NO SLASH!

I do not own Marvel or Agent Carter, I simply use the characters to fill sleepless nights and hours I should be studying for my next Psychology test.

SPOILERS FOR SEASON ONE OF AGENT CARTER!!!

I know we're supposed to ship Sousa and Peggy, but if you've read any of my stories, you know that I prefer platonic over romantic. Also, Sousa was all prepared to go after Peggy when he thought she was a traitor. Was I the only one who noticed that it was Thompson who didn't believe that she'd do that?

I mean, remember the wording. Sousa said that Peggy "wasn't who he thought she was," while Thompson phrased it differently by saying that he knew it wasn't her. He recounted their time on the mission together, using it as an example of why she couldn't be a traitor.

"They're going to pull me out and ask me to do something to you I don't want to do."

Thompson was gentler with her. Thompson understood her better.

The gunshot sounded too late, the noise traveling through the air too slow for her to comprehend what had happened. She turned, but the bullet was already buried in Howard's neck, blood spreading around it at an alarming speed. But all he could do was watch her as he fell, dead, to the ground.

"You killed him!" The accent was posh British, not unlike her own. Peggy turned sharply toward Edwin Jarvis, his face shocked, and then her eyes drifted to the gun in her hand.

How had it gotten there? Her back had been turned when he'd been shot!

"You-you killed Mr. Stark!"

And then it struck her completely: Howard Stark was dead. Her only friend left who she had made it through the war with, was dead...

"Howard!" She shouted. She lunged forward, but her foot caught on something and she was sent sprawling to the floor. The room swam and she scrabbled to regain her footing, only hands were holding her down, fingers wrapped tightly around her biceps.

"It's all... right..." a soothing voice said. "Peggy, it's alright..."

But it wasn't alright. Howard was dead and Mr. Jarvis thought she'd done it. Mr. Jarvis who had stood by her through the death of Coleen. Through injuries, and Dooley's death, stitching her back together emotionally and occasionally literally.

"Dead..." Peggy gasped, grasping the wrists of the person who held her. "He's dead..."

But no sooner had the words left her lips than the room began to shift, melting away into the dim lighting of the SSR headquarters after hours. The desks stood bold against the dusk-fallen windows, and kneeling over her was Jack Thompson, lids half-closed as he watched her concernedly.

"He-he's dead. I-k-killed..." but Thompson cut her off.

"You didn't kill anyone, Peggy. At least no one you cared about. It was a nightmare." He helped her to her straighten up and watched her glance at the floor, taking the opportunity to look around the room. "What are you doing here so late?"

She shrugged.

"Couldn't sleep at home. I sent the night shift home. Said I'd cover it."

"You fell asleep," he reminded her. "Worst night shift ever."

Once she would have scowled at him, but now she knew he meant her no ill-intent. She smiled slightly.

"Let's get you up off the floor."

It wasn't until that moment that she realised that she was on the floor, one leg extended and the other tucked in, her skirt stretched down to her knees.

Thompson was beside her, kneeling by her left arm, his hand on her shoulder, but he quickly helped her to her feet, and then back to her chair, seating himself on the desk as he watched her anxiously.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Peggy started to nod, and then the memories flashed back through her mind. Memories of Howard Stark bleeding on the floor, Edwin Jarvis' shocked face.

The gun...

A gasp came out choked and Thompson looked away briefly, his eyes going up.

"I didn't think so," he uttered under his breath. He leaned forward, touching her wrist. "You didn't kill anyone, Peggy. It was just a dream."

But now they were there, those pictures buried in her mind refused to leave. The tears started, and then Thompson was embracing her, his hands resting on her shoulder blades as he focused on regulating his own breathing pattern.

"You didn't kill anyone," he assured her again. "In this line of work, things happen. Mistakes are made... by some agents more than others..."

She let out a breath that might have been a laugh, but he didn't take that to mean she was done breaking down.

"The important thing is that we keep going, because we save more people than we take down..." he sighed. "You save more people than you take down."

She took a deep breath and her shoulders relaxed in his grip, her forehead flush to his chest as she inhaled slowly and then let it out. Thompson didn't release her until she pulled away, wiping tears and hair from her face until he offered her a tissue.

"Want me to call Sousa?"

Thompson was well aware that Daniel Sousa was way more qualified to reassure Peggy Carter than he was, so the offer was out, but she shook her head.

"Too late, she muttered. He glanced at the clock.

"Time difference," he reminded her. "Hey! It's only one there! We could call and interrupt him from his..." Thompson wiggled his eyebrows, "nightly activities."

"Men are disgusting," Peggy spit out, and Thompson smiled.

"Good. You're back."

"Yeah. Back. Hi."

She stood up and he rose behind her, watching as she walked toward the break room, returning shortly with a cup of coffee for her and a dirty look for him.

She had some of the best dirty looks he'd ever seen.

"I assume you'll be heading home?"

"Why? I didn't come into the office because you were crying on the floor. I came in to get something done."

She turned to him on her swivel chair, her face inches from his, and pointed.

"Office that way."

"I know."

He rose and turned to go, but he hesitated at the last minute.

"You sure you're alright, Carter?" His hand rested on top of hers on the desk, his thumb moving back and forth over the top. He expected her to snap at him, but she didn't. She leaned against him slightly, her head against his chest, and he moved her hand to the back of her head, gently resting against her hair.

"I'm fine," she assured him, and then she leaned away and picked up her pen. "But you won't be in a minute. I filed expense reports for the Nitramene investigation."

"You mean the one that wasn't approved?"

"Yeah. That one. With the lawsuit and..." she made a general movement with her hand, "everything else."

Thompson swore.