"Yeah?" Steve was genuinely surprised by the response. He'd definitely banked on her saying no, he'd been prepared for it, but he was glad she'd gone the other way. "Well, alright. To friends, then." He lifted his glass to her with a smile.
For a second, though, his attention drifted to the side where there was some looks and chatter being sent their way from a few of the rowdy drunks. It was a split second decision to ignore it for now, until someone gave him good reason not to. He was willing to forgive some of what came out of a group of men, definitely too drunk together, so long as it didn't go too far.
The problem, often, and one Steve would never actually recognize as a problem, was that his threshold of too far was pretty low.
She lifts her glass as well, taking note of the surprise in his voice. He hadn't been expecting her to say yes, which makes her heart ache for him. It occurs to her to wonder — how lonely has his life been? And how lonely is it in the future when he loses the friends he does have here? The Avengers have to fill some of that void, but how much? Does it take years for him to feel like he truly belongs, the way it had for her? Or does he never feel that way...
That chatter catches her attention too, though she doesn't pay it any real attention. This is far from the first time she's had people mistake her for Japanese since her arrival in the 1940s, and while it pisses her off to no end that they would assume horrible things about someone just because of their ethnicity, it's no different than what so many people face in her own time.
"To friends," she echoes with her own slightly forced smile before taking a sip of her drink. To distract them both, she decides to pose a change in topic. "So, how did you spend your free time back before the—"
Suddenly, one of those drunken idiots raises his voice, clearly intending for his words to be overheard by everyone in the vicinity. "What self-respecting man would want to have drinks with a lousy Jap?"
Daisy stiffens at the words, having to remind herself yet again: ripples, not waves. Back in her time, those assholes would already be on the ground after a very painful meeting with her fist, but this isn't her time and she can't do a damn thing about it without drawing too much attention to herself.
He should have seen it coming. Steve knew the way people were and though he wouldn't have assumed Daisy was anything but American - she did have a look about her but it wasn't obvious and even if it had been, Morita had taught the whole unit well - he couldn't really be surprised others did. He wasn't even that surprised that some drunken soldier had decided to say something about it.
But he was most definitely disappointed. For a half second he thought of not responding, but one look at Daisy and he was turning around in his chair, searching out the fiery gaze directed at her surrounded by snickering friends. Not a damn one had the good sense to look embarrassed by the man they were with, and that made Steve's blood boil. She didn't deserve that sort of treatment. They may have just met, but he'd pegged her as a good person and no one deserved to be treated that way until they did.
"Hey." His voice was even, the lightness he'd been talking to Daisy with was gone, carrying across the room. Many of the men fell silent, all eyes on him. "You owe the lady an apology." He wasn't at all concerned about what the guys thought of him or what kind of man he was. Steve knew the kind of man he was.
No apology was forthcoming, though. Just attitude and more inappropriate commentary, a couple other men chiming in their thoughts, and Steve very deliberately set his glass down on the bar. He cast a quick glance in Daisy's direction.
"I think it's best if you head on home now," he advised as the jerks laughed at yet another off-color joke at her expense, pleasantness gone as he slid out of his seat.
She should have expected it. Of course, Steve Rogers wouldn't be able to just sit back and let something like this happen on his watch. From everything she's ever heard about him, this is exactly the sort of thing he was known for back in his time. Righting wrongs and fighting injustices wherever he went, regardless of his size at the time. But it still catches her off-guard, stunning her into silence while the alcohol-fueled prejudice continued being lobbed her way.
Steve standing is what snaps her out of her ill-timed stupor. She slides off her own seat, crossing the short distance to his side to wrap her hands around his arm. Her grip is firm but gentle, fingers clutching at the fabric of his sleeve, and she lets her expression shift to something desperate and pleading.
"Don't, Steve," she whispers, not wanting to give those assholes the satisfaction of hearing her. "Please. It's not the first time it's happened and it won't be last, so just please let it go."
It grates on her soul to say those words, to be urging him to stand down when she'd love nothing more than to see him put those assholes in their place. (Well, what she'd really love is to be doing it herself, but short of that...) But she doesn't have any other choice.
A sensible man would have listened to her plea, would have stopped and instead of getting into it would have calmly escorted her from the building, maybe taken her somewhere nice where they could keep talking. Steve was not a sensible man. He was the sort of man who couldn't just stand by and let someone take heat they didn't deserve. He had to say something and when saying something didn't work, he had to take matters into hand.
It had gotten him into plenty of trouble in the past, more than once he'd needed to be scraped off the cement in some alley, but there was a lot more to him now and the fight he was walking into this time, he wasn't likely to lose.
"You'd better go," he reiterated, gave a small smile in her direction that he hoped was reassuring, he'd be fine and she didn't need to worry; the worst that was likely to come his way was a reprimand for fighting in the first place.
Carefully extracting his sleeve from her grip, he made his way over to the offending table to demand another apology for the lady that he once again didn't get. Instead he got a pretty clear challenge. That he naturally met with a very solid punch to the man's jaw. Things devolved pretty quickly. The other men at the table rose in protest, some trying to retaliate and getting an introduction to Steve's fists as well. It didn't take long until a good half of the men in the pub were involved, many trying to pull comrades away from the commotion.
Only a few minutes after it had all started, Steve was left standing over a half dozen injured men, his own uniform in disarray and hair fallen out of place. The latter he pushed back off his forehead before turning back toward the bar to offer an apology to the bartender. Really should have taken it outside.
Being told to head on home and essentially let the man take care of her fight leaves her in a sour mood that turns downright foul as she waits outside the bar. She'd love nothing more than to be the one doing the punching she can hear coming from inside, and now Steve himself is among the ones she'd like to introduce to her fist.
It feels wrong to want to beat the crap out of Captain America but, well, that's where they are now.
Standing a few yards from the door to avoid anyone else exiting the building, she waits however long it takes for Steve to finally leave as well, absolutely fuming by the time she sees that rumpled uniform. Her heels don't slow her down one bit as she storms over, having to consciously keep her power in check so she didn't set off a low-level earthquake in the middle of London.
"What the hell, Rogers?" If he has any sense left in him, he should probably be a little afraid right now.
He definitely hadn't expected her to be waiting when he finally emerged, not long after having chased the offending men along their way. Having lent a quick hand in righting the mess he'd made of the place and straighten his tie if nothing more, Steve had fully expected to be walking back on his own and expected to just have to hope he'd run into Daisy again some time. Her waiting there was about the last thing he'd have expected to see.
And she was fuming. That was clear as day even in the darkened street.
Immediately, Steve's hands went up, not wanting a fight here. Not with her. "Woah. Okay. What? You'd rather have done it yourself?"
Sense wasn't something anyone had ever accused Steve of having, but he knew when to be afraid of a woman. Most of the time, honestly, but especially so when she was ready to knock him into Sunday.
Well, at least his self-preservation instincts finally kicked in. It might be for the first time in his entire life, but better late than never.
"I would, actually, yeah," she practically growls at him, unable to remember the last time she'd felt this angry about something. This wasn't the cold, deadly anger that bubbled to the surface when she faced an enemy; it was fiery burning anger that only came when someone she cared about did something stupid. Apparently Steve fell into that category now. "But I can't just go around punching people because some of us have to keep a low profile."
Daisy is aware enough to realize that she's maybe going a little overboard, letting her emotions get the better of her. It's entirely possible that some of this anger isn't caused by Steve at all, but by the whole messed up situation she's found herself in. That's the thing about emotions, though — once you let them out, it's damned hard to get them back in again.
"If you can't, then what's the problem?" He genuinely didn't understand. The guy had needed to learn a lesson, it wasn't right for her to be attacked like that, and if she couldn't defend herself for whatever reason, then why was she mad at him for doing it for her? Him walking into a fight had absolutely nothing to do with thinking she couldn't defend herself and everything to do with wanting to keep her out of trouble. The way the world worked, it was better for him to have to take the heat.
It wasn't right, but it was one fight he couldn't just throw fists at.
"I did tell you to get out of there." His intention had been to keep her from getting wrapped up in it any further, but it had to also have had the effect of making the boys forget her face. He hoped it had anyway. If it hadn't and one of them saw her around the city when he was in a bad mood, there'd be trouble.
It seems so hypocritical to be telling him off for them when she used to do the same sort of thing whenever she'd hear someone saying things about Inhumans. It is hypocritical, but Daisy's never been known for having a level head when she's upset.
"You can't fight everyone's battles for them, not like this." Is she messing everything up by saying this? Not only ruining any chance of not being achingly lonely in this time but also the future? Even that brief thought isn't enough to stop the runaway train that is Daisy Johnson. "What happens the next time one of those assholes sees an Asian woman alone, huh? Are you just gonna pop out of the woodwork to fight for them too? Because sure, maybe someone in there will be too afraid to say anything, but some of those others might just jump straight to violence instead."
She's seen it too many times, come close to experiencing it herself more than she cares to count, and that pain she carries with her shows through all that anger. It only lasts a moment before she shoves it back down with the rest of her trauma where it belongs.
Consequences were never something Steve had ever thought too much about, and having that thrown right at him stung. She made a good point, there was a chance that he'd made things worse for some other woman some time, but that chance wasn't enough to make him regret it. It wasn't right, letting people get away with that sort of thing. If he didn't stand up when he was there, even if he couldn't always be, then how was he any better than those men?
The sting of her words just brought his hackles up again, made him want to dig his heels in.
"So I'm just supposed to sit there and not say anything? That's what you want me to do when it's some woman who isn't you, too? Let her think that it's okay for those jerks to talk about her that way?" It wasn't. He wouldn't. There was no way Steve could ever just sit by. Standing up and doing the right thing was worth Daisy being so mad at him. It was worth maybe not even seeing her ever again.
With every word he speaks, her anger cools just a little more, revealing more of the emotional turmoil underneath. She can't help but think of her struggles to change the minds of an entire country, to make the people in power understand that Inhumans aren't monsters or weapons, they're people. It's the same fight that anyone other will be facing for the next century.
But Steve is a good man and he cares so much, she can see that written all over his face. There isn't an easy answer for this, though, as much as she wishes she could give him one.
"Think about what you just said," she tells him, her voice thick with emotion, exhaustion at the edges. She's so very tired. "You can say something. That doesn't mean you have to fight them. The only thing that will come from what happened tonight is more anger and unjustified hate toward people who don't deserve it."
Folding her arms over stomach, her grip on her purse is tight enough to leave marks. She wants so desperately to quake something to pieces but she can't, so she just stand there and tries to hold herself together. "You have to make them understand. Not that they can't behave that way, but that we're human too, just like them."
"Sometimes, making people understand means communicating in their language," Steve pointed out evenly. He hadn't done the wrong thing, he wasn't budging on that, but he did understand where she was coming from. He still didn't completely comprehend why she was upset with him, or why he even cared, but he saw her point. "But trust that those men aren't going to be harassing anyone else. You have my word."
And that, more than anything else he could say, meant something. Steve was a man of his word, when he made a promise he was going to keep it. Very little could lead him to going back on what he said.
He had to hope that was enough for her, too. Steve obviously had no idea what kind of men she'd known, if she could take an earnest and trustworthy man at his word. If she couldn't, he wouldn't know how else to convince her that in this case, this one time, about this one thing, everything would be okay.
She understands his points in the same way he understands hers, but that doesn't mean she feels she was wrong either. This is a complicated issue that hits far too close to home for her; when coupled with her emotional state and all the alcohol she'd had that evening, she'd been doomed from the start.
Reaching up to run a hand through her hair, she catches herself too late, her carefully crafted curls already turning into a mess. Yet another thing she misses about her own time. She pulls her hand down with an almost irritated movement, placing it instead on her hip. A deep breath, in and out, eyes fixed on the pavement at her feet, and then—
"Not even you can guarantee something like that," she tells him softly, feeling heavy and worn out. But, looking up at him again with tired eyes, she has to acknowledge, "But I know I can trust you."
Maybe she was right and he couldn't, but he was damn well going to do his best. He didn't have names or battalions or anything like that, but he was resourceful and knew some people in some pretty high places so with a bit of stubbornness and some luck, maybe he could do something. Even if he couldn't, chances were pretty good they'd all be off to the front lines sooner rather than later.
But her trust, for now, was good enough. Whether she'd heard stories about him, whatever amount of truth might or might not be in them, or whether he just had that sort of face, as long as he wasn't being shouted at and she was more or less consoled, it was plenty.
"Thank you." He took a breath and looked down the street. "Then...walk you somewhere?" It really wasn't like he could invite her back in, the evening had gotten a sour taste even as men continued celebrating in every other establishment and on the streets, no one else even spared them a glance. And though he'd suggested she head home before, if she hadn't listened then it only seemed right to escort her.
It doesn't take more than a few moments of thought for her to decide the answer to his question. Nodding, she gestures in one direction. "My place is a few blocks this way."
She turns and leads the way, knowing he'll walk with her. The pace she sets isn't slow, exactly, but it's not overly hurried, either. Now that the anger's all drained out of her, she isn't ready to be alone yet, because being alone means facing her emotions and all the pain she carries with her every day.
There's silence between them for a moment, the quiet click of Daisy's heels and the thud of his boots occasionally drowned out by the celebrations they pass. But then she suddenly says, quietly, "I'm sorry I lost it back there. I was upset, but it wasn't all about you. The last couple of weeks have been... really hard, but that's no excuse for putting it all on you like that."
Any halfway decent man would have followed along without a moment of hesitation, and Steve was nothing if he was not a decent man. He fell into step beside her, keeping pace, not feeling a need to interrupt the quiet between them as they walked. It wasn't often he experienced a quiet street when he was in London. His nights weren't usually spent on the town and if he did there was always a chance of bombs falling.
"You have nothing to apologize for," he answered calmly when she did break the silence. "Everyone's got their tough weeks these days." Or months, or years for some. The longer the war dragged on, the harder things got for most people and if it provided any sort of comfort at all, Steve would happily be shouted at by all of them.
And this time, he might have actually deserved some of it.
And just like that, she knows he won't hold it against her. With just a few words, he's written off the incident, no harm done, no grudges held. She wouldn't have been so easily moved if she'd been in his position but here he is, proving yet again what a good man he is.
Glancing over at him, there's something indescribably sad in her expression that bleeds into her words when she speaks. "This world really doesn't deserve you."
It hurts to know that he'll lose everything he loves soon. With one devastating blow after another, his life will be stripped away from him, leaving nothing but the good man he is at his core. Then, once again, they'll be reminded of how much the world needs him and how much they don't deserve him.
Steve attributed the glance, the sadness he saw in it, as a memory of something she'd lost. She had said she'd lost a lot and very recently at that. It seemed clear to him that something about him just happened to remind her of someone. But there was nothing he could do to fix that, just had to hope it was in a good way.
He laughed a little, a sound that came out a little more like a disbelieving snort, and shook his head. "I'm not much," he protested. "I just understand what it's like."
He'd had his fair share of rough in life, and he'd seen enough since he'd managed to join the army to know just how terrible things could get. He couldn't fault anyone for not being able to hold it together, for letting something that seemed small become too much.
There's so much here that reminds her of loss, but then that's the case wherever and whenever she goes. Memories lurk around every dark corner, hide in each moment of the day. If she let them, they would consume her, drowning her in a grief so deep she'd never see the surface again.
Some people say Daisy Johnson is strong; she believes she's just too stubborn to give up. There's too much still to lose and she refuses to let it happen.
Moving a little closer, she reaches out to hook her arm through his, pressing her fingers against the slightly rumpled fabric of his uniform the way she'd seen women of this time period do. Quietly, she tells him, "You're a lot of things to a lot of people. And I'm not just talking about the suit or the soldier in it."
That she took his arm at all was unexpected, but it was the way her fingers pressed into his sleeve that really startled him. That was a gesture if he'd ever experienced one. It screamed of a softness and a familiarity they didn't really have. Steve should have been uncomfortable with it, but somehow it felt natural with Daisy. He'd spend a good deal of time wondering why later. For the moment, he just glanced down and smiled at her, slowed their pace a little so the walk was really more of a stroll.
"Someone's seen one too many of those comic books they put out," he joked. "Don't believe everything you've heard about me. All I really am is some scrawny kid from Brooklyn. Nothing special." He'd been made special by the serum and by a good deal of good advertising. The real bones of him, those hadn't changed, and most people hadn't ever spared him more than a glance until he forced them to.
There were reasons Steve had grown up to be stubborn and scrappy and prone to getting into trouble. The things that made him a good soldier now.
Later, if and when she realizes that it might not have been the best idea to take his arm, she'll blame it on not knowing all the finer details of the social norms of this era. For now, she just drinks in the sensation of touching someone, being close to someone again. It's not a hug, which she is in sure need of right now, but it's good enough. She can feel muscle beneath her fingertips, his unique vibration sinking into her bones as they walk. Every second of it is a gift she won't want to give up.
Smiling softly, she shakes her head, mussed curls swaying with the movement. "And I'm just an orphan from Hell's Kitchen. Our pasts don't define us. We are who we choose to be."
They're less than two blocks away now from the little basement flat she'd found to rent. Two blocks that will take a little time at their current speed, of course, but it will be over all too soon, and she isn't ready for it. She isn't ready to be so completely alone again or to lose this connection she's made to a man who may never know her again.
"You know, someone's said that to me before." Or something close enough to it. A man he'd come to respect and care for in a very short time the same way he had done with Daisy. Another someone he'd met by chance. He hoped Dais's encounter with him would end better than Dr. Erskine's had.
It was certainly a different sort of encounter they were having. Anyone who gave them a passing glance would mistake them for lovers, something that was likely to cause problems if it got back to Peggy's ears. Not that Steve was thinking about it. He instead thought about how her not quite right curls really flattered her when they moved around her face, wondered how far he was walking her, how long they could make it stretch out. He was comfortable with her in a way he wasn't with most people.
"But you know, I get the feeling of the two of us? You might need that bit of wisdom more." So that she didn't cling to her grief, didn't let it change who she was. Steve might not know much of anything at all about her but he liked who she was as far as he did know her.
Their encounter and this friendship will only end in heartache. With every minute that passes, it becomes more of a certainty. She will be nothing more than a memory for Steve, probably forgotten before the week is out, and he'll... He'll be another cause for the guilt she'll carry with her for the rest of her life. Lying to one of her heroes with every breath, fighting every urge to warn him of what's to come. With just a few words, she could change his entire life — and destroy the future in the process.
She wishes they could have met under different circumstances. Maybe then...
"You're probably not wrong," she acknowledges, watching the ground move under her feet. A click of her heel. Click, click, click. "I've tried to become who I want to be despite everything, but I don't know that I can ever move past the mistakes I've made."
A moment passes and then she shakes her head again, forcing on an easygoing expression as she looks over at him again. "Listen to me, it's a wonder you're still standing here. I swear I'm not always this depressing."
"Is that so?" He couldn't help laughing at the comment. A little depressing seemed very appropriate for the era and Daisy couldn't be any older than he was; depressing very literally described their youth in a few different ways. People had learned to cope with it in different ways. Some, himself among them, tended toward the fatalistic, others embraced the sadness. "You're just going to have to prove that to me sometime."
For the time being, it was fine. Walking away from the raucous celebrations of the main streets, a little depressing didn't even seem out of place.
If he got a promise of seeing another side of her, that was a promise to see each other again, talk again, get to know one another a little better than they could in half an evening. Despite having no intentions of things going anywhere beyond friendship, despite all appearances otherwise, that was what he really wanted. A drink now and then with someone he felt he really understood and who could really understand him, a good chat and unravelling the mystery of what made everything about her seem not quite in place.
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For a second, though, his attention drifted to the side where there was some looks and chatter being sent their way from a few of the rowdy drunks. It was a split second decision to ignore it for now, until someone gave him good reason not to. He was willing to forgive some of what came out of a group of men, definitely too drunk together, so long as it didn't go too far.
The problem, often, and one Steve would never actually recognize as a problem, was that his threshold of too far was pretty low.
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That chatter catches her attention too, though she doesn't pay it any real attention. This is far from the first time she's had people mistake her for Japanese since her arrival in the 1940s, and while it pisses her off to no end that they would assume horrible things about someone just because of their ethnicity, it's no different than what so many people face in her own time.
"To friends," she echoes with her own slightly forced smile before taking a sip of her drink. To distract them both, she decides to pose a change in topic. "So, how did you spend your free time back before the—"
Suddenly, one of those drunken idiots raises his voice, clearly intending for his words to be overheard by everyone in the vicinity. "What self-respecting man would want to have drinks with a lousy Jap?"
Daisy stiffens at the words, having to remind herself yet again: ripples, not waves. Back in her time, those assholes would already be on the ground after a very painful meeting with her fist, but this isn't her time and she can't do a damn thing about it without drawing too much attention to herself.
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But he was most definitely disappointed. For a half second he thought of not responding, but one look at Daisy and he was turning around in his chair, searching out the fiery gaze directed at her surrounded by snickering friends. Not a damn one had the good sense to look embarrassed by the man they were with, and that made Steve's blood boil. She didn't deserve that sort of treatment. They may have just met, but he'd pegged her as a good person and no one deserved to be treated that way until they did.
"Hey." His voice was even, the lightness he'd been talking to Daisy with was gone, carrying across the room. Many of the men fell silent, all eyes on him. "You owe the lady an apology." He wasn't at all concerned about what the guys thought of him or what kind of man he was. Steve knew the kind of man he was.
No apology was forthcoming, though. Just attitude and more inappropriate commentary, a couple other men chiming in their thoughts, and Steve very deliberately set his glass down on the bar. He cast a quick glance in Daisy's direction.
"I think it's best if you head on home now," he advised as the jerks laughed at yet another off-color joke at her expense, pleasantness gone as he slid out of his seat.
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Steve standing is what snaps her out of her ill-timed stupor. She slides off her own seat, crossing the short distance to his side to wrap her hands around his arm. Her grip is firm but gentle, fingers clutching at the fabric of his sleeve, and she lets her expression shift to something desperate and pleading.
"Don't, Steve," she whispers, not wanting to give those assholes the satisfaction of hearing her. "Please. It's not the first time it's happened and it won't be last, so just please let it go."
It grates on her soul to say those words, to be urging him to stand down when she'd love nothing more than to see him put those assholes in their place. (Well, what she'd really love is to be doing it herself, but short of that...) But she doesn't have any other choice.
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It had gotten him into plenty of trouble in the past, more than once he'd needed to be scraped off the cement in some alley, but there was a lot more to him now and the fight he was walking into this time, he wasn't likely to lose.
"You'd better go," he reiterated, gave a small smile in her direction that he hoped was reassuring, he'd be fine and she didn't need to worry; the worst that was likely to come his way was a reprimand for fighting in the first place.
Carefully extracting his sleeve from her grip, he made his way over to the offending table to demand another apology for the lady that he once again didn't get. Instead he got a pretty clear challenge. That he naturally met with a very solid punch to the man's jaw. Things devolved pretty quickly. The other men at the table rose in protest, some trying to retaliate and getting an introduction to Steve's fists as well. It didn't take long until a good half of the men in the pub were involved, many trying to pull comrades away from the commotion.
Only a few minutes after it had all started, Steve was left standing over a half dozen injured men, his own uniform in disarray and hair fallen out of place. The latter he pushed back off his forehead before turning back toward the bar to offer an apology to the bartender. Really should have taken it outside.
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It feels wrong to want to beat the crap out of Captain America but, well, that's where they are now.
Standing a few yards from the door to avoid anyone else exiting the building, she waits however long it takes for Steve to finally leave as well, absolutely fuming by the time she sees that rumpled uniform. Her heels don't slow her down one bit as she storms over, having to consciously keep her power in check so she didn't set off a low-level earthquake in the middle of London.
"What the hell, Rogers?" If he has any sense left in him, he should probably be a little afraid right now.
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And she was fuming. That was clear as day even in the darkened street.
Immediately, Steve's hands went up, not wanting a fight here. Not with her. "Woah. Okay. What? You'd rather have done it yourself?"
Sense wasn't something anyone had ever accused Steve of having, but he knew when to be afraid of a woman. Most of the time, honestly, but especially so when she was ready to knock him into Sunday.
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"I would, actually, yeah," she practically growls at him, unable to remember the last time she'd felt this angry about something. This wasn't the cold, deadly anger that bubbled to the surface when she faced an enemy; it was fiery burning anger that only came when someone she cared about did something stupid. Apparently Steve fell into that category now. "But I can't just go around punching people because some of us have to keep a low profile."
Daisy is aware enough to realize that she's maybe going a little overboard, letting her emotions get the better of her. It's entirely possible that some of this anger isn't caused by Steve at all, but by the whole messed up situation she's found herself in. That's the thing about emotions, though — once you let them out, it's damned hard to get them back in again.
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It wasn't right, but it was one fight he couldn't just throw fists at.
"I did tell you to get out of there." His intention had been to keep her from getting wrapped up in it any further, but it had to also have had the effect of making the boys forget her face. He hoped it had anyway. If it hadn't and one of them saw her around the city when he was in a bad mood, there'd be trouble.
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"You can't fight everyone's battles for them, not like this." Is she messing everything up by saying this? Not only ruining any chance of not being achingly lonely in this time but also the future? Even that brief thought isn't enough to stop the runaway train that is Daisy Johnson. "What happens the next time one of those assholes sees an Asian woman alone, huh? Are you just gonna pop out of the woodwork to fight for them too? Because sure, maybe someone in there will be too afraid to say anything, but some of those others might just jump straight to violence instead."
She's seen it too many times, come close to experiencing it herself more than she cares to count, and that pain she carries with her shows through all that anger. It only lasts a moment before she shoves it back down with the rest of her trauma where it belongs.
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The sting of her words just brought his hackles up again, made him want to dig his heels in.
"So I'm just supposed to sit there and not say anything? That's what you want me to do when it's some woman who isn't you, too? Let her think that it's okay for those jerks to talk about her that way?" It wasn't. He wouldn't. There was no way Steve could ever just sit by. Standing up and doing the right thing was worth Daisy being so mad at him. It was worth maybe not even seeing her ever again.
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But Steve is a good man and he cares so much, she can see that written all over his face. There isn't an easy answer for this, though, as much as she wishes she could give him one.
"Think about what you just said," she tells him, her voice thick with emotion, exhaustion at the edges. She's so very tired. "You can say something. That doesn't mean you have to fight them. The only thing that will come from what happened tonight is more anger and unjustified hate toward people who don't deserve it."
Folding her arms over stomach, her grip on her purse is tight enough to leave marks. She wants so desperately to quake something to pieces but she can't, so she just stand there and tries to hold herself together. "You have to make them understand. Not that they can't behave that way, but that we're human too, just like them."
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And that, more than anything else he could say, meant something. Steve was a man of his word, when he made a promise he was going to keep it. Very little could lead him to going back on what he said.
He had to hope that was enough for her, too. Steve obviously had no idea what kind of men she'd known, if she could take an earnest and trustworthy man at his word. If she couldn't, he wouldn't know how else to convince her that in this case, this one time, about this one thing, everything would be okay.
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Reaching up to run a hand through her hair, she catches herself too late, her carefully crafted curls already turning into a mess. Yet another thing she misses about her own time. She pulls her hand down with an almost irritated movement, placing it instead on her hip. A deep breath, in and out, eyes fixed on the pavement at her feet, and then—
"Not even you can guarantee something like that," she tells him softly, feeling heavy and worn out. But, looking up at him again with tired eyes, she has to acknowledge, "But I know I can trust you."
He can make of that whatever he wills.
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But her trust, for now, was good enough. Whether she'd heard stories about him, whatever amount of truth might or might not be in them, or whether he just had that sort of face, as long as he wasn't being shouted at and she was more or less consoled, it was plenty.
"Thank you." He took a breath and looked down the street. "Then...walk you somewhere?" It really wasn't like he could invite her back in, the evening had gotten a sour taste even as men continued celebrating in every other establishment and on the streets, no one else even spared them a glance. And though he'd suggested she head home before, if she hadn't listened then it only seemed right to escort her.
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She turns and leads the way, knowing he'll walk with her. The pace she sets isn't slow, exactly, but it's not overly hurried, either. Now that the anger's all drained out of her, she isn't ready to be alone yet, because being alone means facing her emotions and all the pain she carries with her every day.
There's silence between them for a moment, the quiet click of Daisy's heels and the thud of his boots occasionally drowned out by the celebrations they pass. But then she suddenly says, quietly, "I'm sorry I lost it back there. I was upset, but it wasn't all about you. The last couple of weeks have been... really hard, but that's no excuse for putting it all on you like that."
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"You have nothing to apologize for," he answered calmly when she did break the silence. "Everyone's got their tough weeks these days." Or months, or years for some. The longer the war dragged on, the harder things got for most people and if it provided any sort of comfort at all, Steve would happily be shouted at by all of them.
And this time, he might have actually deserved some of it.
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Glancing over at him, there's something indescribably sad in her expression that bleeds into her words when she speaks. "This world really doesn't deserve you."
It hurts to know that he'll lose everything he loves soon. With one devastating blow after another, his life will be stripped away from him, leaving nothing but the good man he is at his core. Then, once again, they'll be reminded of how much the world needs him and how much they don't deserve him.
She doesn't deserve him.
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He laughed a little, a sound that came out a little more like a disbelieving snort, and shook his head. "I'm not much," he protested. "I just understand what it's like."
He'd had his fair share of rough in life, and he'd seen enough since he'd managed to join the army to know just how terrible things could get. He couldn't fault anyone for not being able to hold it together, for letting something that seemed small become too much.
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Some people say Daisy Johnson is strong; she believes she's just too stubborn to give up. There's too much still to lose and she refuses to let it happen.
Moving a little closer, she reaches out to hook her arm through his, pressing her fingers against the slightly rumpled fabric of his uniform the way she'd seen women of this time period do. Quietly, she tells him, "You're a lot of things to a lot of people. And I'm not just talking about the suit or the soldier in it."
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"Someone's seen one too many of those comic books they put out," he joked. "Don't believe everything you've heard about me. All I really am is some scrawny kid from Brooklyn. Nothing special." He'd been made special by the serum and by a good deal of good advertising. The real bones of him, those hadn't changed, and most people hadn't ever spared him more than a glance until he forced them to.
There were reasons Steve had grown up to be stubborn and scrappy and prone to getting into trouble. The things that made him a good soldier now.
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Smiling softly, she shakes her head, mussed curls swaying with the movement. "And I'm just an orphan from Hell's Kitchen. Our pasts don't define us. We are who we choose to be."
They're less than two blocks away now from the little basement flat she'd found to rent. Two blocks that will take a little time at their current speed, of course, but it will be over all too soon, and she isn't ready for it. She isn't ready to be so completely alone again or to lose this connection she's made to a man who may never know her again.
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It was certainly a different sort of encounter they were having. Anyone who gave them a passing glance would mistake them for lovers, something that was likely to cause problems if it got back to Peggy's ears. Not that Steve was thinking about it. He instead thought about how her not quite right curls really flattered her when they moved around her face, wondered how far he was walking her, how long they could make it stretch out. He was comfortable with her in a way he wasn't with most people.
"But you know, I get the feeling of the two of us? You might need that bit of wisdom more." So that she didn't cling to her grief, didn't let it change who she was. Steve might not know much of anything at all about her but he liked who she was as far as he did know her.
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She wishes they could have met under different circumstances. Maybe then...
"You're probably not wrong," she acknowledges, watching the ground move under her feet. A click of her heel. Click, click, click. "I've tried to become who I want to be despite everything, but I don't know that I can ever move past the mistakes I've made."
A moment passes and then she shakes her head again, forcing on an easygoing expression as she looks over at him again. "Listen to me, it's a wonder you're still standing here. I swear I'm not always this depressing."
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For the time being, it was fine. Walking away from the raucous celebrations of the main streets, a little depressing didn't even seem out of place.
If he got a promise of seeing another side of her, that was a promise to see each other again, talk again, get to know one another a little better than they could in half an evening. Despite having no intentions of things going anywhere beyond friendship, despite all appearances otherwise, that was what he really wanted. A drink now and then with someone he felt he really understood and who could really understand him, a good chat and unravelling the mystery of what made everything about her seem not quite in place.
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