chuju | psl;

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? ]

Look, don't worry about this. I've got it.

[ Does he really, though? ]

[ 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.

[ Honestly, this is just Sousa's life. He gets a little friendly ribbing from the fellas at work, and yes, sometimes when he goes out for a drink, he gets a little of that too, usually from someone who's imbibed far too much than is healthy. But he knows that a bad leg doesn't make him less of a person, regardless of how many times he gets told just that. ]

Look, we're not bothering you. Why don't you sit yourself back down, finish that drink, and have yourself a nice night?

[ He tries not to sound too put out, because yes, this happens all the time, but the timing was especially inconvenient. Turning to look at Daisy, he gives her an apologetic look while he grabs his coat and hat and gives her a polite nod. ]

I think I'm just going to call it a night, but thanks again for your help.

[ He'd stick around for added backup, but something about her makes him think she can handle anyone, including a guy who's just this side of tipsy. This just seems like one of those instances where it's best to leave before things turn messy. And bars often lend themselves well to that sort of thing. ]

[ The more Sousa says and the longer she has to see that jerk's face, the more she wants to punch it. Just break his nose and send him running like the whiny little boy he is. But ripples, not waves, right? ]

I think that's a great idea, I'll follow your example.

[ The napkin of glass pieces is placed carefully on the bartop before Daisy smooths down her dress and grabs the light coat that completes her perfectly styled for the times outfit. She's slipping it on when suddenly there's a hand on her arm that's attached to a very drunk, very angry heckler.

She doesn't even give the man a chance to say anything before she's grabbing his hand and twisting it behind his back. With his arm at such a painful angle, the idiot tips forward onto his knees, and she has to resist the temptation to put a little extra pressure on that arm before she releases it. ]

You shouldn't touch a lady without her permission.

[ Not that she has any illusions that he'll actually learn a lesson from this experience. Men like him rarely ever do. So, before the man can even consider trying to cause more problems, she turns to Sousa with an expectant look. ]

Shall we? [ And takes the lead for heading out of the bar. ]

[ All right, so he didn't really expect Daisy to stay behind and get heckled and hit on until she's had enough, but he's surprised that she wants to go anywhere with him, a veritable stranger, and one with a bad leg at that. Not that anyone who's left their growing-up years behind and has, well, grown up would think negatively about someone with a false leg. Truthfully, he's glad that the people flocking to him and praising him as a hero have dropped off over the years, because he's no better than anyone else.

But still, it comes as a surprise when someone who clearly has had a good upbringing approaches him. The first time, with Peggy, was surprise enough. Now, with Daisy actually accompanying him out of the bar, he's right back to being Danny Sousa, that awkward skinny kid that no one expected anything from.

But he does have one last counter for the rude and annoying heckler. ]

Didn't your mother ever teach you how to treat a lady? Clearly she didn't, because this is not how that's meant to look.

[ No, it's very unlikely that said heckler will learn his lesson, but at least for the moment, he's been very thoroughly knocked down a peg or two. And very handily, at that.

Then Sousa turns his attentions back to Daisy, looking a little bit nonplussed. ]

Sure, but it's early enough in the evening that I'll wager you could find any bar within five feet of here and still manage to have a good time without guys like our pal back there. No need to trouble yourself on my account.

[ He reaches up with his free hand and rubs the back of his neck, feeling like he should thank her again, but hasn't he done so about three times already? Instead, though, he opts for introductions. That's the polite thing to do, and he really should have done so earlier. ]

Daniel Sousa. I don't think I've mentioned that yet.

[ And then he holds out his hand, offering a handshake, if she's so inclined to accept it. ]

[ Daisy feels absolutely no remorse for her actions against the idiot babying his sore arm. If anything, she's proud of having been able to give Sousa a chance to add his own last words; they're actually what she would have expected him to say, too.

But oh, is he lucky that she's predisposed to not getting too annoyed at him. In any other circumstance, his constant attempts at brushing her off would be driving her up a wall. Having seen what just happened though... Well, that's a point in his favor too. ]

Daisy Johnson. [ She takes his hand, giving it a firm shake, before bringing the conversation back around. ] But Mr. Sousa, I think I need to make something clear: I don't do anything I don't want to. If I wanted to go to another bar to have a good time, I would. But what I would like to do is get to know you better.

[ She pauses, then adds: ] Unless you have somewhere to be, of course.

[ These are still ripples right? No waves yet, so it's fine. It'll be fine. ]

[ Similarly, Sousa's not feeling any sympathy for the man at all. He figures he's been on the receiving end of such "gifts" before, but men like him are stubborn and hard-headed and too damn persistent for their own good.

When she shakes his hand, he finds himself momentarily surprised by how strong her grip is, but then again, given what he's just witnessed, it's not so surprising either. There's some power behind her punches, and it makes him wonder what she does for a living. But he doesn't have too long to ponder this, because she's turning the conversation around on him. ]

Hey, that's up to you, of course, but- [ "Why?" is what he wants to ask, but something in Daisy's tone and her word choice has him thinking it might not be a good idea to question her too much. ]

Kind of figured you for the type who doesn't take anyone's nonsense.

[ He pauses too, but finally he just shakes his head. ] No, I don't have anywhere to be. I was going to head home, but, uh-

[ This is a bad idea, Sousa, don't do it. ]

You eaten anything yet? I know a couple of good restaurants around here. Of course, that depends on what you like.

[ ... He's only known her for a handful of minutes and he's already extending a dinner invitation. It hits him a little bit too late that maybe this makes him look desperate, and he quickly tries to regroup. ]

Or- Or we could just take a walk. That's good too.

[ A smooth recovery, that wasn't. ]

[ After her experiences back in 1931, Sousa's acceptance of her take charge attitude is refreshing. Honestly, it's no wonder Coulson idolized the man during his days at the Academy — he's a competent agent and a genuinely good person, much like Coulson himself. She's actually sad that he hadn't been able to meet Sousa for himself, since the two seem to have so much in common.

Folding her hands in front of her, Daisy smiles in genuine amusement at the fumble, finding it oddly endearing. It's good that he didn't try to argue with her about knowing her own mind, and the invitation is an added bonus. ]

Let's start with dinner. We can add a walk later, if you're not tired of me by then. [ Which is a very real possibility she wouldn't be surprised by. ] I like everything, by the way. So it's your choice where we go, I'm not picky.

[ The thing is, he's a firm believer in the idea that anyone can be capable, regardless of who they are or what their background is. And Daisy strikes him as someone who is very capable and isn't afraid to show it. He admires that in anyone, man or woman, so naturally, the last thing he's going to do is feel challenged by it. Actually, he is challenged by things like that, but in the sense that it makes him want to work harder. ]

Italian sound good? There's a good place just a few doors down.

[ His tastes are simple. Give him a plate of spaghetti and meatballs and he's happy. ]

That sounds perfect.

[ Italian is easy. Familiar. Safe. Because no, she's not picky, someone who grew up in and out of foster homes and an orphanage didn't have the luxury of being picky, but she does have her preferences. And really, who doesn't love a good plate of pasta?

And then, because she doesn't want the conversation to falter while they make their way to the restaurant, she keeps things moving. ]

I have to admit, it's been a while since I had a nice calm meal at a restaurant. I'm looking forward to it.

Great.

[ Italian is all those things, and what's more, it's comforting. It's the perfect bookend for a long day, and on top of that, he gets to spend it in some pretty nice company, if he dare say so himself. ]

You too, huh? Seems that something's always coming up and there's another crisis that someone's got to handle.

[ Of course, he has no idea where she's coming from or what experiences she has behind her, but he figures everyone has hectic days sometimes. ]

Look, I don't want to jump ahead too soon, but- [ He's too curious about her, and the question just tumbles out. ] What kind of work do you do?

[ It's almost funny to hear him talk about a situation that she knows so incredibly well. When was the last time she was able to talk with someone who understood her life so intimately? The last few years, she's been surrounded by her team or other SHIELD agents who knew her story, both the good and the bad, and had their whole preconceptions about who she is as a person. Sousa has none of those and it is so... refreshing.

And then he goes and throws her a curve ball that she hasn't prepared for. Shit. She can't say that she's SHIELD — or SSR, rather, because she can't hack her identity into their records here (she's really missing computers right now) and Sousa is smart enough to put the pieces together, she knows that much from Coulson's history lessons. But what else could she say? Waitress? Actress? Hell no.

So, she runs in the only direction she can come up with on the fly: a vague one. ]

I work in intelligence.

[ She hopes he doesn't ask for specifics... and then realizes she's probably jinxed herself by even thinking that. ]

[ Honestly, the only preconceptions about her that he has are that she's smart, tough as nails, and a touch mysterious. He can't quite put his finger on it, but it seems to him that she's keeping something back. And that's fine; they're little better than strangers, so of course there's no obligation on her part to tell him anything, but the part of him that's an investigator is beginning to formulate some questions about her and where she's coming from.

The only problem is, he doesn't have the right to question her. She hasn't done anything to warrant it, so for the moment, he's keeping his questions mostly to himself. He arches an eyebrow, though, because it's taking her a second to respond, but a second's hesitation isn't necessarily a tell-all either. ]

Intelligence, huh? That's interesting, because I'm in intelligence too.

[ And then he pauses for a moment, giving her a brief looking over as if to size her up. Unfortunately, he can't determine if someone is trustworthy or not just by looking at them, but then again, what he's about to divulge isn't necessarily the world's best secret, so he just goes for it. ]

Ever hear of the SSR?

[ At the very least, how she answers this will help frame future conversation topics. Theoretically. ]

[ It takes every bit of her years of training with May to keep her oh shit face at bay. She didn't think this through and it is coming back to bite her on the ass — she can only be grateful that her team isn't here to witness her flailing. Because she is flailing, scrambling in the two seconds she can afford to wait to recall Coulson's many history rambles.

What can she say— ]

I worked with the SSR a few times during the war. [ It's a totally plausible story, based on what she knows of Peggy Carter's background. ] Not much, and just in a liaison capacity, but everyone I worked with was very competent.

[ She's walking on shifting sand, trying to keep a steady footing while navigating the minefield she's made for herself. She just has to hope that one doesn't blow up in her face. Which, really, it probably will. That's usually how it goes for her, so why should this be any different? ]

[ The thing about Sousa is that he's not really a profiler, nor an expert at reading people, but he's also been an SSR agent long enough to have picked up a few tools of the trade. There's certain things people do when they're trying to come up with a cover story quickly, and while Daisy does an admirable job at keeping any looks of panic well buried, he can tell something's making her nervous.

Of course, he's not sure what that something is, or why she needs a cover story in the first place, but hey: they're going to dinner, unless he's spooked her already, so that means there's ample time for figuring out what's actually going on.

For now, though, he's just going to smile and nod and follow along with her. ]

Seems a lot of us folks who work for the SSR have a war background. I'm starting to think it just attracts a certain type of people.

[ His smile widens, and it's actually genuine, not one that says he's picking up on something fishy. ]

So, mind if I ask where you were stationed?

[ Liaison or not, she most likely had a primary place she was working from. ]

[ Later, when she's survived this encounter with Agent Daniel Sousa, Daisy vows to put more time and effort into her cover story. This whole situation has just overwhelmed her so completely that she's scrambling to assemble a few pieces that she can actually work with when there's more time. Because that's all she has now, isn't it? Time. An unknown amount of it stretching before her like a shadowy hallway with no end in sight.

This question, at least, she can bullshit easily. ]

Asia, for obvious reasons. [ She remembers how the US treated anyone who looked too Asian during WWII, so it's not a hard leap to make that they would have used the assets they had in the Pacific theater. ] I can't really be more specific than that. I was with a team of specialists and we never stayed anywhere for very long.

[ The reaction she can't suppress is the way the mention of her team brings that helpless feeling raging to the surface. She falters for a moment, then swallows heavily and forces a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. ] But I seem to recall you promising me dinner, Agent Sousa.

[ Luckily for her, he's satisfied with her answers to his questions, and more importantly, he's just remembered that he's hungry, and he figures she probably is too. ]

Yeah, I did, and I'm going to make good on that. We can save question-and-answer time for some other day. [ Or never, because they'll probably just have dinner and go their separate ways, never to cross paths again. At least, that's how he assumes that's the way this will all end.

For now, though, they've reached the restaurant door, and he steps over as quickly as he can so that he can hold the door open for her. ]

After you.

[ Some other day. Will they have one of those? They shouldn't, that's risking too much with the timeline, what if she let something slip and changed the course of his future? He has to stay on this path, go on to be one of the legendary first agents of SHIELD and inspire future generations to be just as great.

But... what if this is it for her? What if her team can't come back for her? Forward is easy, she remembers, but going backward is near impossible under their present circumstances. So what if this is her life now, New York in the 1940s when everyone is still picking themselves up after the war? What does that leave for her, the hacker living in a time before computers even exist, the Inhuman who can't let anyone find out what she is?

Best not to think about those things now, of course. She's got plenty of time to have an anxiety attack about her situation.

Smiling at Sousa's display of chivalry (and how weird is that?), she steps into the restaurant. It's cozy and not the least bit pretentious or stuffy — it's comfortable without being too casual. A good place for a first date. (Not that this is a date.) An employee is immediately there to greet them, the thick New York Italian blend accent brightening Daisy's smile as he the man shows them immediately to a booth. She takes note of the exits as she slides into her seat, always prepared just in case, and accepts the offered menu.

When the waiter has left to give them a few moments, she eyes her companion over the top of her menu. ] Not bad, Sousa.

[ All right, so honestly, they probably won't. He's still thinking this is all one great flash in the pan, and once they say their goodbyes when the night is over, he'll never see her again. And it's that thought that has him thinking he has to make this the most memorable night that he can. And along with that realization comes the thought that maybe quizzing her on her history and work experience wasn't the right move. But hey, she hasn't gone running for the hills just yet, so maybe he still has a chance.

If nothing else, he can at least try to leave her with a memorable impression so that when they do part ways, he becomes a fond memory of her time here.

The restaurant is one of his favorites, and an old standby at that. Sure, he doesn't often have someone willing to step out with him, but the times that he has, he brought them here. And while he's trying his best not to think of this as a date, the part of him that's being honest with himself is saying that that ship has sailed.

Once they're alone with the menus in front of them, he allows his eyes to travel up above the text on the menu so he can watch her. She's beautiful; there's no ignoring that. And aside from that, she just exudes class. The way she moves and carries herself reminds him a lot of one Peggy Carter, and that thought comes with the smallest of poignant stabs. Even though it's been some time since he crossed paths with Carter, he still remembers her fondly and what they could have had, if things had worked out.

But it's very bad form to be thinking about another woman when in the presence of an equally attractive woman, so he forces his attentions back to the page just in time to hear her say something. ]

Oh, yeah, this place is great. The people here are the best, and the food they make puts most other places around to shame.

[ He pauses for a second, because he knows he's beginning to ramble, but then he adds: ] Do you know what you'd like to order?

[ When was the last time she'd been on a date, anyway? Not with Lincoln, not in the traditional sense anyway. They'd had movie nights on the base, that sort of thing, but going out and being cute in front of other people in public? There hadn't been time for that. Inhumans were being hunted, Hydra and Hive happened, and then he was gone. Things with Ward never got that far (thank goodness). So then... Miles? Not even then, either, really. The two of them had been more likely to just fall into bed together while talking of how they were going to do such great things for the world. How naive she'd been.

So, okay. Maybe this could be a date. The first one she's had since figuring out who she is as a person. And a low-commitment one, at that — that whole not altering the timeline thing. The decision loosens a thread of tension within her and she relaxes a little more. A date. Yeah, she can do this.

Closing her menu, she sets it on the table between them and folds her hands in her lap. ] What do you recommend? I'll have that.

[ And she smiles at him, letting herself genuinely enjoy the moment. It's not hard; he's easy to be around. ]

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