The first time it happened he'd been home for a month and Inés had taken him out for a day out. They'd gone to a park near the VA and he'd actually been smiling; Inés had been telling him about how mãe, Carlota, and herself had become hooked on the comics of Captain America. He'd been just about to tell her that he'd actually met the man when a child a few hundred feet from them had screamed.
While Inés' focus had snapped to the young one, Daniel was to busy focusing on the sudden pressure on his chest. It was like the time he and Harvey had been playing down by the docks and a crate had fallen on him, forcing all of the breath from his body and preventing any more air from entering.
He was starting to see dots when Inés noticed.
The doctor said that it was combat fatigue.
Daniel didn't think it made any sense; it couldn't be combat fatigue, he hadn't seen combat in three months.
But that's what the doctors called it, and Daniel had been taught not to argue with them.
It starts to happen more often after that first time.
He's reading in the VA library when a stack of books are knocked to the ground, and he has to fight to keep his stomach from rebelling. He's had the crutch for a week when the weak wood breaks, sending him stumbling to the ground and his heart speeding up. He's been out of the VA for three weeks when a car backfires, and he finds himself covered in a sheen of sweat.
It keeps happening, and he can't stop it, and he feels weak.
At the SSR, he isn't alone. There's Orsini who jumps every time a pencil lead snaps too loudly. Dufort freezes up occasionally, and they all know the man is seeing it happening all over again. Krzeminski, the damn Polak, would scream at everyone for no reason. There's Silva who takes twice as long to read reports because he can't focus on the words on the page long enough.
He isn't alone, but it also isn't talked about.
He can tell Carter suffers from it, too.
She tries to hide how tired she is with makeup. She drinks coffee all day, despite the look of disgust that crosses her face with every sip. Every once and a while, when she doesn't think anyone is looking, she'll let her eyes drift closed before fighting back awake.
He and Carter are working the evening shift when it happens again for him.
Krzeminski and Thompson had made a comment about "the gimp and the girl" as they left. Instead of closing the door behind them, they slammed it.
His back goes rigid, and he can't relax. His breath is ripped from his chest. Sounds dim while the noise of his heart magnifies.
When he regains his senses, he finds that Carter - no, this is Peggy - is kneeling beside him. His hand is set above her heart, and he can feel the constant beat, the normal beat. She's counting her breaths, in 1-2-3-4-5, out 1-2-3-4-5-6-7. He feels his muscles unfreeze, and he slumps down in his desk.
He whispers his thanks to her, and he knows she hears because she gives him a smile.
That night have several lasting effects.
He has less attacks. He's occasionally able to stop the ones he does has. He feels hope again.
Put most importantly, she isn't Carter anymore.
She's Peggy.