iii.
Mack is the last person Daisy would've ever expected to be in favor of changing history, but it's the right call, she's glad he made it, and she's never been prouder to call him her Director. Because what good is saving the world if you can't save someone like Daniel Sousa, who has devoted his entire life to protecting it?
It's risky, altering the past like this, but if his death had such an impact on SHIELD, then she can only imagine what he could accomplish with his life. Besides, she prefers to think of it as fixing an old mistake, and she has a hard time believing that the universe would object to righting this particular wrong.
This is why she joined SHIELD, after all, to help those who can't help themselves, to save the people who need saving, to give a second chance to those who deserve it.
She hasn't known him very long, but what she knows is enough. He is a good man with a good heart. And if anyone deserves this, it's him.
If she finds herself feeling personally invested in making sure he has a future, she doesn't say it.
And if she finds herself liking the idea of him sticking around, well, she'll keep that to herself too.
Writing some new history, she nods, a smile spreading across her face. Copy that.
What she means is, this time will be different.
…
Daniel watches Agent Johnson make her way up the stairs and through the doorway, annoyed at the delay and irritated at being kept in the dark. Again. He can appreciate the fact that she and her team saved his life, sure, but now they're interfering with his mission, and he just can't have that.
It's not that he doesn't trust them. He does, more than he probably should, considering the havoc they wreaked back at the base, the information they can't possibly know but somehow do, and the technology that seems to be light-years ahead of anything he's ever seen. They're dealing with something much bigger than he can wrap his head around, and he has enough on his plate as it is between his day job, investigating Hydra, and the current mission that he's about to be late for.
He looks down at his watch, then back up at the empty doorway, and makes up his mind.
As he gathers his things, it occurs to him that this will probably be the last time he sees any of them again. To be honest, it's a huge relief. Once they're gone, maybe things can finally go back to normal, or as normal as they can be, given his new knowledge that the enemy has infiltrated the highest levels of his organization.
But there's a part of him that hesitates.
Despite his limited interactions with them, he can already tell that this is a solid team. They work together seamlessly, a well-oiled machine, and seeing the way they operate makes him realize how much he misses it, being on a team. He misses having a partner instead of subordinates, he misses late night discussions around a table instead of being the one giving the orders, he misses the camaraderie that develops from a job well done instead of reading about it the next day in a three-page report.
There's a part of him that wants to be on this team, working with them, helping them, helping her, but that's not the mission.
The motorcycle roars to life in his hands and he rides off into the night, trying not to the think about the people he just left. He barely knows them, but they left a deep impression all the same, and he has a feeling that he'll miss them, maybe not tomorrow or the day after, but a month from now, a year from now. He'll come across something that suddenly reminds him of the strangest few days of his life, and he'll be struck with longing and regret all over again, for some more than others.
But this is the life that he signed up for, a life that puts the mission first, above all else. Regrets are just part of the job. He knows this, he chose this, and he's never resented it before, but he does now, just a little bit.
He's growing weary of leaving people behind. People like her. She took the time to listen to him, to try and explain the inexplicable to him. He wishes he had thanked her for that.
The plane is no longer visible behind him and he wonders if they're following him by now. Not that it really matters – he's good at shaking a tail, so even if they are, he doesn't suppose he'll run into them again.
It's a shame, really.
If there had been time, he would've said goodbye, thanked them for their help, wished them well.
If there had been time, he would've asked for her story, he would've told her his.
I've never met anyone quite like you before, he would've said.
What he would've meant is, I'm glad we met.