iv.
Of all the things Daniel thought this mysterious team might be – an ultra elite arm of the feds, a newly created independent agency, a secret new division of SHIELD – time travelers from the future would not have been one of them. It does explain a lot, though. In fact, it explains pretty much everything, from their advanced technology to the intel they couldn't possibly otherwise know to their general mannerisms and demeanor.
He has so many questions – how does this all work, what is he supposed to do now, what's their plan, how can he help – but the more he talks it through, the less sense it makes, and he wonders if it would be frowned upon in this time period if he were to vomit into a trash can on the corner of the street.
It's too much to process – Hydra, Malick, his death, time travel, body-snatching aliens, 1973. He'll have to take it one step at a time, starting with today. He just needs to get through today.
By the time they make it down to the hideout, he's feeling better, better at hiding his discomfort at least. Being in a semi-familiar environment seems to help, though the place is much livelier than he remembers. He listens carefully as Coulson fills him in on the details about Hydra, Project Insight, the Chronicoms. It still doesn't exactly make sense, but he's starting to see how the pieces fit together.
He's not quite sure what to make of this man, this Phil Coulson. His methods are unconventional, that's for sure, but it's apparent that he's just trying to do the right thing, just trying to get home. Daniel can understand that, and he can respect that. There's something familiar about him – that burning need for justice, that desire to make the world a better place. From certain angles, it's a bit like looking in the mirror.
They part ways to gather intel, and Daniel keeps to the fringes as promised, sticking to dark corners and asking lots of questions without giving anything away. He scans the room for the rest of them and sees that they're all holding their own, Coulson with a couple of new recruits, May with General Stoner, and Johnson – Daisy, she's asked him to call her – with a sleazebag if he's ever seen one.
He tries to pay attention to the conversation in front of him, but his eyes keep drifting back over to her. She's clearly in her element, comfortable at being undercover, and it's not that he's worried, he just doesn't like the way the other man pulls up a chair without asking, slides her a bottle even though she already has a drink, and runs his eyes over her like she's a piece of merchandise he's inspecting. It's rude, quite frankly, and degrading.
But he knows she can handle herself and he trusts her to do it, so he turns back to the discussion at hand, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise and inviting the man in front of him to keep talking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement. Johnson – Daisy – is out of her chair, and the man she's been talking to follows suit. He's blocking her way, and Daniel really doesn't like the look of that.
In his experience, men like that who won't take no for an answer tend to make a scene when things don't go their way, and a commotion is the very last thing they need right now.
He makes his way over to her, wrapping his arm around her waist, and she immediately plays along, leaning against him so naturally it almost catches him off guard. She introduces him to her new friend – a Malick, what are the odds – and pauses to let him introduce himself. He had meant to say he was her boyfriend, but he finds himself getting distracted by the weight of her palm against his chest, the way she relaxes into his arms. He thinks about the way she had turned her head when he approached, the way her eyes widened, the slow smile that filled her face.
He likes the way she looks at him, he realizes. He likes it quite a bit.
Her fiancee, is what he ends up saying.
What he means is, I could get used to this.
...
Daisy can still feel Gideon Malick's eyes on her as she walks away, and she has to suppress the urge to flash him a certain finger. She didn't think it was possible, but the younger version of him might actually be worse, all cocky and condescending without any substance to back it up. She would've liked to punch that smug smile right off his face, but Sousa's method was just as effective and probably more satisfying, to tell you the truth.
He's good at diffusing a situation, she notices, a quick thinker, a smooth talker. He has this way of softening his tone and shifting his body language to appear unassuming and nonthreatening – a difficult skillset to learn, and a valuable one that could make or break an undercover op. He's very good at what he does, and she glad he's on their side, glad he's here to have her back.
There are other things to be glad about too, like the way he calls her sweetheart without sounding patronizing, the gentle touch of his arm around her waist, the tilt of his head as he gives her an excuse to walk away.
That soft press of his hand at her back – she likes it. It's steady and reassuring, and it feels safe. She likes it quite a bit.
She'd like to unpack those feelings sometime, but not right now, not after the dawning realization that the Chronicoms have teamed up with Hydra, truly a match made in hell, or at least, something out of her nightmares.
This throws a wrench into things, and they need to regroup, figure out how to move forward.
Of course, nothing is ever that easy.
She spots Coulson and May from across the room, right as Wilfred Malick approaches them. It's clear he's been told the truth, and judging from the backup that he's brought with him, he's not in a forgiving mood.
There's only one play here – the kid, Nathaniel. It's not a great decision, but it's the only one that'll get them out of there, so she can't say she feels too bad about taking him hostage. He'll live, and she'll sleep easy that night, and that's all there is to it.
But Sousa is disturbed by what she's done, what she was willing to do, and it strikes her that his SHIELD is not the same as hers.
Perhaps he's had to make some difficult decisions in his time and choose the lesser of two evils, but not like her. If he's walked through the darkness and stared into its face, she's lived with it, touched it, learned its name.
When did it become so easy for her to order the death of one kid and point a gun at another? When did the tough call become such an easy one to make?
It's sobering, seeing her decision through his eyes, hearing the horrified tone in his voice. She wonders what he'd think if he knew all the other terrible things they've done for the greater good, the lines they've crossed, the choices they've made. There's a part of her that wants to tell him. There's a part of her that's ashamed to.
Maybe later, when all this is over, when they've saved the world and she can say with absolute certainty that their actions were worth it. If he decides to stick around, if he joins them in the future, that's when she'll tell him. Later.
In the meantime, there are still enemies on their heels and a mission to complete, so her moral reckoning will have to wait, at least until the immediate threat is neutralized.
She throws open her hand and sends the Chronicoms flying backward into the wall, and when she turns around, Sousa's expression is shocked, but there's something else there too, some other emotion she can't quite place.
It's been a long time, she realizes, since someone outside of the team or their adversaries has seen her use her powers. She'd forgotten what that was like, being able to surprise someone by what she can do.
She wonders what he'd seen when he looked at her just then.
She wonders if he'll look at her differently now.
I'll explain later, she replies, in answer to the question he hadn't asked.
What she means is, I hope you'll understand.