Chapter Text
I.
It's in his kiss, Peggy realizes. Everything that Daniel Sousa is.
When he kisses her for this first time, it's a mere brush of the lips. She swears she can see the nervous glint in his eyes when he bows down, just before his mouth touches hers. Feather-light, sweet and soft, direct but also polite. Always polite. Almost like an unspoken question.
His lips are warm and still taste of bourbon, making her remember the tune the pianist played at their dinner. She leans into him.
Yes, is her answer and her head spins a little.
It's not a real real kiss. Not something that burns them both with passion. But it's such a Daniel thing.
And oh, she hasn't been kissed in such a long time.
II.
When he really, really kisses her, Peggy is surprised.
Granted the forecast had been rain, but the downpour had still caught them off guard on their way from the theatre. Of course Daniel had insisted on bringing her home, despite everything she had said. The short walk from the cab to her front door is enough to drench them both completely. Everywhere on the street, people duck for cover and Peggy quickly grabs his free arm, to pull him under the front porch roof.
Maybe there is something giddy in the air that silently takes hold of them and that makes her fingers curl in his wet shirt. Maybe they both had enough of the soft little kisses.
When Daniel takes her mouth this time his lips are hot on hers, his tounge hungry. It makes her heart jump and something in her stomach do somersaults. She pulls him closer without thinking much, her back pressing against the cold wood and glass of the front door.
Their teeth clash, wanting, demanding, surging and she hears a low, throaty sound escape his chest. All the timidness is gone. Suddenly his crutch his forgotten and it's her knees that are a little weak.
When they part, catching their breath, he even manages to look a little smug. She has never seen him smile like this before. It makes him look younger, more carefree. Maybe like the Daniel he was, before the war.
Already the cab driver honks impatiently.
III.
They are quick. And they are stolen.
Between cups of coffee, filed papers and endless reports. In passing. Here and there and now and then. When they're the first to arrive at their desks, or the only poor sods left in the night shift. Most of the time, when the others are not looking. Sometimes even when they are. (Because who the hell cares anymore what they make of it.)
On lips, cheeks, foreheads.
They are like little secrets, these kisses. Like drugs, sweet and addicting and neither of them seems to get enough.
IV.
There is grim determination on Daniels face, when he looks over at her. It makes something in Peggys chest contract and part of her wishes she could talk this out of him. Of course she can't. He couldn't either, were their roles reversed. And they are running out of time.
The last 30 minutes of the hostage-takers ultimatum are ticking away. Luckily, the man has agreed to negotiate with one of them. Only one. And not her. Sometimes she hates how her reputation has begun to precede her. He had volunteered on the spot. Of course. Who would look more harmless, than the guy with the crutch? He always understood how to turn his handicap into an advantage. Let them all dare and underestimate him.
„Ready.“ Daniel says and Thompson nods and leaves for the radio in his car. The eyes of all the police officers and agents are glued to the front door of the building, already they are forming a passage for Daniel to go through. They only have few precious seconds to themselves, but it's enough. Quickly Peggy grasps the collar of his bullet proof vest but Daniel has already read her mind.
His mouth is rigid against hers. It's a hasty kiss. To hard, too strong, but full of faith. How can he be so sure?
„Agent!“ she calls after him, when he grabs his crutch and is ready to go. There is a warning in her voice. „Don't you dare! Don't you dare...“ get yourself killed.
He looks at her and and smiles one last time before he turns .
„Wouldn't dream of it.“
V.
Peggy has never kept count of her scars. Until now, at least. But she begins to relish them, as Daniel makes sure to kiss each and every one.
His hot breath travels her bare skin, roaming and searching. He begins with the red and angry lines that are still new, before he stops at the pale and faded ones. Like the slash on her abdomen, where the russian spy had gotten too close. Or the cut from the nazi soldier right under her left breast. Even the gunshot marks on her right shoulder that had almost been their ruin. He starts slowly - only nuzzles and nibbles, only tickling- before his lips cup the broken edges and the jagged criss-crossed lines and soothe the tender skin underneath, that she never bothered to take much care of.
Sometimes he whispers her name in between. Peggy, Peggy, Peggy.
His kisses are reverent, acclaiming, heralding. They turn her scars into trophies and medals. Into silver and gold. Her marks of survival.
When he reaches the long cut right above her knee and drags his tounge over it, a low moan escapes her lips. Quickly she reaches down to pull him up, to press his mouth to hers, to drown in his breaths. In his kiss.
His kiss. And the man inside.