ix.
Perhaps one of these days, Daniel will wake up feeling something other than confusion.
It would certainly be a nice change of pace, actually having an understanding of what's going for once, being able to say with certainty that he's got a solid grasp of the situation. It would be better yet if he were to wake up to a normal, uneventful day with nothing out of the ordinary and no crisis to solve, but that would be too much to hope for.
Today is not that day.
At first, he thinks he must have misheard Daisy. He's still groggy from sleep, still trying to get his eyes and his brain back in focus, so it would make sense if his ears needed a second to catch up as well. Time loop sounds like yet another random combination of unrelated words this team seems to throw around with increasing frequency, and he's not entirely sure what it means, though he can spare a guess.
Presumably, time is looping, repeating itself somehow, and the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that he must have heard her right after all. This is exactly the kind of nonsense they would find themselves dealing with, and considering everything he's been through so far, it makes about as much sense as anything else, which is to say, it doesn't make any sense at all.
He tries to imagine the logistics of such a thing, how it would work, what it could possibly entail, but it just makes his head hurt more than the first time he woke up on the plane. Still, he gets the distinct sense that this wouldn't be the craziest thing the team has ever faced, though he's not sure if that makes it better or worse.
And to think, he had assumed that reading more about Watergate would be the most exciting part of his day, but really, he should have known better. He's learned by now that there's no such thing as normal on the Zephyr, not when they're traveling through spacetime trying to stop a group of killer face-stealing robots.
At least he's never been bored.
Since he's met them, Daniel hasn't had a single moment where he felt that he was just sitting idle, not even during those first slow days of Daisy's recovery when that's literally all he was doing. There is always something new to discover or learn or see, and it's actually kind of fun, the uncertainty and the absurdity of it all. It reminds him of his SSR days spent chasing leads and solving cases, never quite knowing what would come next.
But the look on Daisy's face snaps him out of his memories, and it's obvious that she doesn't think this is exciting or fun, so he shifts in his chair and offers his help. It's a sincere gesture on his part – it always is – but he doesn't expect her to take him up on it, not really. In the short time that he's known her, he's seen just how capable she is, and self-sufficient too. He could count on one hand the number of times she's ever asked him for anything, and in fact, he wouldn't even need the hand because it's zero. She's never asked.
Even when her wounds were still fresh, she had insisted on doing things herself, waving him off as she struggled with her bandages and assuring him that she was okay when it was clear she was anything but. It might have driven him crazy if it hadn't been so familiar.
It's 1946 all over again, and it amazes him how half a century or more later, their line of work still has a way of attracting such a specific type of person – the type with a fiery determination to save the world and a willingness to sacrifice anything to do it, the type who never gives up on a problem that needs solving no matter the personal cost.
This is also the type of person who can never sit still for long, so he has a pretty good idea of how the next few minutes will go. She'll run off to another fire that needs putting out, and he'll spend the day trying to keep up and help out however he can, even if that just means staying out of her way. What he doesn't expect is for her to pull up a chair and sit down in front of him, and god, there's really never a dull moment, is there, not when she's always managing to surprise him.
She starts talking, an incredulous tone in her voice when she remarks that nothing seems to faze him, and he has to laugh because that's certainly not how it feels from his end. He's been clueless and so goddamn confused since 1955, and absolutely everything at any given moment fazes him. Really, the only reason he's still holding it together is because it became apparent in '76 when no one else could explain why they jumped again that the only way to make it through this mission without losing his mind was to stop thinking about it and just strap himself in for the ride. Which is how he's now able to get through the day and sleep easy at night.
It's true what they say, ignorance really is bliss.
Still, he can't help feeling relieved that she hasn't seemed to notice how disoriented he is, and he's pleased and more than a little proud of himself to hear the admiration in her voice. It feels like high praise, that someone as ordinary as he is could impress someone as remarkable as her.
Her demeanor shifts then, turning serious, and she asks him why he's always helping her, telling him to be honest, and up until now, he thought he had been. He had thought he was being obvious, that surely, his actions were speaking for themselves, but perhaps he's been too subtle about it. Perhaps things like this – matters of the heart, his mother would've said – are handled differently in her time.
He takes a deep breath, fully prepared to tell her everything she's asking about and everything she's not, but then he sees her looking at him so expectantly, so attentively that he loses his nerve a little and has to break her gaze.
The truth, the honest truth, is that he's falling for her. He has been since the moment they met, a bit more each and every day, and he's still falling, even now, sitting just a breath away from her.
That's the truth she's asking for, but he can't bring himself to tell her, not yet. It doesn't feel right, not so soon after what she's been through, not when she's clearly in the middle of a problem she's trying to crack. Besides, he's still trying to process it himself, just how deeply he's grown to care for her in such a short period of time, so he doesn't want to pressure her with any unnecessary burdens.
He lifts his eyes, wondering what to tell her, wondering how to say it.
When he does finally speak, he regrets his choice of words almost immediately. She squints at him when he mentions her type, giving him a skeptical look that can only mean they've stopped using that phrase too, and it occurs to him that he should really start keeping a list before he confuses anyone else. Trout in the milk is out, though off the radar is still in. Your type seems to be out as well, or maybe it just means something different now.
He tries again, describing how he sees her. In his eyes, she's someone who's strong and stubborn, solitary but surrounded by friends, someone who doesn't think twice about sacrificing herself for others. More than anything, he sees someone who has been through the worst the world has to offer but never stops fighting to make it a better place.
Most of all, he likes what he sees.
He doesn't tell her that, but he hopes she can hear it when he speaks.
Her eyes soften as she listens, and, oh, he's definitely falling for her, all right, especially when she looks at him like that. It's funny how the same emotions can feel so different under different circumstances, with different people. With Daisy, it doesn't feel like a tide that sweeps him away, it doesn't feel like something out of his control, which is ironic given that every other aspect of his life has felt like that since they met.
But not this. No, this is more like the culmination of all the decisions he's ever made, decisions that have led him here, where there are many paths before him but only one that it makes sense to take. It's like the sun, rising in the morning and setting in the evening. It's inevitable.
That he wants this, that he's choosing this, choosing her – that feels inevitable too. And the truth is, he hopes she'll make the same choice.
But he doesn't tell her that either.
Instead, he talks about walls, both metaphorical and literal, and maybe that was another wrong choice of words, because she's still not quite getting it, still looking at him with that puzzled expression like she can't figure him out.
So he tries again, one more time, and if he's being honest, he's half in love with her before the words even leave his lips.
You should have someone there to pick you back up, he tells her.
What he means is, let it be me.
...
The thing is, Daisy can't actually afford to take a loop.
Even as she's saying the words, she knows that they've reached the point where every second matters, and she should be out there with Coulson and Simmons, working on a plan to save them all. But for all their attempts, they've barely made any progress, and what little progress they have made has been thanks to Sousa, so, really, it's just good strategy to take the extra few minutes to talk to him.
Well, that's half of it, anyway.
It's been a few turns since he died, and he's only been immobilized and gravely injured since then, which is really the best possible outcome she could hope for given the current circumstances. Still, it's been hard to wake him each time, to see the confused determination in his eyes as she sends him off to be a distraction, knowing that he'll fail just like every other time.
Now, she has to do it again.
He stirs as he always does in the chair next to the healing chamber, and it's a relief to see him safe and whole, no matter how many times she's repeated this day. If she thinks about it, he's always been there, hasn't he, even before the loops started. Ever since he dragged them back from the barn, he's been a constant presence at her side, helping her when she needed and backing off when she asked. She doesn't mind it, she actually likes it, but she'd also like to know why.
That's the other half.
Of course, she's not completely oblivious. She's noticed the way he looks at her sometimes, the way he's so attentive around her, and she has an idea – a hope, really – that it means what she thinks it does, that he might feel for her what she's starting to feel for him.
It's the first time she's allowed herself to admit these feelings. It's hard to pinpoint exactly when they began.
There wasn't a specific moment when she started to look at him in a different light. It's more that, for so long, he wasn't in her life, and then one day, he was, and from that point on, there was no going back to the way it was before. Perhaps if she tried hard enough, she could – there are few things she hasn't been able to accomplish through sheer stubbornness and force of will – but the fact is, she doesn't want to.
She doesn't want to go back.
That's not to say that her life is objectively better now that he's here. No, she'd been doing just fine before she met him, and she'd been genuinely content with her status quo. But since he came along, things have changed in a way she didn't know she wanted until it happened, in a way she likes more than she expected.
It's not that she can't live without him either. She's been doing that for over thirty years without any trouble, and realistically, she knows she may have to do it again by the time this mission is over. But she hopes she won't have to, she hopes she might have a future that includes him, and it's been a while since she's wanted anything like that – something selfish, something for herself.
When it comes down to it, it just feels different with him. Being with him is steady and safe and natural in a way that might have scared her a few years ago, but not now. It feels right, and she's ready, and she wonders if he might feel the same way.
So she pulls up a chair, makes herself comfortable, and asks.
Silence lingers in the air for a moment, and the expression on his face is unreadable before he looks away when she tells him to be honest. He's never done that before – struggled to meet her eyes – and she's not sure what it means, if it's good or bad. For a second, she wonders if she's misjudged the situation completely, if she's misread all his cues. Maybe he's just being a gentleman, just being polite, but then he surprises her by saying that he knows her type.
She's briefly taken aback by how bold he is before recognizing that it's just his particular way of speaking, and she has to admit, it's actually growing on her. As she listens to him, she can't help noticing how straight-forward he is for someone who's otherwise so old-fashioned, how he's somehow the most and least predictable person she's ever met. It occurs to her that she didn't need to tell him to be honest because that's just how he is. He would've done it even if she hadn't asked, and as she watches him, she realizes he's done a lot of things without needing her to ask.
When she was still weak from her injuries, she had made a point of always changing her own bandages no matter how painful or difficult it was, because after what she went through, she needed to be in control of her own body again. She spent those first few days struggling at it with shaky hands, but he was right there, picking up things she hadn't known she'd dropped and handing her the clean cloths as soon as she was ready for them. When she got better enough to start training again, he always seemed to know if she was having a good day or a bad one, asking her for another round on the mats before she could suggest it or calling an early night even as she was about to say the same.
Now, listening to the way he describes her, it strikes her just how well he knows her despite the short time they've spent together. Because he's right, about all of it. She does care about the greater good, she is terrible at being a lone wolf, she does hate losing, and she's never met a wall she didn't try to run at. It's been a long time since anyone's seen her so clearly, both the good and the bad. It's been a long time since anyone's seen her not just for who she is, but who she strives to be.
It feels good, being seen by him.
But for all he's said, he still hasn't really answered her question, he still hasn't told her why. Why he's doing any of this, why he's always there for her, why he cares so much.
So she asks him again, and he surprises her for the second time.
It makes her breath catch in her throat, when he tells her that she should have someone, and it sounds like an invitation, it sounds like an offer. It startles her even as she wants to accept it, and she pulls away instinctively. Old habits die hard, and she can't help the sudden feeling of uncertainty, the familiar need to run before things get too deep, so she retreats to safer ground even though he's said exactly what she wanted to hear.
When he tells her the offer isn't for everyone, there's a directness in his tone, an openness on his face, and he couldn't be more clear if he had come right out and said it. So he feels it too, doesn't he, this thing that's growing between them.
After a beat, he leans forward, and describes someone who sounds very familiar, someone who sounds a lot like herself, and she has to chuckle at the realization that Daniel Sousa, a square if she's ever met one, might actually be flirting with her and might actually be doing a decent job of it.
She knows then that it's too late now, she's already in the deep end, but she doesn't plan on leaving. This is what she wants, more of these moments with him, more of these conversations, and maybe one day, a future.
It's not easy for her to lean forward, but she does it anyway. It goes against her instincts and feels risky and monumental, and perhaps it is. She never expected to feel this way again, and until she met him, she didn't want to, but things are different now. She wants this, more than anything she's ever wanted in a very long time.
The distance between them shrinks as she moves closer, slowly, carefully, leaving a space for old habits and new ones. She imagines what it might be like to run at walls with this man behind her, what it might be like to come home to him. She imagines the future, and, oh, she likes what she sees.
That is awfully specific, she murmurs with a smile.
What she means is, I like the sound of that.