"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.
Damn, he has a good laugh. It's the kind of laugh that falls over you like warm water, rippling along the senses and setting you at ease. She could listen to that laugh for the rest of her life and never get enough of it... And nope, she is absolutely not thinking about what that might mean. Denial, party of one, your table is ready.
It was nice to be surrounded by the quieter streets of a small London neighborhood, though if she listened hard enough, she could just hear the faint celebrations going on in the distance. Everyone seemed to be embracing the opportunity and making the most of the night before the reality of the world came crashing back in on them.
"Challenge accepted," she answers easily, giving him a playful smile. They're on her street now and her grip on his arm tightens ever so slightly. "When do you head out again?"
It was impossible not to notice the way her hand tightened on him and Steve knew to take it for what it meant. Closer to her destination than either of them wanted and once they got to her door there'd be no excuse to linger. He definitely couldn't join her inside even if she were to invite him. It wouldn't be proper and would be full of intentions he didn't have. There was no walking any slower, though, no way to help it.
"Well. Assuming the rest of my unit makes it back tonight, we're set to head out tomorrow." There was no guarantee though, that instead of boarding a plane in the morning they wouldn't be hunting down one or two sleepy-headed soldiers who hadn't been able to find their way home. The men he'd chosen were better than that, usually, but it really was a big night and more than one had gone off on his own. "Don't know when we'll be passing through this way again."
Steve really hoped that she wasn't going to wind up forgetting to meet him again in the meantime.
Damn this era and its ridiculous ideas of propriety. Two people should be able to be friends whenever and wherever they choose without anyone making assumptions. Daisy might not know all the social cues of this time period but she does know that inviting Steve in for coffee would be frowned upon and she's pretty damn sure he wouldn't even consider such a thing regardless.
They pass another house and it's a struggle to keep her steps even and steady. It's going to be a bad night ahead, she can already feel it, but there's nothing to be done. Only three houses to go now.
"I hope everything goes as planned for all of you," she tells him, meaning every word of it. They're all heroes, every last one of them, and they don't deserve the pain ahead. "And at least now you'll know where to try finding me when you're next in this area."
"If you're not in that pub when I get back, I'll know exactly where to look," he assured, tilting his chin ahead of them. He was going to remember the street, the houses, even the damn cobblestones to know exactly where she lived. Which from another sort of man might have sounded bad, like he had ulterior motives or immoral intentions. "You'll have to leave word if you get shipped out in the meantime."
There was no telling what the future brought. She had mentioned wanting to get back out into the fight, and SSR agents went from twiddling their thumbs to thrown into action as quickly as he did. A single scrap of intel had people mobilizing and if Daisy was as much like him as she seemed, she'd be jumping at the chance to leave when it came. Steve had no idea what she did for the organization, but that didn't matter. She could be long gone before he came back.
It would probably be smarter to just pass word through the office girls, but that carried the risk of becoming gossip. He didn't have any intention of hiding her, but neither did he have any intention of letting anyone know she existed. At least until he really understood her.
With any luck, she won't be here when he comes looking again. It's what's better for everyone — she'll get back to the mission and he won't have to worry about her anymore. She'll just disappear into the void the war has made in this world and he'll never know the truth. It's the best case scenario for them both.
So then why does that thought make her so incredibly sad?
Two houses now.
"I'll leave a note with my landlady if that happens," she agrees with a nod. "Mrs. Harris, she owns the boarding house. I'm renting the basement room until my next assignment but she knows I could leave at any time. She won't mind holding a letter until you find your way back here."
She doesn't acknowledge that she may not have the chance to write that letter. If the Zephyr appears suddenly and there's no time... It'll be another thing to feel guilty about.
A basement didn't sound too appealing; there weren't a whole lot of habitable basements that Steve had seen but he figured maybe they just did things differently in England, didn't think too much about it. A basement was safer even if it might not be nice; at least if bombs dropped, Daisy would be protected. That was important to him.
"I'd appreciate that." Any kind of word to know she hadn't just disappeared into nothingness, that gave him some kind of direction for the worry he was bound to have about her.
"I take it you're just up here, huh?" No use in pretending this wasn't it. They were going to have to say goodbye sooner or later.
The basement didn't bother Daisy; it was a decent room with its own entrance, so she could come and go without anyone asking questions. She's slept in far worse places under far worse conditions, after all, and spies didn't get to be picky when they were undercover.
Facing the music isn't something she's very good at. One house left.
"Yeah, that's me right there..." she says with a gesture to the next building over, sandwiched between others like every other house in this neighborhood. Even being at the edge of the city didn't afford a lot of space, just a slightly wider property than might be found nearer to the center.
"I guess it's time to say our goodnights, then," Steve acknowledged, however reluctant he was to do it. "It's been real nice to meet you, Daisy."
With any luck, they'd be able to do it again before too long. But it really was hard to hope too hard knowing the state of the world and the risks of the job. Even just the risks of being in London could get in the way of them ever meeting again. But Steve Rogers was nothing if he wasn't hopeful, optimistic. Until things panned out otherwise, he was planning on seeing her again, sharing another drink sometime. Even if it wound up being after the war, he'd make it happen.
And he'd be doing it still assuring himself he was only interested in friendship, even if there was a part of him that knew that couldn't be true. Pretty as Daisy was, as instant a connection as there had been between them, Steve's intentions remained innocent.
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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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It was nice to be surrounded by the quieter streets of a small London neighborhood, though if she listened hard enough, she could just hear the faint celebrations going on in the distance. Everyone seemed to be embracing the opportunity and making the most of the night before the reality of the world came crashing back in on them.
"Challenge accepted," she answers easily, giving him a playful smile. They're on her street now and her grip on his arm tightens ever so slightly. "When do you head out again?"
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"Well. Assuming the rest of my unit makes it back tonight, we're set to head out tomorrow." There was no guarantee though, that instead of boarding a plane in the morning they wouldn't be hunting down one or two sleepy-headed soldiers who hadn't been able to find their way home. The men he'd chosen were better than that, usually, but it really was a big night and more than one had gone off on his own. "Don't know when we'll be passing through this way again."
Steve really hoped that she wasn't going to wind up forgetting to meet him again in the meantime.
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They pass another house and it's a struggle to keep her steps even and steady. It's going to be a bad night ahead, she can already feel it, but there's nothing to be done. Only three houses to go now.
"I hope everything goes as planned for all of you," she tells him, meaning every word of it. They're all heroes, every last one of them, and they don't deserve the pain ahead. "And at least now you'll know where to try finding me when you're next in this area."
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There was no telling what the future brought. She had mentioned wanting to get back out into the fight, and SSR agents went from twiddling their thumbs to thrown into action as quickly as he did. A single scrap of intel had people mobilizing and if Daisy was as much like him as she seemed, she'd be jumping at the chance to leave when it came. Steve had no idea what she did for the organization, but that didn't matter. She could be long gone before he came back.
It would probably be smarter to just pass word through the office girls, but that carried the risk of becoming gossip. He didn't have any intention of hiding her, but neither did he have any intention of letting anyone know she existed. At least until he really understood her.
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So then why does that thought make her so incredibly sad?
Two houses now.
"I'll leave a note with my landlady if that happens," she agrees with a nod. "Mrs. Harris, she owns the boarding house. I'm renting the basement room until my next assignment but she knows I could leave at any time. She won't mind holding a letter until you find your way back here."
She doesn't acknowledge that she may not have the chance to write that letter. If the Zephyr appears suddenly and there's no time... It'll be another thing to feel guilty about.
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"I'd appreciate that." Any kind of word to know she hadn't just disappeared into nothingness, that gave him some kind of direction for the worry he was bound to have about her.
"I take it you're just up here, huh?" No use in pretending this wasn't it. They were going to have to say goodbye sooner or later.
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Facing the music isn't something she's very good at. One house left.
"Yeah, that's me right there..." she says with a gesture to the next building over, sandwiched between others like every other house in this neighborhood. Even being at the edge of the city didn't afford a lot of space, just a slightly wider property than might be found nearer to the center.
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With any luck, they'd be able to do it again before too long. But it really was hard to hope too hard knowing the state of the world and the risks of the job. Even just the risks of being in London could get in the way of them ever meeting again. But Steve Rogers was nothing if he wasn't hopeful, optimistic. Until things panned out otherwise, he was planning on seeing her again, sharing another drink sometime. Even if it wound up being after the war, he'd make it happen.
And he'd be doing it still assuring himself he was only interested in friendship, even if there was a part of him that knew that couldn't be true. Pretty as Daisy was, as instant a connection as there had been between them, Steve's intentions remained innocent.
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