Okay so this is my first peggysous fic so please be kind, but this is kind of a headcanon that I just miraculously thought of as I was driving home from vacay so I hope you all enjoy. Also, I know that in the canon universe Peggy has a son and a daughter, but for practical reasons I gave her two daughters and a son, but the eldest daughter is much older, and she kind of takes over running the house while her parents work. I don't own Agent Carter. Please review! Xx
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"It is impossible to say how the idea first entered my brain;
but once conceived, it haunted me day and night."
- The Tell-Tale Heart, Edgar Allen Poe
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When Grace Young was nine years old, the Sousa family moved in next door.
The neighborhood that she lived in was fairly new, and the elderly couple that lived in the house before them were the first people to move out of the neighborhood, something that Grace was not familiar with. Her mother had informed her of the three new children that she would be able to make friends with, and though she was wary at first when the moving truck pulled up the driveway next door, her worries were soon pushed to the side as three kids ran out of the back of a family sized car and played soccer on the front lawn.
Her mother took a plate of brownies next door later that evening once the moving truck had left, and she and her older brother John accompanied her. They knocked twice on the red door, and a woman in a blue blouse and black pants answered the door, red lipstick upon her full lips and her brunette hair styled in luscious curls, answered the door.
To Grace, she was gorgeous, and something completely different than her and her mother's straw colored hair and brown eyes. She radiated importance, and she could sense her mother's discomfort at the way the woman held herself, as if she was the most important woman to grace the Earth.
"Hello!" the woman exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling as her chipper British accent caught Grace by surprise.
Her mother seemed to be taken aback as well, as it took her a few moments to respond to the woman's cheerfulness.
"Hello, I'm Beth Young, I live just next door."
Beth gestured to Grace and John and clutched the plate of brownies to her chest.
"These are my children, Grace and John. We baked you some brownies as a moving in present."
The woman's eyes were steely, as if she was assessing a threat, but her warm smile deceived the three of them.
"Thank you so much! I'm Peggy Sousa, nice to meet each of you. I would invite you in, but I'm afraid that we are not entirely unpacked. Would a dinner on Friday night suffice?"
Beth nodded and handed Mrs. Sousa the plate of brownies, smiling warmly as Grace and John stood silently by her side.
"We'll see you Friday evening, Peggy."
Mrs. Sousa smiled warmly, and waved.
"Don't forget to bring your children!" she shouted as the family of three made their way across the lawn.
"That woman was very strange," her mother said as she cut into the steak her father grilled, a look of disapproval hovering in her eyes.
Her father shrugged, never one to disagree with his wife.
"Hopefully her husband will be into Football, I could use a watching partner," he said, his voice rumbling as he poured more water into his glass.
"I don't know if they will be a good influence on John and Grace, Jack," her mother chided. "But I think that we will go to dinner at their home on Friday, I would like to see what kind of household she runs."
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When Friday arrived, Beth dressed her children in their best, determined to bring forth an impression that the Sousa's would never forget. Beth ran most of the clubs for the ladies in the neighborhood, and if Mrs. Sousa wanted to join then she would have to put her best foot forward.
The four arrived on the front porch at five o'clock, a plate of cookies in Beth's hand as she smoothed back her son's hair with the other.
Faint bickering could be heard from behind the door. A few more seconds passed, and a young teenager, around John's age answered the door. She was the spitting image of her mother in height and body build, but her darker skin and dark curls were distinctly mesmerizing.
"Hey there, I'm Connie Sousa," she said, sticking her hand out for Jack to shake. Her American accent seemed to throw Beth off guard, but she still shook her hand after Jack was done introducing the rest of the family.
"I'm sorry that my Mãe could not be the one to answer, she got stuck at the office, she's just leaving now."
"I'm sorry, but who is Mãe?" Beth asked, a puzzled expression upon her face.
Connie's cheeks flushed as she looked on in embarrassment.
"It means mother in Portuguese, I'm terribly sorry, I tend to forget that people don't know what that means."
Beth frowned as Connie led the foursome through the doorway and down the hallway.
"Does she need help cooking then?" Beth asked.
Connie shook her head.
"Thank you Mrs. Young, but my father and I already did everything. My grandmotheris a brilliant cook, so my fatherstole a bunch of her techniques so I think we'll be okay."
Beth raised her brow in confusion, but elected not to question the young girl.
"Pai!" Connie called as they entered the main sitting room.
The dark haired man sitting on the sofa looked up from the newspaper he was reading to greet the newcomers, and it was obvious to Grace that the man was Mr. Sousa.
"I'm Daniel Sousa," Mr. Sousa, said warmly, and unlike his wife, this smile reached his eyes.
However, Grace watched as he scanned the room for something that was not there, and just as she was about to ask if something was wrong, Connie jumped in.
"I think you left it in the kitchen Pai, I'll get it, you sit right there."
Connie disappeared around the corner to what was presumably the kitchen, and Grace could tell that her mother was starting to get annoyed that Mr. Sousa had yet to stand up to shake their hands.
"You can sit down if you'd like," Mr. Sousa said. "Mrs. Sousa should be here in twenty minutes or so."
Connie returned with an aluminum crutch in one hand, and walked over to her father, handing him the crutch, and stepping back to give him space.
Mr. Sousa stood up, and the worried look in his daughter's eyes did not go unnoticed by Grace or her mother as Mr. Sousa put an enormous amount of weight onto the crutch and stood up, limping over to Beth and Jack to shake their hands.
"If you excuse me, I am going to sit down, I'm afraid that I overextended myself today."
The Young's followed in suit, and for a few moments there was an uncomfortable silence, broken by the sound of laughter coming from the adjoining room. Two more children entered, the youngest, a boy who looked around the age of five carrying a toy Captain America shield in his left hand.
"Pai!" the young boy exclaimed, and ran past the guests to jump on his father's lap, oblivious to the slight grimace his father expressed at the sudden change in weight on his thighs.
"Hey buddy!" he said, ruffling the little boy's dark brown hair.
"Michael!" Connie hissed, reaching across her father's lap to pick up the young boy.
"What did Mãe tell you about bothering Pai today?"
Michael looked as if he was going to cry, and Grace, never one to shy away from a child in need, jumped into the conversation.
"I'll play with you, if you'd like," she said, and Connie sent her a look of gratitude.
Michael's face lit up, and he jumped off of Connie's lap to join his other sister. The three siblings were nearly identical with their dark features and light brown eyes.
"I'm Isabella," the other girl said, a warm smile identical to her father's appearing on her lips.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Grace," Grace responded, surprised at the girl's closeness to her age. She seemed to be a bit older than her, but not as old as Connie.
"Why don't you three go play while the adults talk" Beth suggested, eyeing Mr. Sousa for approval.
Mr. Sousa nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a splendid idea."
The three played for approximately thirty minutes before the swing of the side door interrupted the adult's conversation. The sound of high heels hitting the tile in the kitchen distracted Mr. Sousa, who seemed to sigh in relief.
"Peggy?" he called, and if Beth didn't know better, she may have thought that there was a slight urgency to his tone.
"I'm coming darling," the British accent responded, and Mrs. Sousa entered the room with a large stack of files in her arms.
She swiftly moved over to her husband, bending over to drop a kiss on his forehead as he enveloped her in a hug.
Mr. Sousa muttered something into her shoulder as she pressed her lips to the side of his head. She murmured something back, and he clutched her tightly against his chest before releasing her to greet her guests.
The display of affection caught Grace off guard. Her parents were never that forward, even when they were alone. Her mother pursed her lips in disapproval as Mr. Sousa's eyes lingered on his wife's face for a moment, his hand resting on her arm.
Mrs. Sousa smiled at her guests, shifting the weight of the files in her arms as she smiled.
"I am terribly sorry that I wasn't here sooner," she said, eyes flickering to her eldest daughter. "I hope that Connie was able to entertain you while I was at work."
Beth smiled in response.
"Connie was delightful."
Connie beamed.
"If you excuse me, I have to drop these files in my bedroom and then grab a briefcase from the car."
"Do you need help?" her husband interjected, and Mrs. Sousa swiftly shook her head.
"No darling. I told you to take that bloody thing off earlier, I want you to rest."
Mr. Sousa raised his brow, and pursed his lips in amusement.
"Peg, I don't want to bother our guests. Connie, why don't you lead our guests to the dining room, Mãe and I are going to get the rest of the stuff from the car."
Grace watched as Mrs. Sousa hovered over her husband, clutching the file folders to her chest as she watched him stumble forward and toward the kitchen.
"Be careful!" she called, stalking away to climb the stairs.
Connie plastered on a smile.
"The dining room is through here," she said, gesturing to the right.
Grace and the rest of her family followed in suit, little Michael dropping his shield to climb into the seat next to the head of the table.
"Move to the other side Michael," Connie said, her hands while smoothing her skirt.
"I want to sit next to Pai," he whined, crossing his arms defiantly.
She glanced at Beth in exasperation, and Beth smiled. It was obvious to Grace that her mother had taken a liking to Connie, to Beth she was exactly what a woman should be, humble, and about the family.
"It's fine," Beth said, and Connie sighed in response.
"Okay, you can sit next to Pai, but do not climb on his leg, do you hear me?"
Michael, sensing that he was pushing his luck, decided to stay quiet, and eagerly placed his napkin in his lap.
Mrs. Sousa returned from her bedroom, her eyes questioning where her husband was.
"Daniel?" she called, her head whipping toward the doorway.
"I'm right here, Peg," he responded, limping toward the table.
Grace was amazed at how chivalrous Mrs. Sousa was, though it was clear that Mr. Sousa wanted to be the one to take care of her. She pulled out the chair at the head of the table for her husband, and set his crutch against the wall.
"Peggy I don't need all of this attention," he said, a slight flush appearing on his cheeks. "I manage to run for a living, I think I can walk to a table."
Beth was puzzled at the exchange, and glanced at her husband with a frown.
Mrs. Sousa chuckled in response and kissed her husband's cheek, lips brushing against his ear as she murmured something unheard to the rest of the party.
Mrs. Sousa then took her place at the table across from Beth, and dinner went underway.
"Where do you work Peggy?" Beth asked after a moment, her children idly chatting amongst each other at the far end of the table.
Mrs. Sousa smiled, her eyes flickering to her husband.
"The phone company in Brooklyn. My husband and I met in Brooklyn actually, and then we moved to Los Angeles for a few years. We decided to move back because he received a promotion."
"Ah," was all Beth said.
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Over the next few months, Grace and Isabella became remarkably close. Soon, not a day went by without Grace knocking at the side screen door. Though Isabella became her best friend, Mrs. Sousa still managed to captivate her.
After three months of playing Captain America with Isabella and Michael, it became apparent that Connie ran the house. Mr. and Mrs. Sousa were hardly ever home during the day, but miraculously Mr. Sousa managed to make every school event. Mrs. Sousa, however, was absent more often than not.
"She only wants to impress Mãe," Isabella confessed once after Grace questioned Connie's authority in the household. "Mãe is such a strong role model and she feels that since she wants to be a teacher she's not living up to her legacy."
Grace was confused as to what legacy Isabella was referring to. She didn't think that working at the telephone company was that impressive.
Even when Mr. Sousa was there, throwing a football in the yard with Michael or limping about the kitchen to whip up dinner, there was a slight urgency in his eyes. He constantly kept his eyes on the clock, and if Mrs. Sousa were not walking through the door at precisely six o'clock, he would be on the telephone with her.
The set up was the complete opposite of Grace's home. Her mother was the one in the kitchen, and her father worked from nine to five. Mr. Sousa did work, but he would be gone in the early morning to the middle of the day on appointments, she still wasn't exactly sure what he even did for a living.
One evening, four months into their friendship, Isabella asked a question that would change Grace's life, arguably for the better.
"Pai?" Isabella asked, scooping some mashed potatoes on her plate.
His eyes moved towards the clock on the wall once more before smiling at her.
"Yes, dear?"
"Can Grace spend the night?"
Mr. Sousa shrugged, and Grace could tell that he wasn't exactly present in the conversation.
"Sure sweetheart," he responded, his shoulders tensing as his foot tapped against the floor. "Just make sure that you are ready for mass tomorrow at ten o'clock."
Connie seemed to notice that her father was not in his usual cheery mood, as she elected to clean up the dishes.
"Why don't you go to bed early, Pai. Mãe will be here shortly."
He adamantly shook his head, reaching for his crutch as he hoisted himself up.
"I'll stay up, Connie. I don't have any appointments tomorrow," he insisted.
Connie sighed in annoyance, and made her way to the top cabinet in the kitchen. Reaching for the list of instructions her mother had written for her when her father started to become paralyzed with worry, she soon made her way back to the dining room to clear the girls plates.
"Pai," she said. "I need you to put the ointment on your leg tonight, okay? I think that you have been overextending yourself recently."
She knew better than to speak of her mother during a time like this, her father's deep devotion to her caused him to become enraged at the thought of her in danger, and as her mother had once described to her at a young age, the only way to break the cycle of misery and rage was to provide him with routine. She had trained Michael to not ask their father certain questions from a young age, and though many girls her age did not have as prominent role in the family as Connie did, she made up for it in maturity and wit.
"It's Saturday night, isn't it?" she continued. "Doesn't your program start at eight?"
Grace looked at her in amazement. Isabella had told her that sometimes her father would wake up the household as screams of terror plagued him. Grace knew he served in the Second World War, and since her own father did not serve at the time, she had no idea of the cost battle had on the family. Isabella had also confided in her to tell her that her mother had served in the war as well, and though that news initially shocked her, she found out that Mrs. Sousa suffered from night terrors as well. She refused to tell her mother this, afraid that Beth would only judge Mrs. Sousa instead of offering help.
Mr. Sousa remained at the kitchen table for the next few hours as Connie got her younger siblings ready for bed. She bathed Michael and set up a bed for Grace in her Isabella's room, promising to sleep in Michael's room.
"Sweet dreams, darlings," Connie said as she kissed her younger sister's forehead.
"Won't Pai come up?" Isabella asked, her eyes wide in concern.
Connie frowned, shaking her head slightly.
"I'm afraid not. He's worried about Mãe, but I'm afraid that he'll be waiting all night."
Grace furrowed her brow in confusion. She had assumed that Mr. and Mrs. Sousa had a perfect marriage. They were more affectionate than most married couples, and the love they had for each other radiated off of them whenever hey glanced at the other. The idea that something could be wrong in their marriage was repulsive.
"Goodnight," Connie said once more before shutting the door.
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At about one o'clock, Grace woke up.
She was thirsty, and hoping that Mr. Sousa wouldn't mind if she strolled down to the kitchen, she silently made her way down the stairs.
Surprisingly, there was still a light on in the kitchen. She tiptoed through the sitting room, eyes drawn to the illuminated figure sitting at the kitchen table.
Mr. Sousa looked like he had been on an all night binge.
From her position in the living room, she could make out his ruffled dark hair and the half glass of whiskey sitting on the table in front of him. He was hunched over the table, the muscles in his back rippling with tension. His crutch leaned against the table where Connie had put it when she kissed her father goodnight earlier.
Though she was conflicted to interrupt him, Grace wanted water. Just as she was about to enter the room, the familiar swing of the side door to the kitchen caused her to hide in the shadows.
"Peg?" Mr. Sousa asked, his voice raspy as his headshot upward toward the door.
"Daniel," Mrs. Sousa's voice gasped, followed by a low moan of pain.
Grace froze. She knew that she probably should not be listening to the private conversation, but she couldn't tear herself away.
"Peg!? What's wrong?" Mr. Sousa cried, sliding out of his chair to grasp his crutch and make his way to her.
Mrs. Sousa continued to whimper as she stumbled toward her husband, one hand clutching her abdomen as the other shakily reached out to touch her husband's shoulder.
"Oh, God," Mr. Sousa said, his hands shaking as he wrapped his arm around her waist, his right hand pressing against her abdomen as she gasped.
"Peggy, I need you to stay calm. Can you do that for me?"
Mrs. Sousa nodded, her curls sticking to her forehead as he laid her down on the kitchen table. His hands fluttered above her chest, unbuttoning the buttons on her blouse.
"Oh Peggy," he said, moving as quickly as possible to get some dish clothes from the bottom drawer.
"I think I need to take you to the hospital, sweetheart," he said, and in the dim lighting, Grace could see tears prickling at his eyes.
"No!" she exclaimed, breathing in deep gulps of air. "No hospitals Daniel! That's where people die!"
Unbeknownst to Grace, the haunted look on Mr. Sousa's face was reminiscent of another incident in a lab all the way across the country, many years ago.
He bent over her head, kissing her face as he pressed on the wound.
"Of course, Peggy. I do need to get a professional, however."
He paused, a puzzled expression appearing on his face.
"How did you get here?"
Grace froze, thinking that they were talking to her.
"Mr. Jarvis drove me."
"And he didn't think to call one of Howard's nurses?" he roared, clutching his wife to his chest as she whimpered in pain.
"He called one, Amelia. She should be here in a couple minutes."
Mr. Sousa leaned down to kiss his wife on the lips, applying pressure to the towels over top of her wound. They broke apart after a few seconds, Mrs. Sousa's chest heaving as she gasped for breath.
A minute or two passed, and the only noise on the floor was of Mrs. Sousa's low moans of pain.
"What happened?" Mr. Sousa asked, his voice gentle.
She inhaled sharply, wincing at the effect the notion had on her wound.
"You won't be happy."
He snorted, brushing a curl behind her ear and tracing his fingertips across her jawline.
"When am I ever happy when it comes to the thought of you being in danger."
"And I've told you Daniel, I don't need you to look out for me," she said defiantly.
"Peg, I look out for you out of love, not because I believe that you are incompetent," he said, affectionately dabbing a cloth across her forehead.
She sighed in response, closing her eyes as her husband stroked her face.
"I lead a small infiltration team through the Cuban Embassy in Manhattan. Apparently some of the men did not like the fact that we were American agents, and one stabbed me from behind."
Mr. Sousa's eyes began to overflow with tears as he shakily stroked her cheek.
"What were you doing that for?"
She hummed in response, hissing as the pain of her wound began to take control of her vision.
"You know I can't tell you darling, now that you're the liaison between SHIELD and the CIA. I'm sure that you'll come across a file within the next couple weeks."
From Grace's angle, she could tell that Mr. Sousa was not pleased with his wife's answer, but before he could interject, a sharp knock sounded at the side door.
Grace, sensing that her welcome was long overstayed, tiptoed upstairs to return to sleep.
In the morning, Connie woke up to discover her parents clinging to each other in their king sized bed, her father's prosthetic sitting idly on a nearby chair.
Connie took her two siblings and Grace to church that morning, leaving her drained parents to recuperate from their disastrous night before.
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Grace would not talk to Mrs. Sousa about the incident that she witnessed for many years; in fact the incident was not brought up again until Grace's senior year of high school.
"Mrs. Sousa?" Grace asked, her legs swinging from the stool at the kitchen counter.
The woman in question hummed in response as she twirled about the kitchen, making a soufflé for her adoring husband. Mr. Sousa sat at the kitchen table, flipping through a newspaper. His prosthetic was off, and he was sipping from a glass of iced tea.
The idea of Mr. Sousa missing a limb had terrified her at first, but after she and Isabella cultivated a closer friendship, Mr. Sousa was more comfortable taking off his prosthetic. He was used to running around in the plastic for an extended period of time due to his days as SSR chief, but his wife liked to air out his leg, she was terribly worried about him, as he was her.
"Yes, Grace?" she replied, whilst whisking.
"What's it like to be a spy?"
Mrs. Sousa froze, her husband dropping his newspaper in alarm.
"What do you mean, dear?" Mrs. Sousa asked, her eyes bright.
Grace knew that her family didn't approve of her friendship with Isabella, and her mother was always searching for a reason to condemn Mrs. Sousa for working.
"Oh don't play pretend with me," Grace replied, smiling at her. "I haven't told Mom, and I don't intend to."
Mr. Sousa cursed, shaking his head in annoyance.
"I told Isabella not to tell anyone, darling," he said, turning towards his wife.
Mrs. Sousa focused her attention on Grace, her eyes scanning her for any sort of false body language. When she deemed that Grace was telling the truth she relaxed, placing the mixing bowl on the counter.
"Darling, we all know that Isabella would never be able to keep it secret anyway."
Grace shook her head, setting her glass of water down on the counter.
"Isabella didn't tell me, I found out myself. Seven years ago when you were stabbed, I came downstairs for a glass of water. Once I saw that the kitchen was occupied I may have eavesdropped."
Mrs. Sousa pursed her lips, a slight smile appearing on her lips.
"Why bring this up now?" she asked, strolling toward her husband as he took her hand.
Grace shrugged.
"I'm thinking about what I want to do after college and your line of work seems… interesting."
Mrs. Sousa smiled wickedly.
"I'm sure I will have a place for you at SHIELD."
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Years later, Grace would meet Captain Rogers, under the name Sharon Carter, a name she chose for herself in order to progress through the ranks rather quickly. And suddenly, she understood why Mrs. Sousa was so poised.
She was beginning to fall for the comic book legend as well.
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