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Of course they got the Christmas shift.
Daniel drummed his pencil on his desk, sitting back and idly watching the snow drift past the window behind Peggy. He'd done everything he could find to do, but she still had work to finish; piles of codebreaking and pattern reports, all dull and far too easy for her, but she was still in the doghouse for the Stark incident and Dooley was standing his ground on discipline no matter how well that mess had turned out. ("You want to be treated like one of the guys, Carter, you're going to do the same grunt work until I say otherwise.")
Agent Henry was the only one who'd screwed up worse lately: In a raid two weeks ago he'd shot Dooley in the foot instead of winging the crook and the chief was going to be on desk duty for months. It was probably the only reason he and Peggy weren't on the night shift tonight instead.
Couldn't figure out what they were punishing him for, though. It was a shame; he and Dad had traditions for Christmas Day going right back to before Mom died, and except for the war, they'd always managed to keep them. If he'd known in time they could've had Christmas Eve instead, but tomorrow would have to do. The old man said he didn't care if it took till July as long as he could meet his Danny's girl.
That flutter of warmth that never got old lit up in Daniel's chest and he gave up pretending to watch the snow fall. Peggy was absorbed in her work, charging through pattern analysis like it was a regiment of Nazis and probably still doing a better job than half the guys. The angle of her desk lamp made her hands bright white and shadowed her face, and glinted in her hair like... something. He wasn't a poet. He was a total sap, but she was his girl. He was allowed.
Maybe that's why Thompson was punishing him. Daniel smirked: Man couldn't argue with results, and whenever they worked together they had the best solve rate in the office. If everyone else thought they were just friends, hey, Peggy liked it better that way.
"You're staring," she said in a sing-song, and he blinked. She wasn't looking up, but she was smiling.
"Really? Thought I was dreaming," he replied. She chuckled.
"Perhaps if you close your eyes you'll wake up and it'll be time to clock out."
"Eh, there's only ten minutes left," said Daniel. He pulled himself up. "Do you want a coffee?"
"Only if there's no tea," she replied dryly. (There was never tea.)
Daniel set out two cups. Brewing would take a while, and between that and cleaning up, he could fill the time until Henry and Ramirez arrived. Didn't hurt that the coffee table gave him a great view of Peggy.
...Yeah, total sap. Good thing Thompson wasn't around.
Peggy tilted her cup back, drank nothing, and almost put it down again before she realised the cup was empty and long since cold. Drawing herself out of the fascinating world of arrest statistics, she glanced at the clock: The agents assigned to the night shift were almost half an hour late.
Daniel was at his desk on the phone, talking to Dooley from the sound of it, and Peggy stood up to peer out the window. The snow was still falling steadily, quietly, but the drifts were piling high, nearly to the tops of car tyres in some places: if Henry and Ramirez had tried to drive in, it was no wonder they were late.
"We're not leaving the place unmanned, sir, I just asked if there's anyone who lives closer."
Peggy started tidying her papers and jotting down some notes on her analysis so far; it wasn't complicated or groundbreaking, it would keep. Daniel heard her move and nodded at her, and turned back to Dooley. "I know, but can we really do anyth– I just meant– ...I understand sir," he sighed. "Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too." He paused, and Dooley must have been apologetic, because Daniel meant it when he said, "I appreciate that, sir. Goodnight."
He hung up the phone wearily, and Peggy squeezed his shoulder. He reached back and took her hand. "So we have to wait, then?"
"Henry and Ramirez are 'on their way'," said Daniel, slumping in his chair. "Maybe they'll show up by New Year."
It was unlikely, but Peggy shrugged it off. "I can think of worse places to be than a office with decent heating. And worse company."
Daniel smiled. "Miss Fry is going to hate you. What will you tell her this time?"
For the third time this month, too. Peggy winced. "I'll call Angie. If she can't make a case for me I'll be out in the streets soon enough as it is."
"Bad weather's a good reason."
"It had better be. I'm running out." She sighed and stepped back towards her desk, but Daniel held on to her hand and tugged playfully, and she pivoted back. He drew her closer and she glanced around in case someone was still around before leaning in to kiss him. Three of his fingers brushed the edge of her jaw and twirled around a bit of her hair.
He sat back and grinned at her, lacing their fingers together. "If we get snowed in, do you think we can squeeze into the chief's cushy chair?"
Peggy rolled her eyes. "You'll take the chair," she replied, tapping his leg. "I'll be fine on the floor."
He groaned, only half teasing now. "How am I ever going to face my dad if he finds out I let a lady sleep on the floor?"
"All right," she agreed breezily. "I'll take the desk."
Daniel sighed. She laughed and stole another kiss. "Are we still on schedule for tomorrow?" she asked, heading back to her desk.
"Yeah, all set. We'll meet Dad at ten in the park, walk and have lunch, go wave to Lady Liberty and back to Dad's for dinner. He's making linguiça."
"My dull English tastebuds look forward to it."
He laughed.
Calling Angie proved to be futile; all calls to the Griffith went through the front desk, and Miss Fry never took time off for holidays. Other women, old enough to be considered responsible, usually manned the desk during dinnertime, but of course, not tonight. After informing her three separate times that being a federal agent did not excuse her from curfew, Miss Fry outlined exactly how exposure to the cold could ruin a lady's health and no, winters in Belarus did not count. Peggy listened with half an ear, murmuring "yes" and "of course" in all the right places, and sharpened all her pencils.
After instructing her that, should there be absolutely no car or taxi available, she was to insist that her colleagues escort her home, Miss Fry finally hung up. Peggy trudged over to to Daniel's desk and dropped heavily into the visitor's chair next to him.
"That was quick," he said. She groaned.
"Don't even start." She propped up her head on one hand, watching as he shuffled a pack of cards. "Blackjack or poker?"
The clock ticked on.
Henry and Ramirez finally hurried in eighty minutes after their shift had started, blue-lipped and shivering. Peggy went to fetch the blankets in Dooley's office while Daniel made them very hot coffees. "We had to leave the car at Sixth," Ramirez was saying as she came back, and he'd never looked happier to see her. She tossed him a blanket and shook out the other one for Henry.
"You're an angel," he said, and tried to wrap himself up without putting down his coffee cup. Peggy took pity on him and draped it over his shoulders. Henry's free hand clamped right back onto his cup.
"I," she said, "still plan to go home tonight. How bad is it, really?"
They shrugged at each other. "You could make it," said Ramirez. "People have been digging out the sidewalks on most blocks and it's not so packed you can't move it where they didn't. We'd have been better off if we hadn't waited in the car for so long."
"Yeah, I'm almost feeling my toes again now," muttered Henry. "Take a shovel," he advised. "There's got to be some in storage, right?"
Peggy glanced at Daniel. He looked grim, but there was no chance he would stay behind just because the path would be difficult.
Ramirez was nodding at Henry. "With the tac gear."
"Got it," said Daniel, picking up his suit jacket and hurrying toward the coat rack. "Thanks, guys."
"Never seen you so eager to leave, Sousa," said Henry. "Didn't you used to sleep here? Agent 'my job is my life' Sousa?" he snickered.
"It's Christmas, fellas, have a heart. I've got plans."
He held Peggy's heavy coat out for her, and she slipped her arms in quickly enough to turn and lift his overcoat to offer the same while he pulled his arm from his crutch for the sleeve. He frowned. Hats, scarves and gloves were quicker; Peggy glanced out the window again and wished her boots were more than ankle high.
"Oh," said Daniel, turning back as they reached the door. "You should call Dooley, tell him you made it. And make it short," he suggested. "He's got in-laws over."
Henry groaned. "Thank a lot, Sousa," he said. Daniel chuckled.
Daniel came out from the storage shelves victorious, shovel in hand, and almost tripped over Peggy, who was sitting on the floor lacing up a pair of combat boots. He stared for a second, then shook his head. "I should've thought of that."
Peggy grinned up at him, flexing her foot and packing her heeled galoshes neatly into a small rucksack, probably from the same pack of tac gear she'd opened for the boots. "It's all signed out and official," she said primly, standing up. "No civilians will notice a thing in this weather anyway."
He chuckled and offered his arm, and she took the shovel before linking her elbow. "Quite a pair, right?"
"Us or my boots? I think they'll make quite the statement this year. The world of fashion will never be the same."
Once outside, Daniel really wished he'd taken a boot too, or a snowshoe or a tennis racket or anything with better traction than his Oxfords. The tip of his crutch slipped sometimes, but if he stepped carefully, he could keep steady enough that she didn't notice, and this block had paths dug down the sidewalk already: He could probably walk the whole way, but without a word Peggy turned left, towards his place, holding the shovel ready.
He clenched his jaw and followed. For about five steps he was angry: There was no way she was ever not going to walk him home, not in this weather, and she never asked, just assumed. Then, deliberately, he let out all his breath in a gust and shook his head: She meant well, and he knew he got touchy about this stuff. They'd been down this road before.
He shoved away his annoyance and remarked, as lightly as he could, "I don't think Miss Fry will say this counts as an escort home."
Peggy smiled over her shoulder. "Technically we are moving in the right direction, and she never said I couldn't be seeing the colleague I walk with." Her grin turned mischievous, and the rest of his irritation fell away.
They were out of sight of the office windows now, so Daniel hurried his next two steps till he could lean his chin over her shoulder. "Did she say anything about kissing them?"
His breath must have tickled her ear because she twitched and rolled her shoulder, smiling and this close to giggling. (She never giggled.) "It was probably implied."
He kissed her cheek anyway, and the spot behind her jaw that was just peeking out from her scarf, and if he caught her checking that the coast was clear before she turned around for a real kiss, he didn't say anything. Kissing her was like drowning in blankets; his head really did get fuzzy and for a second everything else disappeared. He tightened his free arm around her and felt her hands snake up to his collar, tugging him down.
And then the damn crutch slipped. He collapsed forward and sideways, slamming into her, and if he'd twisted away any slower they'd both be down a few teeth. Instead the side of his neck hit her shoulder and his arm around her waist dragged her down too, right into a snowbank.
For a second he just lay there, hoping the earth would swallow him up.
Peggy rolled to her to her feet, breathing hard. He must have winded her. She took his hands and pulled: He grunted and hauled himself up, and muttered "Yeah" darkly when she asked if he was all right.
Peggy raised an eyebrow at the snowbank. "Lucky it wasn't the pavement."
"This time."
She glanced sharply at him, then looked away. Her dark coat was white all down the right side, and he quietly started brushing it off: her shoulder, arm, back and down her hip. She did the same, running her hand over his back and shoulders until the worst was off him too, and slid her hands into his. It felt like an apology. Daniel squeezed her fingers.
They walked the next three blocks hand in hand, saying nothing, until the dug-out paths got too narrow. The snow was filling them up fast, and most of the poor saps who'd had to work today had been home for a while now, so every step they took sank in a good three inches of fresh powder. They had to go slower, and Peggy used the shovel here and there to give them a little more foot space. The mounds on either side of them got higher. "It's like being back in the trenches," said Daniel.
Ahead of him, Peggy gave up trying to step through the powder and stopped to scoop up two shovelfuls and push them aside. Now they had another ten inches of walking space. Great.
"Try making holes," Daniel suggested. "One for one step, one a foot later. You know, like stepping stones?"
Peggy nodded and speared the shovel ahead of them, scraped the cobblestones and turned over enough to make a space to safely step into. She took the step, then dug again. Daniel followed. They had to step high to get over what was left but it meant a lot less snow to move, and they could go faster. "Now it's like hopscotch."
They made it another two blocks, occasionally passing people and using their tracks as long as possible, before Peggy started to slump against the handle. She was stretching as far as she could for each step, but the further she had to reach, the more effort it took to turn the shovel. Daniel kept an eye on her between hops, and when she obviously needed it enough not to argue, he asked for a breather. For his leg.
She'd forgotten to eat. That was the problem.
Peggy winced and scolded herself as she leaned on a wall: Maybe this wasn't the war anymore, but it was downright stupid to be so unprepared. This was far, far easier than digging real trenches all day and she'd been at it a for fraction of the time, but she'd had only a few bites of breakfast, skipped lunch to finish a report and dinnertime was long since over. It wasn't terrible, all she needed was a short rest, but she scowled at herself nonetheless.
Stupid.
Daniel had lied, of course: He wasn't shifting his weight on and off the crutch to give his good leg a rest, and he wasn't twitching his hand over the line where his false leg met what was left of his thigh. He could keep going if he wanted to.
Peggy pushed herself off the post and snatched up the shovel. They were well over halfway to Daniel's flat, and damned if she was going to start knocking on doors asking for a biscuit.
Behind her Daniel said, "Let me try for a while. I balance pretty good on this thing now–"
"You'll fall," she told him– and winced. Here we thought you'd learned tact by now, my girl. She slowly turned around. "I'm sorry."
He looked down as he shook his head. "Nah, you're right."
Peggy set her jaw and cleared another step for them; the snow was nearing calf-deep now. If she dropped the shovel in and turned it rather than lifting, the depression left behind was enough to step into without slipping, and her feet compressed enough of the rest for for Daniel to step on. She still partially buried her boots every time as the loose powder tumbled back in, but it was the easiest method.
Her stomach growled and Peggy felt her temper fraying, with it and herself and this goddamned snow. She stabbed the next step harder than she needed to, and the shovel clanged as it hit cobblestones.
Two steps later, Daniel said, "You like potatoes?"
She glanced back, puzzled. "I'm British. It's something of a staple."
"How could I forget?" he replied dryly. "See, potatoes are about the only thing I can actually cook, so I always buy lots of them. But then last week I thought, you know Danny, you're never going to get better at anything new if you don't give it a try, so I went and bought some of everything that wasn't potatoes."
Peggy smiled a little as she shovelled. "And by "everything" you mean...?"
"Rice and pasta mostly, someone told me they were easier than potatoes, but it turns out, if you boil them, they lump up like rocks."
She shook her head, amused. "I can't tell whether or not you're making all this up. You're supposed to stir them."
"Peggy, I'm hurt. Would I lie to you?"
"If you were trying to distract me, yes."
He shrugged. "Point is, I've got a two sacks of potatoes that have to be eaten soon, I can actually make them taste good, and I'd prefer that Miss Fry shouts at you because you're past curfew than that you're, you know, dead." He nudged her and whispered theatrically: "No one would be there to listen."
Now she did laugh, and took a moment to shake out her stiff fingers. "I'm sure she'd find someone else to tell off."
"Yeah: Me."
For a minute Daniel said nothing as he followed close behind her, then asked, "So will you stay for dinner? I make a swell potato mash."
Peggy thought about potatoes smeared with butter and groaned. "A hot meal sounds lovely, thank you. We're almost there, right?"
"Block and a half. Turn right up there."
Twenty-eight steps painfully slow later, they reached his block, and when she saw that the pavement had recently been trampled down by layers of footsteps, only half an inch deep in most places, she actually sighed out loud in relief.
"There's a shop on the corner," said Daniel, pointing across the street to lighted windows that could just be seen through the haze of snowfall. Peggy nodded, understanding.
"Everyone's probably been stocking up all evening, just in case." She looked at him. "Do you need anything?"
He shook his head. "I'm fine." He reached for the shovel, which she was only too happy to surrender, and they hurried down the block before the flurries could get any worse.
There was no lift in the building, and Daniel, it turned out, lived on the seventh floor. He began climbing the stairs without breaking stride or pausing his abashed description of how the place was hardly perfect, but the super was decent and water was always hot, and he hadn't had a chance to clean yesterday so please excuse the mess. He had to twist his shoulder and splay his leg and crutch to get up each step, and he was sweating by the third floor. It was hard not to say anything.
Inside wouldn't pass a real muster but was exactly as tidy as she would have expected of a former soldier; there were a few things lying about, mostly the kind one needed two free hands to carry. Peggy unlaced her boots while Daniel pulled off his shoes and hurried over to turn on the radiator before bothering with his coat and hat. "It'll take a while to really heat up," he apologised.
"It's fine," said Peggy, and shook out her arms and began to stretch out the aches from shovelling.
Daniel picked up his shoes and set them on some newspaper by the radiator. "Do you need to dry anything?"
She shook her head and rolled out her wrists– and stopped, spying a few apples in a bowl on the table. She had no doubt those potatoes would be wonderful, but they took time to cook. A lot of time.
The hell with it. "May I?"
Daniel looked up from unwinding his scarf. "Of course! Help yourself." He hooked it on the coat rack and made his way to the kitchen area. "Did you really think I'd say no?"
"It's polite to ask." She snatched up an apple and bit down. Heaven.
For a moment she only chewed, eyes closed, feeling the sugary juices rush through her (heaven), but she could feel Daniel's eyes on her, and she looked up.
He was folding his sweater vest and trying to bury a smile. "Good?"
Peggy chuckled, nodded and took another large bite.
"Guess I can skip the potatoes, then," he said, and pretended to duck when she glared at him.
"Perish the thought," said Peggy. She licked some juice off her fingers and stepped towards the kitchen area; the floor was cold under her stockings. "I can help peel, if you like."
"Well, if that apple's going to keep you alive long enough, there's something I want to show you first." Daniel veered off into the other doorway leading from the corridor, probably his bedroom (there were few options), and came back with a wrapped box. "Happy Christmas."
Peggy smiled widely as she took it, warm and tingling inside. "Thank you. I'm afraid my gift for you is still at home," she apologised, and followed to sit down beside him on the sofa. Daniel shook his head.
"Don't worry about it. There's always tomorrow."
She smiled and set about carefully opening it. Daniel fidgeted a little, flexing his crutch hand. She was going to tell him not to worry, that she was sure she would love it, but the flat little wooden box was quick to open, and then there was no need for the platitude.
It was a lovely silver bracelet; old in style and elegant, with half a dozen finely crafted daisies strung between delicate links. Peggy smiled and lifted it out of the box. "Thank you."
Daniel shrugged. "I know jewellery's not your thing..."
"No, not at all, but I love it, and I will certainly be wearing it." She swooped around and kissed him, enjoying the half-second he froze in surprise before kissing back. Opening her eyes she said, "Thank you."
He smiled broadly and gestured to the bracelet. "Want to wear it now?"
Peggy unhooked the clasp and handed it over, turning her wrist up. "Where did you find something like that?"
"It was my Mom's."
Peggy pulled her wrist back and went still, and the warmth in her chest tightened. She took a moment to gather her words, curled in on herself. "Daniel, I can't accept that," she said quietly. "I know how little you have left of your mother."
His hands hovered in the air between them, holding the bracelet. His confusion hurt to look at. "Peg, she'd love you. She didn't leave it to me so it could sit in a box forever."
She shook her head and pushed it away. "Surely she meant it for your wife."
"What if I think I've found her?"
Something plummeted into Peggy's stomach and she found herself on her feet. "I should go."
"Peg–"
"I'm sorry."
She fled.
His crutch clicked behind her: She grabbed her coat, shoved her feet into the unlaced boots, flung on her scarf and jammed her hat on her head. Her thoughts whirling too fast to get a grip on any of it and her heart was aching, she had to go, but Daniel fell against the door before she could open it. "Peggy, why?"
And they were back in that horrible moment in the alley when he thought she was a traitor: For just a second she'd seen, slipped between all the hard anger on his face, how crushed he really was. And she'd run, because that's all there was to do, and it was all there was to do now. "I'll– see you at work."
"You can't go out there now."
"It's just a bit of snow, I'll be fine. I have the shovel."
She twisted the doorknob. He dropped his full weight on it. The hurt was all hidden now behind rigid lines. "By yourself?"
"I can handle it." Her heartbeat was thudding. This wasn't– She just– Why the bloody hell did he have to say something like that?
"Of course you can," he snapped. "You can do anything, all by yourself. You always do, even when it's stupid, just to show you can. Do you ever do anything because it's what you want?"
Peggy squeezed her eyes shut. "Let me go, Daniel."
He breathed out once, twice, three times, then she heard a quiet thump as he pushed off the door. His crutch clicked, twice, and when she turned the knob, it opened.
It slammed behind her harder than she meant to.
Peggy's thumping footsteps had faded long before Daniel realised he was still holding the bracelet. Some of the dull metal daisy petals were digging into his skin, and two were knotted up in the chains. He unknotted them, slowly with one hand, limping back to the sofa, then untangled the rest and set it back down.
It laughed at him from Mom's jewellery box.
He didn't throw anything. Came close, maybe, in his head, but didn't. He sat quietly, hands folded in front of his mouth, slowly going cold.
He was angry. Hell was he angry. But he couldn't figure out with who.
It was stupid to blurt that out. He hadn't meant to. It wasn't meant to be some sort of sideways proposal; he would do that properly, with a ring and a speech and somehow kneeling down in a fancy restaurant or the park. Yeah, it'd crossed his mind, but not... They'd only been dating six months, known each other barely a year; they were at the meet my dad stage, not till death do us part. It was just a bracelet.
Okay no, not just: It meant a lot to him and Dad, and he'd wanted her to know that, know he was serious, know that he was 'quit the SSR so she could stay' sort of serious. It was a step, or meant to be. Just a little one. Instead he'd fallen three flights.
But she didn't have to stare at him like he was nuts. She didn't have to storm off with a see you at work like they were back to being the office rejects with nothing else in common. If that's what she wanted, fine. It would be awkward as hell trying to be friends now anyway. But she could've said it. "Sorry Daniel, I just don't want to spend my life with you." Would that have been so hard?
Let me go.
He would never have held her back. She knew that. Even if he'd got everything else wrong he knew she knew that. And he'd thought about it, when he daydreamed about a church and rings: he fell for her because of her brutal determination to do something all the time, not in spite of it. He didn't need kids and a stay at home wife. He loved her.
She knew that.
Daniel shook his head and forced himself to get up: the radiator was hot now and his shoes would crack if he didn't move them. He had to eat soon too, alone or not. And there was the laundry, and he needed a bath if he wanted to not stink when he saw Dad tomorrow.
He kicked the shoes towards the front door and, on a whim, leaned on a wall and shuffled until he'd unstrapped his artificial leg. He was lighter without it, even if his balance got worse, and walking without anything there was still a strange enough feeling to distract him a little. He shuffled to the kitchen and slowed down at the window.
The paths on his street were still mostly clear, but the snow was falling pretty thick: Probably a good fifteen inches on top of the parked cars, and enough was new that she'd have to carve her way through old paths before they got buried completely. He wondered how far she'd gotten, and if she could even get home.
He peeled the potatoes. Boiled them. Added butter and mashed. He set out two plates and boiled some greens.
They overcooked while he waited. He served it. Ate in silence.
She didn't come back.
Daniel's empty pant leg fluttered as he brought his dishes back to the sink. Now he remembered why he'd stuck with the damn leg at home too, and he yanked up the cuff and shoved it into his belt.
He was mad at Peggy, he'd realised, but not because she'd run out. He'd surprised her – them both – and she had two ways to deal with feelings: Punch or run. Of course she would split when things got too heavy. And even if she'd seen it coming, there's no good way to break someone's heart. Of course she'd run if she didn't love him back.
But she did. She'd said it: he'd seen it, felt it, drowned in it. She'd told him how much he meant to her. She'd shown how much she cared about him: fought for him, argued for him, killed for him. It wasn't about that.
It wasn't about Steve Rogers either, not really. It wasn't even about Daniel himself: It was about Peggy's reluctance to show any kind of weakness, Peggy's bone-deep fear of getting people killed and Peggy's need to stand alone so she could show the world that women could do the job.
Well so what?
He got it, he did: The world wasn't fair to women. Wasn't fair to cripples either, and both of those had to change. They were two of the only people who got to do what they were best at anyway and it was important to hang on, and he was all for that. He got that marrying her would make him more of a man in the eyes of others and would make her seem lesser. He got that being married to anyone would make people assume that Peggy was giving up her work for a family. He'd been ready to fight all that with her, because he loved her enough to give up his daydream of kids and a normal life so she could be the best federal agent in the country.
He'd just never figured she didn't love him more than her fight.
He couldn't even hate her for it.
Glum, he peeled his face away from the window and washed the dishes quietly. Laundry could wait.
Knock, knock, knock.
Daniel froze. He listened, and listened, but the sound was gone and– Why would anyone knock when there was a doorbell? How would they even get in the building?
Unless she'd never left.
The hearth rug tripped him up as he rushed for the door, and he twisted his crutch arm, but he slid back the locks quickly and opened it. Peggy charged in and stopped exactly one step inside, back to the door as it closed.
She had left: She had snow on her hat and was dusted with white up to her hips. Her nose was red. She was clenching her purse so hard the leather was dented. She looked braced for impact.
"Daniel." She bit her lip, opened her mouth and closed it, looking for words. "I don't..." She stilled and looked right at him. "I don't want to do everything alone."
He tried to keep steady. Apologising was one thing, she'd come back for that, to do it right, but...
"I mean it, I'm sorry. I love y–"
He lunged (fell) forward and kissed her, and she froze in surprise for half a second before kissing him back. He leaned his elbow on the handrest of his crutch so he could wrap a second arm around her; it made it hard to balance, but she held him up. His head spun. Her arms were tight around his ribs and she wasn't letting go.
She opened her eyes and looked him in the eye, hands tight on his arms. "I'm sorry I ran. I shouldn't have done that."
Daniel shook his head and pressed his forehead against hers, relieved. She was here, she came back. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"No. I mean, yes, I– Not yet," said Peggy. She braced herself. "Daniel, I want very much to be ready for that, but–"
"I know, it's way too soon, I'm sorry, I got... carried away." He shrugged awkwardly, embarrassed, and wobbled on his leg; whether she steadied him or he steadied himself on her grip, he couldn't tell.
Peggy smiled. "I do like that you're thinking about it."
He felt his face get hot and looked down. "Bit of a sap, huh?"
"Only a little," she said lightly. She hesitated, then reached up and squeezed his hand. "I like that."
He smiled. "You know," he said, "even if we... if it's too soon to tell what's going to happen with us, I think Mom would want you to have her bracelet. She'd love you."
Peggy ducked her head. "I'm sure you know your mother much better than I do."
"Think so," he replied dryly. She chuckled.
"Then I accept. And Daniel," she said quickly, before he could go to get it from the table; he stopped and turned back to face her. She cupped his cheek. "Ask me again. Someday."
He lifted his hand and pressed it over hers, sombre now, reluctance heavy in his chest. "Peg," he sighed, "it's going to be a long time before the world changes the way we want it to. There's always going to be some jerk who thinks you can't be an agent and a woman at the same time, let alone in love."
Peggy shrugged wearily. "I suppose we'll just have to be the change we want to see."
He shook his head. "I meant, how long are we going to keep sneaking around like kids?"
She turned away, the brim of her hat hiding her face. "Not forever. But not yet." She shook her head and looked at him again, imploring. "Daniel, I'm finally being respected for who I am, what I've done, not as 'Captain America's girl'. If they know, I'll be nothing more than your girl, and as much as I want that, I can't let it be all that I am, all that defines me." She was watching him intently, as close as she came to holding her breath. "Please tell me you understand."
Daniel nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I do. And I want that for you, Peg. You're an amazing agent and you can do so much. Just... don't leave me behind, okay?"
Peggy squeezed his hands. "I promise."
He let out a huge breath and intensity of the moment gave way to giddy relief. He found himself grinning cheekily at her. "Good, 'cause you know you're useless without me."
She scoffed and swatted him; he had to drop an arm against the door to keep his balance. "Oh, shut up."
"Admit it: You'd never have cracked that Fenwick case without me."
"One time," grumbled Peggy, but her face was bright and her eyes were dancing. She tried to sidestep away but he braced his other arm on the other side of her head, boxing her in, and leaned in for another kiss: She yanked on his collar until he crashed into her.
That flutter of warmth that never got old lit up in his chest again and burst into flame. Peggy chuckled under him, deepened the kiss, and he leaned all his weight into his elbows on the door and held her as tight as he could, fingers threading through her hair and knocking her hat off.
She moved back a fraction to look him in the eye. "You know," she said in that light, mischievous tone he'd come to fear, "I don't think I'll be able to get home tonight."
Daniel felt his heart jump up and lodge in his throat. "Well, uh," he managed, "it is pretty cold out there."
She grinned and kissed him.
Three Christmases later, Director Carter took her usual week off for the holidays and came back engaged.
When they told his father, at dinner after their annual pilgrimage to Lady Liberty, Mr Sousa looked at the daisy bracelet and chuckled. "If your mother were here," he told Daniel, "she would owe me money."