"Imagine Person A coming across a stepladder and showing Person B. Then Person B argues that it's a ladder and they get into a heated debate. Bonus: Person C remains neutral and calls them both idiots." (from otpprompts on Tumblr)

I just can't get enough of these three dorks! I didn't even realize it until I saw them get their shit together in the last couple of episodes and work as a team, but then EEEEEE. There won't be any kind of regular updates on this story because I'll just post stuff as I feel like writing it, but I'd love it if you reviewed with your thoughts anyway! You can prompt me in a review or on Tumblr (the link to my blog is on my profile).

So... yeah. Enjoy!

In the days after the Howard Stark fiasco, the SSR headquarters fell into a sort of exhausted silence. Those agents who were lucky enough to make it out alive were home with their families or out drinking away the shock. The ladies of the phone company never stepped a foot in anyway, so it wasn't until Agent Carter rounded up Sousa and Thompson nearly a week later that anyone showed their face in the damaged office.

The two men rode up the elevator in silence. Thompson's sleek blond hair was uncombed and Sousa's shirt protruded from beneath his vest; they were sleep-deprived and shaky. Memories had resurfaced for both of them that they would have preferred to keep buried. And yet here they were—perhaps it was a good thing that Carter's call had pulled them from their own coping mechanisms.

The paneled doors slid open to reveal the disaster exactly as they had left it. Most of the windows were still gaping mouths rimmed by jagged glass teeth, their glittering vomit scattered across the scratched linoleum floor. One of the desks bared black scorch marks where the Chief had leaned against it. It smelt of gunpowder and sweat and the stale coffee in the corner pot and the cold, grimy air blowing in from outside.

Sousa exhaled loudly. "Peggy said she'd be here in a few minutes."

Thompson grunted.

"Maybe we should get started."

Another grunt, but this time Thompson pulled his hands from his deep pockets and walked over to the nearest desk. A mug of coffee had spilled over some blank forms, which he swept into the wastebasket. Then he took the cup to the cart in the corner and poked at it halfheartedly with a stained napkin.

Sousa disappeared into an adjacent room and emerged with a broom. He tried to push the shattered glass into a pile, but it was difficult to maneuver both the cleaning tool and his crutch. After he leaned his crutch against a desk and began limping around, wincing heavily each time he put weight on his prosthetic, Thompson stopped what he was doing to watch.

"Gimme that," he finally growled when he had observed his colleague struggling for a minute or so. Pulling the broom from Sousa's hands, he tossed the lightweight crutch to him and began scraping aggressively at the floor. "See if you can do something about those damn windows."

Sousa shrugged and waited to smirk until Thompson's back was turned. "Sir yes sir." The tap that always accompanied his irregular gait faded as he went to explore the janitorial closet further.

By the time Peggy arrived, the glass had joined the stained papers in the wastebasket and Sousa was perched on top of a stepladder, doing his best to fasten some old oilcloth over the broken windows. Peggy glanced sharply at Thompson and saw that he was too absorbed in cleaning the coffee cart to notice that Sousa was balancing on his good leg, leaning far out from his rickety support to hammer tacks into the sill.

"Gentlemen," she greeted them briskly. "Making progress, I see."

Sousa grunted something unintelligible around a mouthful of tacks. Thompson looked up and nodded. "Agent."

"Agent." She held up a brown paper bag. Spots of grease were appearing on the bottom but the smell coming from it was positively heavenly in the uneasy squalor of the room. "I've brought lunch."

Thompson snorted. "Old habits die hard, eh?"

Peggy rolled her eyes. "Any snide comments and I will happily eat all three hamburgers myself."

The room darkened slightly as Sousa managed to completely cover one window. He spat the tacks into his hand so he could speak. "Don't test her, Jack, I've seen her do it."

Thompson held up his hands in mock defeat. "Fine. Just pass the grub."

Sousa teetered on his precarious support. "Lemme just put this ladder away, then we can break for lunch."

"Stepladder."

There was a thud as Sousa leapt to the floor and landed hard on his good leg. He winced. "What?"

"It's called a stepladder," Thompson insisted through a large mouthful.

"It's a ladder!" Sousa insisted, dragging the object in question behind him and back to the supply closet. "I mean, it's a small ladder, but it's still a ladder."

"Stepladder!" the other agent called after him as he disappeared around a corner.

"Really, you two," Peggy scolded as she leaned primly back against her own desk. Her nails stood out scarlet against the sandwich she held. She looked remarkably put-together, Thompson noted, considering what they had all been through. Her voice was serious but there was laughter in her eyes. "What a ridiculous thing to disagree over."

"No," Sousa said seriously as he rejoined them, "We've disagreed over less."

Peggy tilted her head back as the laughter spilled over. Thompson wasn't sure he'd ever heard her laugh non-sarcastically. It was refreshing. Sousa was watching her with equal awe.

"You two are going to be the death of me," she said finally, half-joking.

"Hopefully not any time soon," Sousa responded, picking at his burger.

She sighed. "I think we've established that I can hold my own. You'll have to try harder next time." Brushing her hands together, Peggy straightened and looked around the office. "Right. There's some filing that needs to be done and furniture to be replaced." She paused. "And someone's going to have clean out the Chief's office."

"I've got the filing," Thompson blurted, surprising even himself. He told himself that it was because he wasn't up to going through the Chief's things.

Sousa gestured with his half-eaten sandwich. "I've got Dooley's office. I don't know the protocol for having furniture removed from an office that doesn't exist."

"That's that then." The three of them set in for a long afternoon of work.