chuju | psl;

[ 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. ]

[ Well, at least she can remember her last almost-dates. It's been awhile for Sousa, and while he can fondly remember times spent with Violet (so long ago now) and with Peggy (not as long ago, but not recent either), he hasn't had a real date in months. This is a nice change of pace, even if he feels as though he should refrain from calling it a date. ]

My tastes are pretty simple, you know: spaghetti and meatballs. Kind of hard to go wrong with that. I don't know you that well, but you kinda seem like you'd like something a little more, uh- Nuanced, I guess is the word.

The cannelloni's good, if you like that kind of thing. And uh, I don't know, are you a vegetables kind of girl? They've got some good salads, if- I mean, if you want to balance it out a little.

[ He's talking too much again, which is what he tends to do when he's nervous. But he's not nervous at all, is he? Absoultely not. Not one bit. ]

[ She likes hearing him talk. There's the impression under all of those slightly rambling words that he's nervous, and honestly? It just endears him to her even more. With every second that passes, she finds herself wanting another hundred. Already, she's dreading the end of the evening, when she'll have to face her situation and finally make a proper plan. (What is she going to do when she runs out of money? Where is she going to live? How will she survive without a computer?) But for now, she's enjoying every single moment of his company.

Maybe a little too much so, actually. She's letting her guard down without even noticing it, giving into her tendency to tease and banter and even flirt and...

Well. ]

Salad sounds good... But you know, I think I could use some comfort food tonight, it's been kind of a rough day. So I'll go with spaghetti and meatballs as well. [ Her smile turns a bit playful as she looks around the cozy restaurant. ] I do enjoy a good cannelloni, but I can save that for the second date.

[ It takes a second before what she's said catches up with her brain and then she freezes, her gaze stuck on a display of wine bottles at the side of the room. Oh shit. She did not just say that. She did not just say— ]

[ He is nervous, and the funny thing is, he's not really sure why. He's talked to women before, and he never stumbled over his words as much as he has during this conversation. But willing himself to relax only makes him feel even more tense, so he just tries to stop thinking and let this play out however it will. ]

Excellent. You won't be disappointed, I promise.

[ And then as if on cue, the waiter appears, and Daniel gives him their order. He's about to ask her if she'd like something to drink, but then she mentions a second date, and without warning, Daniel's neck flushes a bright red, and that redness starts creeping further up his neck and above his collar.

But he wills himself to stay as calm as he can, and he manages to say: ]

Huh, I must be making a better impression than I thought if you're already looking forward to a second date.

[ He even manages the calmest, completely unflustered smile that he can, under these circumstances. ]

[ It is with a great deal of effort that she manages to very calmly turn back to face him, and while she does take note of that really nice smile and the flush coloring his neck, neither does anything to calm her own nerves. If anything, they're made even worse by just how good he looks and how smoothly he takes what she's said.

How could she have let herself say that? Johnson, what the hell is wrong with you? ]

Well, I didn't mean— [ Now she's the one stumbling over her words and feeling flustered. She never feels flustered! ] Only if you— Well, I'll probably annoy you to no end before the night's out, anyway.

[ She shifts nervously in her seat and looks around the table, breathing a mental sigh of relief when she spots a small container of sugar packets sitting with some other always available items. Thank goodness she wasn't too far back in time for these. Deftly plucking out three, she arranges them just so on the edge of the table, not even stopping to think that he'd probably find it just plain weird. But that'd be a good thing, right? Then he won't even want a second date that they shouldn't be having anyway. ]

[ It's with no small amount of effort on his own part that he tries to calm himself and to stop that blasted redness from creeping any further up than it already has. But how does a person stop a blushing response? Daniel sure doesn't know, however much he might wish he did. ]

You? Annoy me? [ He laughs, but not at her. ] I'm more likely to annoy you than the other way around.

[ At least, that seems to be his track record at this point. ]

Look, I don't want to risk being the annoying one here, but it's not every day someone like you even bothers to give me the time of day.

[ He's not sure why he's telling her this, and for a minute, he lets his gaze drop to where she's lining up the sugar packets. ]

I don't expect anything from you beyond a nice dinner, some conversation, and when we're done, I'll tell you goodnight and that'll be it.

[ Unless she wants more. Part of him wishes she'd say she wants more, because even though they've only just met, he's curious about her, and would like to get to know her a little better. No, he doesn't believe in love at first sight, but if he did? This situation right here is pretty darn close. He just feels like he doesn't have the right to ask for anything else from her. ]

Might even walk you back to your place if you want, but I won't push.

[ It's painful to see the evidence of what society has done to the incredible man in front of her. Deep down, she'd hoped that it wasn't quite as bad as what she'd seen before at the bar, but it's clear now that it's not just the men who have treated him with such disdain. It's infuriating, really, and chases away any embarrassment she'd been grappling with.

Leaning forward, she crosses her arms on the table, not caring if it's not the 'proper' thing to do for this time period. Timeline be damned, she's not going to sit there and let him feel like he's less because he survived something horrible. ]

Someone like me? You don't know a thing about me, Agent Sousa. [ Her words are firm but quiet, commanding his full attention without being scolding or condescending. ] Why would you think I wouldn't give you the time of day? You're intelligent, resourceful, and clearly more than capable if you're working for the SSR. Is it because of your leg? [ She shakes her head and tries to keep the anger out of her expression — she mostly succeeds. ] My father lost part of his arm in the line of duty. It didn't make him less of a man, it made him more. He's stronger because of what he went through and anyone who doesn't see that in you too is an idiot. So please don't presume to know who I would and wouldn't choose to spend my time with.

[ He opens and closes his mouth several times while she's speaking, and finally, he just shuts his mouth again and lets her talk. He didn't want to turn the conversation back around to his personal feelings of inadequacy, because no one really wants to hear someone get down on themselves, but it's something of a knee-jerk reaction after years of people telling him he won't amount to anything.

And perhaps even worse than that are the people who pay attention to him out of pity or even charity. He doesn't want to be pitied, when there are so many others out there who have it much worse.

He stares at her for a second or two, noting the way she just leans on the table with her arms resting on the surface, and he thinks, not for the first time, how she's unlike anyone he's ever met before. It's almost as though she's ahead of the times, as ludicrous as that sounds. ]

Sorry, I know: I don't know you at all, and it's not my place to tell you anything, let alone how you should act or think, but-

[ He feels bad now, because he fell prey again to that loop of thinking that he's not good enough to deserve someone's attention and time because he's not whole anymore. ]

Your father sounds like a great man. And, uh, sorry if this is saying too much, but you're pretty great too.

[ And therein lies the problem; she is pretty great, and he just feels woefully inadequate next to her. His accomplishments are what they are, but accomplishments don't make the man, and unfortunately, he clearly hasn't shaken off his insecurities and gotten them to stop hounding him.

But does he even dare try to interject some humor at his expense here? ]

Bet you've never ruined a date in less than ten seconds.

[ His compliment unsettles those nerves within her, rattling them around again because she hadn't been expecting it. This was about him, not her, and she's not used to people thinking that sort of thing about her. Not like this, anyway. She's a good SHIELD agent and an incredible hacker, but to have someone saying that to her when he's viewing this like a date...

That doesn't happen anymore. She's too broken for anyone to bother looking past the pieces to see who she is underneath them. Yet, here they are, and she gets the strangest feeling that he's trying to see those hidden parts regardless of her own expectations.

But then he has to go and say that.

Leaning back away from the table again, she lets her hands fall to her lap and tilts her head slightly to the side, as if considering something. But then she just smiles, amused at this whole thing, and there's more than a hint of flirtation in her response. ]

Agent Sousa, didn't we just discuss how you shouldn't assume you know what I'm thinking? That includes whether this date's been ruined.

[ Honestly, he was beginning to feel a little dejected and definitely down, because he knows that was a big misstep on his part.

He very nearly withered just a bit under her chastisement, although he tried his best to keep from looking too crestfallen.

But then she's smiling, and unless he's missed his guess, there's some notes of flirtation in her words and her tone, and try as he might, he can't stop himself from perking back up, almost like a puppy would in anticipation of receiving a treat. ]

I know, I've gone and done it again, I'm sorry.

[ He hesitates, and almost without thinking, he reaches for one of the sugar packets that she left in the container and starts spinning it around between his fingers. ]

So, uh, can I ask you what you're thinking?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject