Perhaps

Post S1 Ep.8. An incident forces Peggy Carter to acknowledge deeper feelings for Daniel than she thought.

Disclaimer: I own nothing here. I make no profit. I just want a Season 2 and am filling the void left by that fantastic smile on Peggy after Daniel asked her for a drink/date.

oOo

Peggy Carter quietly accompanied her friend and colleague, Daniel Sousa, to his apartment. When exactly the order of that description had reversed for her, she could not pin point. Perhaps it was after she had explained her covert actions in clearing Howard Stark.

"Why didn't you come to us?" he had said. She wondered if he really meant, "Why didn't you come to me?" He didn't deserve the answer she gave him, not really. Of all her so-called colleagues, Daniel was the most open minded to her actually being an agent. He had defended her and she shot him down in her pride instead of acknowledging she had an ally, a like-minded person to work with. Had she confided in him, perhaps they wouldn't have disappointed each other in their secret dealings—hers for Howard, his…against her. She had forced him into such action. He was not to blame for any iciness in their relationship. She was. She had fences to mend.

He was good. She had to admit that. Not much got past Daniel Sousa, not even her and she respected that. She respected him.

Perhaps it was when she watched over him in the recovery room after being gassed by Dr. Ivchenko. Thankfully, his still manacled form had life in it; his chest rose and fell softly, blessedly evenly. And all the while she stole glances at those finely sculpted shoulders, the muscled neck at repose. He had a small birth mark on his right shoulder where it met his neck. Her lips pulled lightly to one side in contemplation of it as a target for… She shook her head. He was alive and whole. She concentrated on the fact that she was just grateful that this time there was a young, virile man who would regain consciousness and speak to her again. At least that's what the doctors had said. He would be fine, they thought.

So she gladly took her turn to sit with him and even waved off another agent to continue her vigil, wanting it to be her, needing it to be her that he would see when he woke. Would he see it as an apology for shutting him out? For shutting him down? Would sitting with him make up for Steve in the tiniest way? This time, she had the opportunity to sit with someone she cared about. She would let them know by her presence that they weren't alone when they woke. That's all. She hoped this act was not about Steve? She needed it not to be about Steve.

This time, she had the chance. This was about learning from past mistakes. Waiting had been a mistake.

Perhaps things began to change for her with how he looked at her when he realized that he had struck her in the gas induced psychotic state. The sincerely sickened look on his face said all, well, almost all—she had begun to hope.

Perhaps it was the fact that he kept his sense of humour under miserable circumstances, admitting to still wanting to kill Thompson. How could he know that was exactly she needed to hear? She could have kissed him for saying that. She really could have. She contained herself with a grin and a small laugh. Those wrist restraints could be taken off now. He was fine.

Perhaps.

Today had been another tough day on the job. Today was a day that demanded some thinking about her feelings for Daniel Sousa. Sousa and Agent Jack Thompson had been taken hostage among a group of patrons at their bank when they went to deposit their pay cheques during lunch. The men had not returned on time raising questions as to their whereabouts. City police sirens were the first indication that something was indeed wrong in the immediate area. Looking down from above, Peggy called the play by play on the street below to no one in particular, but everyone remaining joined her at the window, each trying to figure out exactly the source of the commotion. The police cars stopped all traffic from the two streets that cradled the corner bank. Their faces went blank, then white with realization. Then all rushed to the scene where their colleagues were in the middle of a holdup, and hostage taking, waving their federal agent credentials when stopped by NYPD.

Three tense hours of watching police negotiate with the hostages, was followed by the cacophony of a gunshot, glass shattering toward the street, and one disarmed gunman crashing to the ground outside the broken window. Police swarmed, agents, normally in the thick of things, had to hold back and let the locals do their jobs. A mayhem of shouts, screams, and then a reserved applause. But where were Daniel and Jack?

oOo

The bank manager, Paul Normand, had a perfect view from his second floor office. The bank was an open to below, two floor absolute spectacle to the eye. The style was chosen to be impressive and insinuate strength and stability after the myriad of bank failures just over 15 years earlier. Regular daily banking was done on the first floor. But investments, loans, etc. were carried out on the second floor that almost circled the first with opulent staircase to the left and a balustrade overlooking the regular little guy business below.

The week almost done, Paul was looking forward to a game of billiards over a glass of bourbon with his investment bankers at Ernie's Bar before heading home for the weekend. He stretched his tired back and looked up, admiring the beautiful craftsmanship of the ceiling and the central light fixture, designed to look like a peacock, each of its eyed tails whisping their way toward the ceiling. It was an impressive sight to behold, he thought. He reminded his tellers of their symbol and to hold high its ideal of proud service and proper discretion to their customers.

Paul Normand was always on alert for anything out of the ordinary. He was proud of that. Some would call him rigid. He preferred to call it being prepared. When an unshaven man, about 30 walked into the bank and stopped to look around instead of going directly to a counter to begin regular business, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He watched the man. Attired in green work pants and a blue, tieless shirt; he was not their regular clientele, not at this location. His location tended to serve white collar customers; this was the Financial District after all. He immediately grabbed his phone and dialed the first 4 of the 5 numbers to the local police, leaving his finger in the last hole of the dial, suddenly grateful that his telephone actually had a dial and he didn't have to go through the operator to request a number like he did at home. There were some perks to the job.

The blue shirted man skipped the line and went directly to a teller, which angered those who stood waiting their turn patiently, one of whom, a young man in his mid to late 20s sporting a crutch. Normand's finger rotated the last number to the dial hook, held it a moment until he saw his teller raise his hands. Normand released the dial and he was connected directly to the police department. He ducked under his desk to speak as quietly as possible.

"NYPD. What is the nature of your call?"

"Bank robbery in progress…" he quickly supplied the address, his name and position in the bank.

Suddenly, there was an intense murmur below on the ground floor and patrons had their hands in the air, including that poor man, probably a vet, by the looks of him, he thought.

The next five minutes seemed to pass in a haze for Paul Normand. The gunman had ordered everyone to the floor, and for those on the second floor to join everyone on the first level, in a seated position against the inner walls, backs to the gunman. Two tellers were filling a duffle bag with all the floats from each wicket. He didn't seem to bother about the vault, thankfully. This was meant to be a quick cash grab.

But everything changed, and not necessarily for the better when the sirens began. The man, panicked now, was obviously in distress as his quick grab plan had gone awry. Hours now passed as the police negotiated with the man using a bullhorn.

"We can take this guy," Jack Thompson whispered to Daniel.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But we need him closer than where he is now, or someone here could be killed. We need him to tire a bit and make a mistake. We need to close the distance. This guy is desperate, not like the type of guy we usually deal with." And so they waited him out, waiting for the opportune time to make their move with a minimum number of casualties. This was not a regular job, this was a public building. Neither Daniel nor Jack had ever operated where at least 30 civilians could be hurt as a result of their actions, post-war.

Hours passed.

"You!" the gunman said, pointing his handgun at directly at Sousa's head.

Daniel looked up, concerned and alert. "Me, sir?" he said trying to give him the respect the man thought he deserved.

"Yeah! Get the fuck up! You're gonna be my mouthpiece," he commanded.

Daniel made a show of awkwardly fumbling for his crutch. As he turned his back on the gunman a moment, he and Thompson made eye contact. Daniel winked. Thompson steeled himself to be at the ready and slowly shifted his legs into a lunging position as Daniel attempted to focus the man's vision away from Thompson's prepping. Daniel hoisted himself up with as much fake difficulty as he thought was believable.

"Sorry, I'm not used to getting up from the floor. It's more difficult than from a chair," he said. The comment was true, but Sousa had slipped on the floor or in the shower enough in the early months of recuperation to have mastered his rise without this much distress. He smirked to himself as Jack looked genuinely concerned. Sousa turned around ready to face the thief turned hostage taker, pretending to be huffing more than usual. Thompson's head quirked slightly to the side as he assessed his colleague's state and determined quickly that Sousa was faking it. He laughed inwardly, and not without a little admiration. He was damned sure that he would not be as decent a fellow as Sousa was…is, were their situations reversed.

The gunman motioned with the shaking handgun at Sousa to move towards the tall glass floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto the street, just to the right of the main entrance. It was deathly quiet out there, save for the efforts of the NYPD to engage the man in conversation. Traffic had been halted and barricades in place using police cars.

As they approached the window, there was only one way for Daniel to move to disarm the man due to the high customer counters to fill out deposit and withdrawal forms.

oOo

Peggy's breath caught in her chest as she saw Daniel move to the front of the bank from where she stood behind the blue US Mail box diagonally across the street. Her heart began to race, her palms sweaty with fear for him. She gripped her gun harder and great determination brought the firearm up over her protective shield and aimed for the gunman. She was a damn good shot. She had a bead. She pulled back the hammer and…

oOo

Sousa, once he was at the right angle, elbowed the man twice in the face in a lightning fast act, grabbed for the gun, pushing it upwards and it went off. Glass shattered to the ground, as Sousa disarmed him and threw the man out onto the sidewalk like he was yesterday's trash, unholstering his gun all in the same action. Thompson sprung to assist but found it was not necessary. He was beside his friend immediately as the spread of guns were aimed at them as well as the gunman before the police figured out there was just the one man to arrest. Customers streamed from the building, shaken and immediately covered in a blanket and brought to an emergency triage station set up for assessment.

Again, Sousa had been underestimated because of his war wound. Again he rose to the occasion without thinking anything of it.

Everyone came forward to check on them, clap both Thompson and Sousa on the back, and sometimes a manly, reserved hug was exchanged.

Peggy gripped Thompson's forearm, a curt nod between them that he was okay, was followed by Peggy quickly patting his arm. "I'm glad you're alright. Really glad," she said with a tight lipped, worried face. That had to be satisfactory. She had only just begun to be accepted as an agent. To give one a comforting hug, at this point, might undermine her new status.

"I'm good, Carter." He covered her hand with his a moment, thankful for the concern.

She turned to Daniel, looking him over. "And you?" she said, looking him over. She leaned in a little to grab his forearm too, trying not to betray the higher degree of apprehension she was feeling for him over her other colleague. Her hand landed on his wrist, closer to actually holding his hand. "You had us worried when we could see you in the window, then the gunshot…" She could not finish as her stomach seemed to reach up through her throat and grip her vocal chords in a vice. Her lips pursed grimly together as she held new intense emotions in check.

"I'm alright, Carter. Thanks for the concern." He shifted his hand a bit, so that he held her hand for the briefest of moments.

She nodded, tight lipped, squeezed his hand and let go, reluctantly.

All witnesses, including Daniel and Jack had to give statements. Daniel was interrupted frequently by fellow hostages coming over to thank and congratulate him, much to his embarrassment. But he was happy at their relief.

"A drink, I could really use one now," Sousa said. "That and a bathroom," he said to no one in particular.

"Shit, yeah, agreed on both points" breathed Thompson. "Sorry, Carter," he apologized for his profanity.

"If you'll excuse me?" the bank manager had made his way over earlier unnoticed and interrupted them. "There's a nice little bar, err…pub," he added having noted Peggy's accent, "Just down the way four blocks, Ernie's. I have a tab there. The first two rounds for all of you are on me. A small token of my sincere gratitude. Thank you, young man," he said to Daniel while extending his hand warmly.

"Sousa, Daniel Sousa," he supplied as he shook the man's hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Sousa. You are an impressive young man. Thank you. Things could have been so much worse. Here, take my card. I'll call ahead to Ernie's to expect you and add your drinks to my tab as soon as you hand him the card."

"This really isn't necessary," Daniel began, when Thompson interrupted and grabbed the card.

"Sure it isn't necessary, but it is very kind of you and we'll take you up on your offer gladly. It might help us sleep tonight."

"Okay," Daniel relented, nodding gratefully and rather sheepishly.

"You gotta learn to take credit where credit is due, Sousa!" Jack said. Daniel and Peggy exchanged a look. Some people never change.

They all went out, Peggy included. She noted Daniel was quieter than usual. After a few rounds, the group began to break up and call it a night. Thompson was driven home by another agent.

Peggy turned to Daniel. "Do you have a ride?"

"I'll grab a cab, thanks."

"Don't be absurd. After such a day, you're getting an escort home and I won't take no for an answer. Understood?

A look crossed his features that said he wasn't about to tangle with Carter when she was determined. "Yes, ma'am," he said and saluted petulantly as she was treating him.

Peggy made a disdainful look. "Alright, I deserved that. But seriously," she said more amenably, "I would feel much better if I knew you were home safe and sound."

"Alright, thank you. That would be nice. Where are you parked?"

She gestured to her right, loving that he assumed automatically that she had her own car. As they began walking a radio broadcast made its way to their ears from the open door of a shop.

"Damn!" said Daniel.

"What?!"

"I had tickets to that game. Completely forgot! Listen a minute." DiMaggio hit a homerun and the crowd was screaming hysterically. The look on Daniel's face was at once elated and sorrowful that he was missing a great game. "The Yankees are kicking the Cardinals butts! It would have been so good to be there."

"Well, you could still go. How far along is it? What period is it in?"

"Pardon me?"

"What per…i…od? Um, no?"

"No."

"Quarter?"

"Try again," he offered patiently.

"Hmmm…Inning?"

"Bingo! We have a winner!"

"Oh, stop. You're having a go at me!" she said embarrassed. "So, American sports have not been high on my list priorities to learn about," she admitted.

"I thought you said if you want to understand a place, you have to get to know its people, its real people."

"Yes, that does sound like me. But I tend to go to the market, or the rifle range."

He burst out laughing and shook his head. "You mean to tell me, you've never been to a baseball game?"

"Well, when you were in England before D-Day, did you ever go to a cricket or football match?" she said defensively.

"You just dodged my question. This is about you, English," he teased. "Now, answer the question."

"Are you interrogating me, Agent Sousa?"

"No. Daniel is asking his friend, Peggy, a simple question which, by the way, she is avoiding like the plague. So I am going to have to assume the answer is a resounding NO!"

"Well, you're… not incorrect."

He laughed and they continued on. "Why not?"

"What?"

"Why not?"

"Well, I suppose I just was never interested."

"But your head turned pretty quick when you heard the play by play back there, not just mine," he stopped. He eyed her in an assessing manner. "You have no idea what the game is about, do you?"

She opened her mouth to reject his assumption, and then found herself admitting to it. "Not really, no. Never wanted to go and divulge my ignorance. It's a bit embarrassing."

He laughed and shook his head. "All right, Peggy Carter, next Saturday I'm taking my nephew to the Yankees game. He's five years old. I'll be explaining lots of things to him during the game and you, my friend," he hated calling her that, "can listen in and begin to understand the Great American Pastime. Plus you gotta see Joltin' Joe DiMaggio at least once in your life."

"All right," she smiled, happy to see him animated for the first time tonight. A moment later they arrived at her car and she unlocked the passenger door. "I'll put it in my calendar. Now, get in."

"Yes, ma'am!" he teased.

"Shut it!"

"Yes, ma'am!" he said with an evil grin.

She stuck her tongue out at him in a very unlady-like manner. They both burst out laughing as they got into the car and drove off towards his apartment.