Title: Small Things Like Mountains and Love
Author: clarahow // clarascarters // charleybradburies (will be posted after challenge)
Fandom: Agent Carter
Characters: Daniel Sousa (POV), Original Characters, Peggy Carter
Pairing: Daniel/Peggy
Length: ~1500w
Rating: T+
Summary: “Darling” becomes their keyword at some point.
Notes: I'm not sure how I got here from where I started, but I kinda like it. Inspired in addition by the glorious Sneak Preview. (Also fills a request from a Tumblr friend - more specifics on that when I post to ao3 later)
Dedicated to my PeggySous Trash Can friends.
Title is from a quote from a friend as well.



“Darling” becomes their keyword at some point.

+

Damn near no one ever assumes she’s a fed - the only exceptions being a couple of similarly formidable ladies - and it’s all too easy for her, Daniel realizes, to fall into the pattern of pretending not to notice the disrespect, give his arm a gentle squeeze and announce she has to powder her nose or something, and then head off to prove her doubters wrong.

Which she always does, of course. No matter who they are.

Usually without even having to retouch her lipstick.

Well, so he thinks. But one time a secretary gets a bit handsy with him, and Peggy is very obvious about kissing his cheek before she pretends to head off to the ladies’ room. Daniel, naturally, takes the gentlemanly approach and keeps himself totally professional, switching to a different job description to support the need for the information they were being denied as he occupies the poor girl.

Peggy returns with files and Daniel refrains from asking her what the hell she’d been thinking, but when they’re back at the office, he sees her very carefully applying lipstick at her desk in the mostly-empty bullpen and it reminds him of all those questions he isn’t sure he wants answered.

Like, for instance, what exactly she’s doing here. As in, what Thompson was thinking - Thompson certainly wasn’t exempt from knowing the more disconcerting aspects of the dynamic between Peggy and Daniel; in fact, he seemed quite keen on mentioning it. But as much as none of them were friends per se, Thompson didn’t seem cruel, and Daniel doubts he’d send Peggy here while being cognizant of how difficult this made Daniel’s life.

How absolutely tortuous it was to be able to sit in his office, the corner office, the Chief’s office, and see her - regardless of what she was doing, whether she was reading or typing or talking on the phone, or, once, looking over in his direction. To be able to watch with abandon as she focused or rolled her eyes or smiled. It was the best worst thing about the office.

+

This was either a close second, or the worst best thing.

“Surely you have one room free for the night. My fiance and I have been so busy all day, we really do need a place to kip.”

Peggy’s arm curls - nervously, if he’s reading this right, and it honestly makes sense - around his, and the confused receptionist glances over to Daniel. He’s not sure when he became her translator, but apparently it’s in the job description today, as he has to specify she’s talking about somewhere to rest. (He’s also not sure whether using slang from home was entirely on purpose, or if she’d momentarily overlooked it.)

It’s a little big for what she’s playing at, but Daniel slides the ring of his grandfather’s off his left hand and into Peggy’s palm, and hopes the receptionist doesn’t think too much into it.

Even without any specifics the older woman relents easily enough for Peggy to end up with a key to one of the hotel’s suites - not the one they’d hoped for, but close enough she only has to worry about picking the lock in the middle of the night to see what evidence remains untouched in the scene of their victim’s last overnight stay.

They practically forget about the ring until Howard’s back in town and notices it. He’s not entirely willing to take Peggy at her word, but she doesn’t really give him a choice.

Daniel almost stops wearing it after that - not that he no longer likes it, but it’s just too awkward and dangerous to keep any excuse to imagine Peggy taking ownership of Sousa family heirlooms close at hand.

+

The word comes out at work, though, and even though it’s teasing, it’s almost unbearable - “sorry, darling, hadn’t realized that was my job instead of yours” - and they barely say a word to each other the rest of the day. She’s probably embarrassed to have said it so casually, and he’s desperate to hear it again. There’s a catch, whichever way he turns. He hadn’t much liked undercover work at any level in New York, and his enjoyment of it here is just another painful reminder.

That when the job is over, the case, or the workday, or whatever, so are his chances.

Or so he thinks.

She holds onto him, she calls him ‘darling’, she obliges his jokes with sunshine smiles, and when they’re back in the car they talk business and he calls her ‘Agent’ and she calls him ‘Chief’ and everything is like it’s supposed to be on paper.

Except for the fact that it’s not.

That every guy who tries his hand with Peggy gets on Daniel’s bad side automatically, and it’s only ever a secret because he’s damn good at lying about this by now.

That she never seems to be set off by the assumption they’re together when they’re out in public: some old man makes a comment to him about ‘a girl like that bein’ one ya play with for keeps’ and she blushes and chuckles to herself but makes no contest.

That Daniel can no longer count on a single hand the number of times some jarring or frightening situation has brought their hands to holding onto each other, and Peggy doesn’t seem concerned about changing habits.

That every Friday one of the guys will inevitably ask him whether he’s got a date that weekend, and even though they all know he’s going to say he doesn’t, Peggy’s eyes dart up every time the question’s raised and Daniel can’t help hoping there’s something behind that.

Something like the fact that she’s turned down all but one man who’s asked her out so far since she’s gotten to Los Angeles, and the exception of Wilkes was at least purportedly related to her desire to discuss the background of that first case she’d come here for. Or perhaps, the fact that she’d been here for almost two whole months since then.

+

Daniel stays after on a Friday night, defending to the team that he’ll head out for drinks later at a haunt of his, and is surprised to find his candle supply’s been restocked. He’d brought in a few since he hated using - and paying for - electricity, and whenever he stays overnight to work he’ll switch off the lamp on his desk and use a couple of those instead, but he wasn’t aware that anyone had noticed. Or presumably, that someone knows he’s full of shit when he talks about going out; if he’s drinking at all, it’s usually alone and from a flask.

He’s slightly less surprised to hear a pair of high heels ringing in the quiet of the night - the only sound Daniel’s heard in hours made by anyone or anything but himself.

“I do still owe you a drink, darling.”

There’s just the slightest hint of judgment, and Daniel sighs as though he takes offense at it.

“Not really how I remember that conversation.”

“Well, that’s lovely. I’d come to the conclusion you’d forgotten all about it, considering you’ve not said a single word about it. You were busy, after all, quite soon afterwards, taking up your promotion and all that.”

Oh, how dare she.

Daniel pauses, and sharply: “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m tired of being patient, Daniel.”

Peggy sighs, though her body tenses up against the doorframe as though she’s preparing for a fight.

“I know, I understand, that I betrayed you and the SSR. I did not expect or intend, but have come to know that I hurt you quite badly in doing so. But when I said ‘another time’ I was speaking of having a previous engagement with another important person, not...not consenting to putting thousands of miles and multiple months in between returning to good graces and actually having a conversation.”

“Where has your head been that you think we haven’t had-”

“About us, Daniel,” she shoots back, her voice stern but softening all the same.

“About that drink...that we’ve never gotten. About why Thompson felt the need to send me here. About why you were so willing to leave in the first place. About our...friendship.”

Daniel forces a scoff and a harsher tone, and sits up taller.

“You don’t really say that in a way that makes you sound like you actually think of us as friends, Peggy.”

She grimaces, turning her gaze to the floor to avoid what’s probably a very aggressive defensive expression on his face.

“Maybe I don’t. Maybe, Daniel, I don’t particularly want to. Maybe there’s something entirely different going on here than friendship.”

Her voice and stance have grown more assertive, but when she looks back up again there’s more fear in her eyes than anything else.

Daniel wishes he couldn’t feel his heart ache and his resolve start to melt.

He can.