisting these memories, overlapping them and showing her what it knows will happen one day. It's not the first time she's dreamt of losing him, but it's never been quite this intense, the nightmare sinking its claws into her so deeply that it physically aches. So when his voice does finally break through its hold on her, she wakes with a gasp, her throat so tight from the fear and grief that she can hardly breathe. There's a panic in her eyes as she struggles to focus on him there beside her, alive and safe.
But then she sees him and everything in the room stops shaking — except for her. She's a trembling mess as she crosses the mile-like inches between them, her hands immediately clinging to him as she feels his unique vibration sink into her bones.
He's okay. ]
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But he doesn't have time to think about that right now, because she's waking up, and she looks terrified. When she reaches out for him, he reaches right back, pulling her into a close, comforting embrace.
He's gotten used to how she feels when he has her between his arms, and he's also adjusted to the subtle vibrations he feels coming from her in vacillating waves, especially in emotionally charged moments like these. ]
You're safe, I promise.
[ He says that again, hoping the words help calm her and shake loose whatever terrifying images that seem to still be clinging to her. ]
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She burrows further into his embrace, breathing in the smell of his aftershave and hating the light whiff of antiseptic that still clings to his skin. ]
It wasn't about me, you dork.
[ The hushed words are weak and slightly raspy, no strength or nuance behind them to provide humor. She can't manage that yet, not when the panic is still in her lungs like thick smoke. Will he understand? Can he, when he's still learning just how broken she can be? ]
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What is real, possible, and sensible, is just sticking with her. Staying beside her so when she needs him, when the nightmares come, he's there to hold her and remind her that she's all right.
But then she's speaking, and it's not exactly what he expected. He thought maybe she was reliving one of the many traumatic events from her past, but she says it wasn't about her, and that can only mean one thing. ]
Well, I'm just fine, so whatever you saw?
[ He smiles and shakes his head, placing a hand against the small of her back, hoping the support helps comfort her. Also, he wishes the smell of antiseptic would wear off already, because it's not any more pleasant to him than it is to her. ]
It can go jump off a cliff. [ And for a second, he worries that maybe that's the wrong thing to say, that she'll hate him for being flippant, but he hopes that his presence here beside her will chase away all the nightmares her mind conjured up. ]
See? Nothing to worry about.
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rewrite the stars;
[ Weeks. How has it already been weeks since she'd been left behind in the past? Every day she looks at the calendar and adds another day to the count, it gets a little bit harder to hold onto the conviction that she'd see her team again. And every day Sousa continues to help her without question or suspicion kills her a little inside — she hates lying to such a genuinely good man.
Yet she keeps doing it. She lies about the letters she never sent, about finding some temporary work to help pay for her own things, and about how she spends her days while Sousa is working for the SSR. The stationery and stamps that were never used are tucked into a dresser drawer in the formerly spare room. She's been picking the pockets of wealthier individuals who could stand to lose a few hundred dollars here or there. And she spends her days wandering the city, trying to learn as much as she can in case she really is stuck here, and trying to right whatever wrongs she comes across. It's risky, she knows, but when she finds someone trying to rob an elderly couple or accost a young woman, she can't just stand back and let it happen.
She's taken too many risks lately, though. Her powers haven't stayed as hidden as they should be, a getaway car or twelve needing to be stopped every other day, or a runner needing to be tripped by a sonic blast. That day, though, she'd been saving someone from a burning building in true superhero fashion — a little boy who'd been crying for his mom. Between holding back the flames long enough for him to run past her and keeping the ceiling from falling in on them, her arms were aching. But she'd made a plan and she's sticking to it.
After washing her hair twice, she still feels like she can smell a bit of smoke in it, but it's the best she can manage while still having time to prep dinner. She's watched Sousa enough over the past few weeks to know how to work this ancient stove and she'd asked his very nice elderly Italian neighbor for tips on how to cook the dish without ruining it or giving him food poisoning. So here she is, triple-checking her notes as she prepares the sauce for the spaghetti and trying her damnedest to not make too much of a mess as she works. She's even in an apron, for crying out loud. Who would ever have thought this day would come? ]
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There's something about her that he can't quite put his finger on. Yes, on one hand, he's inclined to believe her story, but on the other, there's just some little things that make him wonder if everything is really as it seems.
Truthfully, he doesn't believe she's doing anything nefarious (little does he know that she's picking people's pockets), but there's small gaps in her story, and it's enough to make him wonder. It's not even that he snoops around, because he doesn't, but he imagines that even the neatest person would still leave a letter or an envelope lying around. And if she's corresponding with her friends and coworkers, surely there'd be some sign of it.
But then again, he reasons that maybe she is just that neat and tidy. He figures too that if something strange is going on, things like that usually have a way of working themselves out.
As it happens, it's near the end of day, and Sousa's left the office and is just about to enter the apartment. He's approaching the door, and even from outside in the hallway, he can smell something delicious coming from inside. That's encouragement enough, and he puts his key in the lock and lets himself in. ]
Well, something sure smells good.
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The thought is squashed quickly. This isn't her life; she isn't supposed to be here. She can't let herself settle into something that can't last, especially when she's been here for so long already. Some part of her is just waiting for Sousa to politely suggest she might be more comfortable at one of the women's boarding houses in the city — maybe if she prepares herself enough for it, she won't feel the oh so familiar sting of rejection and being unwanted.
Turning, she gives him a natural smile over her shoulder, still stirring the sauce per her carefully recorded notes. ] I wanted to surprise you. You're always cooking for me, it's about time I return the favor.
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Oh, I'm very surprised, but you know you don't have to do things like this if you don't want to. I know you're busy too, and for what it's worth, I'm happy to keep cooking for you.
[ But he can't stop the wide grin that forms, and he takes in another long inhale to draw in that scent. ]
I'm not going to complain, though. That smells delicious and I can't wait to try it.
[ And then he remembers the little something he stopped to get on the way, and now, considering what she's making, it seems especially fitting. ]
I, uh- I picked us up a little surprise.
[ Is it inappropriate? Perhaps. But they passed appropriate behavior a few weeks back. ]
I hope you like wine. [ He takes out a bottle of red wine and he sets it on the counter. ]
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That smile of his helps though, a lot more than she cares to admit to herself. Glancing at the bottle he produces, her own smile grows. ]
I do, yeah. Though I'll warn you that I know nothing about wine and couldn't tell the difference between a $2 bottle and a $20 one, so I hope it's not the latter.
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Well, I suppose you're in luck then, because I sort of do. I'm no wine expert, but I do like a certain kind for special occasions.
[ And he just continues on, unaware that he may or may not have just implied that this is a special occasion. Don't ask him which one; it just is. ]
Plus, you know, I got paid recently, so- [ It's a splurge, but he can afford it. ]