Work Text:
Fandom: Marvel
Prompt: “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The thing about Jack Thompson is he’s really not that bad if you can see through all the façades.
The second they get him out of the hospital, into the car, on the way back to Daniel’s, he’s quiet. Daniel glances in the rearview mirror long enough to see Peggy shrug and returns his eyes to the road. The lack of conversation could be due to the fact that the man is still recovering. And what with the way every fifth inhale is drawn sharply through his teeth, the painkillers are wearing off.
“I’ve got stuff at the house,” Daniel mutters when Jack bites out a curse under his breath, “we’re almost there.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mhmm.”
Peggy watches with an amused smile on her face. It’s not very often the three of them got to work together, certainly not without plenty of other things distracting them. And since Daniel left New York, there weren’t any moments where it could’ve been the three of them assigned to the same case. So it’s nice, albeit a little late, to have both of them back by her sides, sniping at each other.
Bollocks, if that little exchange is enough to make her start getting all sentimental, she’s further gone than she thinks.
She scans the perimeter when she exits the car, eyes searching for even the slightest thing that could spell disaster. After what’s happened, she’s not taking any chances. She falls back as Daniel and Jack make their way to the front door, shutting the door behind the two of them. She stifles a giggle when she sees Jack blink around the place in surprise.
“Well, this is it,” Daniel says, spreading his arm, “chez Sousa. There’s a guest bedroom down the hall and—whoa, you’ve…that’s an expression.”
“Huh?” Jack’s head snaps around to Daniel. “Oh, uh, yeah. ’S fine.”
Daniel raises an eyebrow. “‘Fine,’ yes, that’s normally the word people use to describe things that make their eyes bug out of their head.”
“Just didn’t expect you to have a house,” Jack shoots back, “you’re always slaving away behind a desk.”
“It’s for appearances,” Sousa says easily, making his way to the kitchen and motioning for them to follow, “so people don’t start getting concerned when I never leave the office.”
Neither of them forgets what Jack said, but a look between them agrees to let it slide. Peggy starts making her way to the bathroom as Daniel digs around the in the kitchen.
“Hey, can I—“
“You, siddown.”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
Peggy chuckles, picturing their faces easily as she sorts through the medicine cabinet. Painkillers, here we are. Taking the bottle, she heads back to the kitchen, joining Jack in staring at Daniel in amusement as he gets progressively more frustrated that there is, apparently, nothing in any of the cupboards.
“Well, hasn’t someone been busy?”
“Shut up,” Daniel grumbles, turning around to see Peggy. “Oh, good, you found them. At least one of us is being useful.”
“Daniel, why do you not have any food in your house?”
Daniel lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “Been busy.”
Without giving either of them time to respond, he’s already heading for the door. “There’s a great family diner on the corner, I’ll grab the steak sandwiches, they’re the best damn things you’ve ever had.”
“Better than a New York pizza?” Peggy chuckles at Jack’s disbelief.
“You just wait!”
“And…he’s gone,” Jack sighs, leaning back against the wall. “Seriously, why isn’t there any food in this damn house? I know he doesn’t make a habit of leaving his desk but…really?”
Peggy shrugs, sitting down across the table from him. “Daniel is one of the most work-oriented people I have ever met.”
“That’s saying something coming from you.” Jack taps his fingers idly on the table. “…he still keep that god-awful hat of his in his desk drawer?”
Peggy grins. “It is awful, isn’t it?”
“With the purple band and the—“
“The polka-dots, yes.”
“What the hell is he thinking?”
“Here’s hoping he sees the light at some point.”
“Not with a brim that wide.”
Their laughter rings in the kitchen, easier than it has been in months. This, this is easy. This feels right. Even when Jack stops laughing and winces, his hand going unconsciously to his chest, the warm feeling in hers doesn’t abate and she slides the bottle across the table. Jack glances at it and shakes his head.
“I’m fine.”
“Then these might get you to better than fine,” Peggy says easily, giving him a look.
“Really, Marge,” Jack says, leaning over to hand the bottle back to her, “I’m good.”
Peggy levels him with a hard stare. “You know perfectly well that isn’t going to cut it.” When he falters, she softens her tone a little and continues. “There’s no shame in painkillers, Jack, nor is there anyone here to look down on you.”
Jack’s fingers tighten on the bottle and he unscrews the cap, taking two of the pills and dry-swallowing them down. Peggy sits back, satisfied, looking at the haphazard cupboards Daniel left in his wake. Honestly—
“There’s you.”
Jack’s voice is so quiet that for a moment Peggy’s not sure she heard it at all. But a quick glance over shows Jack cradling the bottle in one hand, staring down at it with his jaw set. Concern writes itself plainly across her face as she turns toward him a little more.
“What?”
“You, Peggy,” Jack says in that same quiet voice, “you’re here.”
Oh. Oh.
“Jack—“
“Peggy—“
They both stop, smiling uneasily, before Jack waves at her to go first. She inclines her head slightly in thanks. “Jack, I’m not looking down on you. Especially not for this.”
“This,” Jack says, lifting the bottle and setting it on the table, “maybe not, but…”
“But?”
Jack shakes his head, still not meeting her eyes. “No,” he mutters again, although this time it’s clear it’s mostly to himself, “of course you’re not. You’re too good for that.”
If she’d heard that from almost anyone else, she’d think they were making some judgment based on the fact that she’s a woman. If she’d heard it from Jack at any other time, she’d think he’s being sarcastic.
Now, though, she can hear the undercurrent of something else in his voice. He genuinely believes she’s not the type of person to look down on him for what he’s done. And she’s not looking down on him, but apparently not for the reason he thinks.
“No, I’m not.”
Jack looks at her, frowning in confusion. Peggy twists her hands together in her lap. Better late than never.
“I owe you an apology, Jack.”
“Me?” Jack huffs incredulously. “The hell could you possibly have to apologize for?”
See, this, this is difficult. Because Peggy can deal with Daniel’s perception of her. He’s a good man; he believes in the best in people, that they will always choose what is right over what is easy. But with that, he has a kind of faith in her that she has to push back a little. With Daniel, he sees her as some kind of figurehead, something to aspire to. In her more vulnerable moments, it’s not dissimilar to how people used to look at Steve. So when she pushes back, says she’s not perfect, not flawless, he accepts it with a nod but still holds firm that she is worth the dedication he gives her. He knows she isn’t perfect but she’s good. And that’s good enough for him. And she would be lying if the faith of a good person doesn’t help her through some of her dark times.
But there’s something else there with Daniel, a worry that at some point he will realize she’s imperfect and cannot live up to his lofty expectations and he will stop. He will leave, his faith in her will vanish. She does not need the faith of a man to do her work, she does not need it to know her own value, but as Mr. Jarvis said, no one is capable of bearing the weight of the world alone.
With Jack, it’s different. Jack is a good man but he is cut from another cloth. Like Daniel, Jack is first and foremost a protector. If you don’t give him time to think, his instincts will make a choice that is always, always about saving as many people as he can. It’s when he’s shoved into something else, when his ambition is allowed to come into play, that he starts making other decisions. Jack knows the underbelly of war efforts that make them not sleep so well at night. Jack knows that there is nothing more dangerous than a survivor. They’re both survivors.
But the way he’s sitting here, across from her, telling her she’s got nothing to apologize for, speaks volumes of what he thinks of her now. She’s proud of the fact that she was right. She won. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t make mistakes along the way.
“Do you think,” she starts quietly, “that you would’ve gone after that file if I hadn’t said what I said to you that day at the SSR?”
The way Jack’s jaw tenses when she finishes talking makes her gut clench.
“You trusted me with your secrets,” she continues, “and I threw it back in your face.”
“I…you…” Jack looks away, down at the table, his hand still clutching the bottle of painkillers. “I don’t know. I think Ver—I think he would’ve asked for something on you eventually.”
Peggy frowns when Jack can’t say Vernon’s name, remembering how he fumbled with it at the hospital—something else they have to talk about—but reaches for his hand. He lets her wrap her fingers around his, looking up slowly.
“I would never,” Peggy says with a determination that surprises the both of them, “betray your trust like that. I trust you, Jack.”
“I know.” He still hasn’t stopped speaking in the awful soft voice that makes him sound like something’s stepping on his chest. “But don’t you go blaming yourself for this,” he continues, gesturing to his injury, “you hear me?”
She nods. Jack finally cracks the smallest of smiles and lets go of the bottle. Then his shoulders hunch forward and he grits his teeth like he’s preparing himself for something. And before she can stop herself, she’s opening her mouth again.
“Don’t.”
He looks up at her in confusion.
“Don’t do that,” she mutters, gesturing to his face, “you’re trying to be something you’re not right now. You don’t have to.”
For a moment, it looks like he’s going to anyway, lock himself away in that horrible suit of armor, and throw away the key. Then his face loses some of its lines and he slumps back against the wall.
“Habit.”
“I know.”
“Alright,” comes the far-too-cheery-for-this-atmosphere voice from the door, “I got the sandwiches and Delilah whipped up a fresh batch of her kettle chips, you guys are gonna love these, and I—oops.”
Jack raises an eyebrow when Daniel freezes halfway into the kitchen, clutching the biggest brown paper bag he’s seen in ages. “‘Oops?’”
“Uh, am I, uh, interrupting something?”
Peggy shakes her head, smiling and getting up to retrieves plates for them. “No, we’re simply having a nice conversation. I heard something about chips?”
Daniel shoots a glance at Jack who just shrugs. “Uh, yeah, though I don’t think they’re what you British people call chips.”
“So they’re crisps.”
“They’re the big round fried potato things.”
“Such an articulate description.”
“What the hell else am I supposed to call them?”
“Crisps?”
“Not on this side of the Atlantic.”
After the sandwiches and the chips—“we’re in the States, Peg, we’ve got jurisdiction—hey, don’t throw your napkin at me!”—and some inane small talk revolving around various complaints about Los Angeles, Daniel throws his napkin down on his empty plate with a contented sigh.
“You weren’t kidding,” Jack says, mirroring his posture, “that was incredible.”
“Still missing your pizza?”
“Hey,” Jack says, lightly swatting his arm, “you know damn well Lombardi’s is the only thing worth getting on a long night.”
“Well, I’m going to get a drink,” Peggy announces, heading toward the cupboards.
“It’s in the—okay, you know where it is.”
“I know you, Daniel,” Peggy says easily, retrieving three glasses and pouring a small serving in each.
“C’mon, what are we, twelve?” Jack squints at the tiny amount she pours in his glass.
“Alcohol and medication don’t mix, Jack,” she says, sitting back down, “you know that.”
“She’s right.”
“Great,” Jack mumbles into his glass, “now there’s two of you.”
A few sips later and he sets the glass down. Daniel watches as he hunches his shoulders and rests his hand on the table. Shooting a concerned glance at Peggy, he does the same.
“So,” Jack starts, “the file.”
Peggy straightens, leaning forward. “Did you read it?”
“Yes.”
“Did V—“
“Yes.”
Daniel frowns. That’s the second time he’s heard Jack avoid Vernon’s name. Pushing it aside—for now—he leans forward too and lightly touches Jack’s shoulder, trying to ignore the thrill that shoots through him when Jack leans into the touch.
“Jack,” he asks carefully, “can you tell us what you remember?”
Jack’s eyes widen and he looks at Peggy with such an expression of alarm that it takes Daniel back. It…oh, it does sort of look like his face that day in his office. Peggy reaches out for his hand too, creating another version of the chain the three of them formed in the hospital.
“I’ve told Daniel everything I can think of,” Peggy says quietly, “but I’ll tell you too.”
And Daniel can only watch Jack’s face as Peggy goes through her war record again, omitting none of the details. It sounds exactly the same to him, but there’s a softness in her voice this time that tells him the importance of this moment for Peggy and Jack is much deeper than just the file. If he had to guess, it’s linked to Belarus, that trip, and whatever Peggy said to Jack. There’s something so intimate about this conversation that for a moment he thinks he should leave, give them privacy, let them go back to talking about whatever they were talking about before he barged in. But moving might break the spell that’s settled around the table. So he sits, listening, keeping his hand firm on Jack’s shoulder.
When Peggy finishes, she glances at Daniel as Jack closes his eyes and nods. He gives her the most reassurance he can through a nod of his own. She smiles gratefully, their attention flicking back to Jack when his eyes open.
“That file is fake,” he says decidedly, shaking his head resolutely back and forth, “it has to be.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Jack looks at Daniel, raising his eyebrow. “Aside from the fact that it’s Carter and it really turned up just when I needed it to?” He jerks his head toward Peggy. “Nothing she just said was even close to what was in there and I don’t think she’s the type of person to leave something like that out.”
“And what was ‘that,’ Jack?”
Daniel’s hand tightens on Jack’s shoulder, as does Peggy’s on his hand, when Jack hesitates. He looks up at Daniel’s face and something must be going right because Jack just huffs, looking away and…is he…blushing?
“Why didn’t we ever have you two interrogate the suspects,” he mutters, “you’re dangerous, Sousa.”
“Me?”
Jack nods, gesturing at his face. “It’s those big doe eyes, saying ‘no’ to those is like kicking a puppy in front of its mother.”
“However correct that may be—“
“Hey!”
Peggy doesn’t even bother to hide her grin when she looks at Daniel, turning back to Jack and lightly squeezing his hand. “You’re not going to avoid the question.”
“I wasn’t trying to,” Jack says mulishly, “I was just…”
“Avoiding the question.”
“Shut up, Sousa,” Jack mutters without any real heat. Then he takes a deep breath and starts.
Yeah, it’s not good. Partway through Daniel reaches out to take Peggy’s other hand and now it really is the hospital all over again, isn’t it? The things Jack’s describing are…monstrous. All the casualties, the civilians, a massacre of this scale is enough to bury anyone.
“So it’s not about you,” Jack finishes, looking at Peggy, “and I have no idea where it came from.”
“Yes, well,” Peggy mumbles, her face pale, “I…certainly don’t remember that.”
Daniel can read a room well enough to know trying to talk anymore about this tonight isn’t a good idea. He squeezes the hand and shoulder in his, drawing their attention.
“It’s been a long day,” he offers, “why don’t we turn in?”
“Yes, splendid,” Peggy says, too quickly, standing up and making for the bathroom. “I’ll be out of your hair in a moment.”
“That’s not what I—“
“No, no, it’s fine!” Peggy’s vanished into the bathroom now. Daniel sighs.
“Hey,” Jack says, getting his attention, “she’ll be fine. She’ll go back to Stark’s mansion and Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis will fuss over her until they’re satisfied.”
Daniel snorts. “They are the only two people who could get away with it.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Jack says and Daniel’s heart lurches, “I doubt she’d send you packing.”
Daniel looks back at him and there’s that look on Jack’s face again. That mix of bittersweet tragedy that makes his smile look strange. Then they both realize Daniel’s still got his hand on Jack’s shoulder. It’s still there when Peggy remerges, both of them standing up to see her off. When the door closes and she’s gone, Daniel turns around and sees Jack staring after him.
“Jack?”
Jack shakes himself, turning around and scratching his head. “I, uh, heard something about a guest room?”
“Oh, uh, sure.” Daniel leads them down the hall to the small room, still made up with fresh linens from the last time someone…decided they couldn’t stay the night. “Here. Bathroom’s on the left and if you want more blankets they’re—“
“It’s great,” Jack says, cutting off his rambling. He wanders in and Daniel pauses at the door.
Jack looks so right in the room. And maybe the alcohol is affecting him a little more than he expected, or maybe it’s just been a long day, but the room sort of curves about him, like the petals of a flower around its center. It fits. Jack fits.
“You know—“ Daniel snaps out of it— “I don’t think I can go to sleep just yet.”
“Well, hey, I was, uh, gonna have another drink,” Daniel says, “and don’t worry, I won’t tell Peggy.”
Jack grins, following him to the couch. This also feels right, the weight next to him. He has to shuffle a little closer, blaming it on the lack of structure the couch has, close enough to press his shoulder against Jack’s side. Jack accepts it without complaint. And it’s so easy to just…lean into it. Pretend they’re back in New York, pulling a night shift, where they’re both exhausted enough to drop the formalities. Where Jack will come and perch on the end of Daniel’s desk, reading whatever report they’re looking through now. Where sometimes it’s the only time Jack’ll laugh all day when Daniel says something that catches him off guard. Where the smiles are easy and they don’t have to pretend because there’s no one else in the office.
Where sometimes, very occasionally, Daniel will yawn so loud his jaw cracks and Jack will chuckle, moving a little closer so Daniel’s head hits his ribcage when it lists to the side. Where sometimes they’ll stay there, Daniel resting against Jack, letting his eyes close for just a moment before he has to get back to work. Where sometimes Jack will look down at him with a softer smile and rest his hand on the back of Daniel’s chair, giving him something firmer to lean against. Where sometimes Jack pulls a chair around and they sit side by side, Jack’s head the one falling onto Daniel’s shoulder. Where sometimes they fall asleep, just like that.
“Shit.”
“What?” Daniel springs back instantly, worried he’s pushed too far or his reminiscing has led him to try and put too much weight on him, or something else damning. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Jack eyes him with a huff. “Relax, Sousa, you’re gonna work yourself up.” He takes a drink, wincing at the burn of the whiskey. “Just remembered I…was gonna do something.”
Somewhat sated, Daniel sits back down. “What?”
“When Carter was here,” Jack murmurs, indicating the door with his glass, “was gonna thank you both for everything.”
“Of course, Jack, you don’t have to—“
“You didn’t have to stay with me,” Jack interrupts, “in the hospital. You didn’t have to let me stay with you, here. And, uh, you didn’t have to do everything else.”
Daniel frowns, nudging Jack with his elbow. “Jack…”
“Would it kill you to just say ‘you’re welcome’ or something?”
The way Jack’s staring at the glass in his hands hurts, Daniel decides. It looks like he’s bracing for someone to hit him. He’s trying, he’s trying so hard to see what happened, to understand what turned the swaggering Jack Thompson into this man so frightened of rejection but the way his shoulders hunch forward makes him relent.
“Of course,” he murmurs, “you’re welcome, Jack.”
“I’ll say it again when Carter’s here,” Jack mutters with a nod.
“She knows, Jack, she—“
“I know she knows,” Jack cuts him off, “I just…I gotta say it to her too.”
“Okay.”
They return to sitting in silence only this time Daniel can’t lose himself in thinking of their time in New York. Now all he can think of is the way Jack’s hands trembled when he said he had to tell Peggy. Surely…she knows he’s grateful. The two of them had a way of talking without talking. Why now?
“Hey,” comes the vaguely amused voice next to him, “I’m the only one who’s allowed to sulk right now.”
“It’s my house,” Daniel defends weakly, raising his own glass to his lips, “I can sulk if I want.”
“You look a lot better sulking than I do,” Jack says, bumping their shoulders together, “can’t have you hogging it.”
“Why do you need to tell Peggy so bad?”
Jack fiddles with the glass. “You know Peggy. Feels weird, doesn’t it? When you don’t?”
“Don’t what?”
“Tell her.” Jack takes another drink. “She says she’s good without everyone else’s opinion of her, and she’s damn right, but…it feels like you owe it to her, don’t you? To tell her that she’s…Peggy Carter?”
Daniel knows exactly what he’s talking about. He clinks his glass against Jack’s and the two drink a toast to Peggy Carter.
“While I’m here,” Jack says quietly, “I, uh, guess I owe you an apology too.”
“For what, Jack?”
Jack shrugs. “Take your pick?”
“You don’t have to apologize for the Arena Club,” Daniel says firmly, “you don’t have to apologize for Whitney Frost. You don’t have to apologize for any of the SSR mess.”
“And what about the other stuff?”
“The other stuff?”
Jack shrugs again. “Your engagement?”
“Oh, I messed that up by myself, thank you very much,” Daniel sighs, leaning back against the couch, “I didn’t need your help.”
“Carter?”
“You already apologized to her, didn’t you?”
“You know what I mean,” Jack mutters, leaning back too, “for what I said about…you and her.”
Oh.
“I’m happy for you two,” Jack says hurriedly, “seriously. You two…you’re gonna do great.”
Daniel frowns at the tone of Jack’s voice. He looks over at him to see Jack’s eyes closed tightly.
“Hey,” he calls, concerned, “what is it?”
“Huh?” Jack glances over and shakes his head. “Don’t worry. Just..got some stuff in my head.”
Before Daniel can continue, Jack’s lifting the glass again. “I have to say, this wasn’t what I imagined when you said you owed me a drink.” He shoots a look at Daniel. “I remember something about you taking me to the bar?”
Daniel narrows his eyes at Jack, sitting up. “You were awake, you bastard!”
Jack laughs. He laughs harder when Daniel half-heartedly swats him with a pillow, grabbing it easily and pulling it away. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
“Oh, you just wait.”
“Or,” Jack says, bumping their shoulders again—bastard knows it makes Daniel’s brain stop working for a minute, he swears—“you could just take me out for that drink you promised and we can forget the whole thing.”
Daniel bites his lip. An evening at the Frolic Room Bar with Jack does sound pretty nice right now. The freedom it would give them, to talk about things, to…
Hang on.
“Jack,” Daniel says slowly, “you do know that the Frolic Room Bar isn’t just a bar, right?”
“It’s a restaurant too, right?”
“Well, yeah, but…it’s also a place for queer folk.”
Jack freezes.
He turns his head slowly, a look of horror dawning on his face. “Ah, jeez, Daniel, I didn’t—I wasn’t—no, I didn’t know that!”
Daniel places his own glass on the table when Jack slams his down and buries his face in his hands.
“It’s okay, Jack, I believe you, I—“
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew,” Daniel says helplessly, trying to figure what to do with his hands, does he touch him right now? Does he not?
Jack laughs mirthlessly and throws himself back against the couch so hard he bounces. “Then why the hell did you say ‘yes?’ Or was the rain check just your polite way of saying ‘get the hell out?’”
“It wasn’t like that, Jack,” Daniel says, still trying desperately to figure out what to do. “I…I thought you knew.”
“And what, you just…”
Jack trails off, staring at Daniel. Daniel stares right back, watching as realization dawns on Jack’s face. And as he watches it slowly morph into something resembling hope, he realizes the look from before wasn’t horror, it was terror.
“But,” Jack starts softly, “you…Carter…you were engaged, Daniel.”
“I was,” Daniel says, equally as soft, moving slowly to cover one of Jack’s hands with his, “and I loved her. Just as I loved a man who died next to me at Bastogne.”
“You can…do that?”
“Love both?”
Jack nods.
“You can, Jack,” Daniel says, “just as you can love one or the other.”
“So you…” Jack swallows heavily. “So you didn’t tell me ‘no’ because you…”
“Yeah.”
The clock in the hallway ticks.
Daniel huffs his own laugh. “You know, Peggy and I said we’d take it slow. We wouldn’t try and spring all of this on you in one day, but…you’re an impatient bastard, you know that, right?”
“Wait, all of what?”
Daniel resolutely shakes his head. “Nope. I’m not doing that.”
“Aw, come on, Danny-Boy,” Jack whines, “you’re gonna kill me.”
Daniel’s heart clenches and he looks at Jack, pleading with him to never make that joke again. Jack softens.
“You’re taking advantage of those puppy-dog eyes of yours, Danny-Boy.”
“Now that I know they’ll work? Absolutely.”
“I should never’ve told you.”
“Nor that I look better sulking than you do.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “I knew the second it came out of my mouth.”
“Don’t worry,” Daniel says, “you’ve got the whole brooding look down better than I could.”
It makes Jack laugh and it sounds like the low yellow bulbs of New York. When he looks up at Daniel again it’s not as the solider, the politician, or even the brooding SSR agent. It’s just Jack Thompson.
Attractive bastard.
Jack flips his hand over and presses his palm against Daniel’s.
“In the hospital,” Daniel says quietly, “you asked if you were too late.”
Jack nods. There’s such a weight behind his eyes, the same one Daniel remembers seeing when he opened them in the hospital. The same one, come to think of it, he saw when he told Jack about his engagement, and when he left the New York office.
He knows what Jack thinks he’s too late for.
He knows that right now, Jack’s asking again.
Daniel smiles. “You’re not too late.”
Jack’s smile is more than worth the annoyed glare Peggy’s going to give them tomorrow when she realizes they had this conversation about her. They’ll reassure her that it’s far from over, that they’re going to discuss it in more detail. She’ll have a chance to tell her side and hopefully, it’ll coax Jack into telling them his. They’ve got to talk about the file, about the shooter, about how to make sure the SSR is safe. And. Daniel knows, he and Peggy have some other questions for Jack. Like why he still looks at them like they’re going to leave sometimes, and why he can’t say Vernon Masters’ name.
But right now, instead of Agent Sousa and Agent Thompson and a hard, cold desk in New York with paperwork spread out in front of them, Jack and Daniel can fall asleep on a soft, warm couch in Los Angeles, Daniel’s head on Jack’s shoulder, Jack’s head on Daniel’s.