Day Two: Morning Glory

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/25631725.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel, Agent Carter (TV), Agent Carter
(Marvel Short Film)
Relationship: Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa, Peggy Carter & Daniel Sousa
Character: Peggy Carter, Daniel Sousa, Roger Dooley, Jack Thompson (Marvel),
Ray Krzeminski
Additional Tags: Hanahaki Disease, Blood and Gore, Mild Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional
Hurt/Comfort, Body Horror, it's all consistent with hanahaki aus so,
Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, daniel my good dude it's okay
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of Peggysous Week 2020
Collections: Peggysous Week 2020
Stats: Published: 2020-08-03 Words: 6585

Day Two: Morning Glory

by TheAsexualofSpades

Summary

Morning Glory: Unrequited Love, mortality of life, restricted love, love that is in vain.

***

Daniel’s life has always been a simple picture in his head. His wants are small, personal.
His. He dreams of a world with the little things in life that can be his, always wanting to be
practical, to be warm. He can have his dream and help others to have theirs, never once
letting his own wants come before theirs.

Then he starts coughing up flowers.

Notes

i'm sorry

Daniel never put his faith in fairy tales.

His mother often scolded him when he was little, saying it was okay to let himself indulge in
fantasy just for little bit, it wasn’t hurting anyone. He remembers looking up at her, confused,
saying there was nothing wrong with the stories, they just weren’t going to happen. His mother had
shaken her head, saying that he wasn’t going to be very happy if all he cared about were practical
things.

Daniel never really understood the shame of being practical. Sure, it was fun to indulge in stories
now and then, but it was so much more rewarding when the story could be real. He could work, do
his job well, then come home and read. Or listen to a radio show, if that’s what he wanted that
night. It was very easy, very orderly, very practical.

When he was around twelve, he discovered that the other kids didn’t like it when he didn’t want to
join in on their fantasy games, never able to understand why it wasn’t more fun if he wanted to
fight a bad guy instead of a dragon. (Personally, he’d never really understood why dragons got such
a bad rap, but that’s beside the point.) He asked his mom about it, leading to the first of the many
conversations about why fantasy was alright, good even, for a child’s imagination.

But Daniel had seen what his sisters had gone through, growing up with their dreams encouraged
only to have them stopped in their tracks, told to focus on real things, leaving them upset, a little
gray around the edges, snatching their hands away guiltily when they lingered on the spines of their
much loved books. He loved his sisters, loved them fiercely, and so found new books, puzzles,
mysteries, anything that could bring those smiles back to their faces.

He found that focusing on a puzzle made it difficult to be sad about days and dragons gone by.

Often he overheard his mother and father whispering about how he didn’t seem to want to dream.
His father said something about Daniel being a smart boy, recognizing what he needed to do to
make it in the world, a strong young man. His mother argued that he didn’t need to be strong, he
was a child, that wasn’t what it was for.

Daniel dreamed. He dreamed of small things. And that was alright, because they were his dreams.
They weren’t dreams of a cozy house and a wife and as many beautiful children as he wanted. That
was his mother’s dream. They weren’t dreams of a successful job where he was the boss, in charge
of plenty of other people. That was his father’s dream.

His dreams were simple. His dreams were the feeling he gets when it’s raining gently outside and
he can curl up in the chair by the window, watching two drops of water race down the glass. His
dreams were the feeling you get when you cup your hands around a warm cup of something
delicious while your family laughs together. His dreams were safety, security, warmth. His dreams
were feelings, not things. Things couldn’t be carried around everywhere with you, feelings could.
If that made him ‘practical,’ then yeah, he was practical.

He kept his dreams simple because then he could get them. And that was alright. That was what he
wanted. He wanted warmth, he wanted his books, he wanted his life.

That was enough.

Reaching for practicality became a necessity after Bastogne, while he was trying frantically to
figure out what he was going to do, how to adjust to life with his injury.

He’d say it was disarming but…wrong limb.

This time, no one seemed to worry when he dove headfirst into making sure everything was a
simple as it could be while still being comfortable. In fact they praised him for it, for being so
good at adjusting. He didn’t bother to correct them, not that he knew how. He did see his sisters
when he first got home, wrapping them both in tight warm hugs.

“Guess that’s one good thing about your dreams, Danny,” Susie said, ruffling his hair like they
were still kids, “you never needed both of your legs to get ‘em.”

“Susie!” Hannah pulled Daniel into a protective hug and swung her purse at Susie’s arm. “Don’t be
rude!”

“What? I’m right?”

“Guys,” Daniel murmured, smiling at the relief of having his sisters back, “stop it. Don’t fight.”

Hannah huffs, linking her arm through Daniel’s. “Come on. Mother’s making your favorite.”

His sisters continued to bicker on the way back, and Daniel sought the comfort of the feelings that
he was home, he was safe. The feelings stayed tucked right up next to his chest and it was perfect.
His mother put on a brave face and his father clapped his shoulder heartily. Both of their dreams
had been shattered, hadn’t they?

Daniel weathered the polite smiles and the pitying looks he saw out of the corner of his eyes
because he wasn’t all that upset about it. Sure, losing part of his leg wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t the
worst thing. He could’ve lost his life, after all.

When Susie and Hannah dragged him upstairs for a puzzle, he dragged it out as long as he could
until they both scolded him for playing dumb. Then he beat both of them at the next one.

Joining the SSR was also practical. He had military experience, he worked investigation when
necessary overseas as a reconnaissance scout, and he was used to this type of command structure.
Of course, the fact that he was handicapped raised a few eyebrows, but he was determined to prove
his worth. After all, it wasn’t like he had much else to occupy his time with.

He didn’t care too much about the snide remarks from the other agents. He only cared that there
was work to do. There were puzzles to solve. And bad guys to catch.

He learned quickly how to toss the jabs right back at those that had thrown them, using his quick-
thinking to diffuse any tensions that couldn’t be placated and out maneuver those that weren’t too
keen on being placated. He wasn’t the lowest on the pecking order, and that was enough.

The Chief approved of his work. Called him efficient, trusted his gut. Daniel took the warmth the
praise gave him and tucked it next to his heart, where he could carry it easily. It gave him a shield
to hold up against those that would try and crush him.

He got asked a few times what he wanted out of all of this. Normally it was a jibe, meant to throw
him off his rhythm. Thompson or Krzeminski would holler across the office, ask him what he
thought he was doing here, big dreams of getting promoted, perhaps? He’d toss his own back,
something about how he was currently the only one working, so…

Sometimes, during the night shift—

“You know, Agent Sousa, you don’t always have to be here, Don’t you have a life to go home to?”

“I’m an agent, sir. My job is my life.”

—one of the other agents would ask him. He learned how to look for that droop in their shoulders,
the downturn of their mouth. When they were so tired they couldn’t help but wonder what it was
all for.

Here, his dedication to practicality flourished. He would remind them that they were doing this for
the good of the world, that it needed gentle nudges now and then to stay on track. That they needed
to work to make sure the world they kept saving was the one they wanted to live in. That they
could achieve their dreams if they kept the world spinning. He would say it calmly, matter-of-fact,
with a warm smile and the soft offer of a refill. The smiles and renewed vigor he got in return were
enough to keep his own warmth burning.

Normally, by the time he got to that part, they would forget they asked him about his dreams. But
that was alright. He was helping others achieve their dreams while getting his own. It was perfect.
Practical.

And it started to show; the office slowly grew warmer. Now he was included in the general chatter
that buzzed around the desks. He was invited out to have a drink when Fridays rolled around. He
had people offering to help him with his filing and everything else. The office went from just an
office to somewhere safe. And Daniel was happy.

No good deed goes unpunished.

The day Agent Carter walked into the SSR and was given the desk behind Daniel’s, he heard the
snickers about putting the woman by the cripple. Something about keeping the centers of ‘low
productivity’ together, something about putting her there so she won’t get distracted by the ‘real
men.’ Daniel brushed it off, introducing himself as soon as she was left by the desk, telling her if
she needed anything or had any questions, to just ask.

He figured out quickly that this was the same Agent Carter who fought alongside Captain America.
He would be lying if he said he didn’t have a little freak-out at having her desk right next to his
when he realized. He also figured out that she was no pity hire—not that he ever really thought she
was—she was sharp as a tack and took no crap from any one in the office. And he started getting
fed up when Thompson, Krzeminski, and the others started turning their ire onto her.

Growing up with two sisters taught Daniel a lot about what not to do, especially where a woman
was concerned. So when he tried to stick up for her and she politely asked him not to, he
acquiesced immediately, watching as she cut Thompson down to size with a few words. He
watched as she walked through the sea of disbelief and scorn, the waves parting before her. He
watched as even the Chief started to sit up and take notice of her.
He stayed where he’d always been, at the elbow of whomever needed his support most.

The first time they’re on night-shift together is the first time it happened.

Having desks next to each other gave them the opportunity to hold their own office gossip, passing
files back and forth with little notes slipped in between. They hid their smirks at the other’s
comments behind rims of mugs and well-timed coughs. They exchanged looks of exasperation and
picked each other’s brains when their own ran dry. For the first time in a long time, it felt like
Daniel had a friend in the office.

But at night, with no one else there, they didn’t need to pass the notes or hide their smiles. They
could just talk. And yes, they worked—of course they worked—but they could work and talk.

“I swear,” Daniel muttered, “if Thompson can’t even spell the same word wrong the same way
each time—“

“At least he knows how to spell his name,” Agent Carter sighed, holding up another file.

“Krzeminski?”

“Not spelled like this, it isn’t.”

Daniel snorted, bending to make another correction on Thompson’s report.

“You do know my name,” Agent Carter said suddenly, “don’t you?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course I know your name.”

“But you don’t use it.”

Daniel stopped, turning around to see Agent Carter looking at him. He shrugged. “You’re my
coworker. Shouldn’t I refer to you as such?”

“You call don’t call Thompson ‘Agent,’” she said, “I’ve even heard you call him ‘Jack.’”

“‘Cause it pisses him off.”

It startled a laugh out of her. Daniel smiled, happy he could make her laugh, until he felt a strange
chill in his chest. He coughed. Probably nothing.

“It’s your title,” Daniel said instead, “you’ve earned it just as much as anyone else.”

“I know that,” Agent Carter said, “but you don’t have to do that.”

“Then what would you like me to call you?”

In response, she held out her hand. “Peggy Carter.”

“Daniel Sousa.”

Her grip is firm, her touch cool. “Nice to meet you, Daniel.”

“You as well, Peggy.”

The moment was ruined when he coughed.

“Here,” Peggy said, sweeping up, “let me get you a refill.”

“Thanks,” Daniel muttered, staring at his own chest, confused, “don’t know what came over me.”
He concluded he was getting sick when the cough didn’t stop. He brushed it aside focusing on his
work, ignoring the stares and taunts when he started to refer to Peggy by her name when the others
could hear. He didn’t bother addressing it, preferring to watch on in amusement as Peggy moved
through them like water over stones until the Chief yelled at all of them to get back to work.

But his eyes didn’t water, his nose didn’t run. His head didn’t hurt. It was just a persistent tickle at
the back of his throat and that cough. It wasn’t a sickness he’d had before, that was for sure.

It was the night they talked about dreams that Daniel figured out what was going on.

Peggy was warm when she smiled at him; normally so cool amidst the hotheads in the office, she
softened at night when the others were gone. They had shrugged off their jackets and pulled their
chairs around, taking a short break amidst the monotonous paperwork. Peggy cracked a joke about
leaving the rest of the agents to flounder through it that made them both laugh, Daniel stopping
when the cough resurfaced.

“Honestly, Daniel,” Peggy had said, concerned, “you’ve had that cough for a while now.”

“I know,” Daniel grunted, clearing the piece of phlegm lodged in his throat, “I dunno what’s up.
I’m not sick.”

Peggy nodded suspiciously, keeping an eye on him until he took a drink. “Well, if the others can’t
be bothered to do their own paperwork, I’ve got some doubts about how well they can do other
things.”

Daniel huffed. “Don’t blame you.”

When he glanced up again, he saw it. He saw the slumped shoulders, the distant gaze. He set his
cup aside and leaned forward onto his elbows.

“What’s wrong?”

Peggy looked at him in surprise. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking.”

Daniel sighed. “You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to. But please don’t dodge the
question.”

Peggy gave him a strange look before sighing. “During the war…I felt like I had a sense of
purpose. Something to…work towards. But now…”

Daniel waited for her to finish, and when it was clear she wasn’t going to, he took a deep breath,
frowning slightly at the twinge in his chest. He’d done this before, why was it different this time?

“For what it’s worth,” he began, “I think you’re doing great.”

Peggy huffed, setting aside her own cup. “Well, thank you, but—“

“No, no, I’m serious,” Daniel said earnestly. “You came here knowing that people weren’t gonna
take you seriously and you’ve been proving them wrong left and right. You’re one of the most
capable agents in here and they all know it, even if they won’t admit it to themselves.”

He took a breath, trying to slow himself down.

“It’s not easy,” he said, “to stay focused and motivated. I get that. But if anyone can do it, Peggy,
it’s you.”

He sat back. “You’ll find what it is your looking for. I’ll guarantee it.”

Peggy hadn’t said anything at first, just looked at him. Then she smiled and it was so warm it
almost hurt Daniel’s chest.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Truly.”

He waved her compliment off. “Don’t sweat it.”

“What about you?” She nudged his leg with her foot. “Surely you can’t be satisfied with correcting
spelling errors all day, every day.”
“It’s all night too, depending on who I’m correcting.”

She laughed. “Come on.”

Daniel sighed. Unlike everyone else he’d had this conversation with, he knew she wasn’t gonna
forget about it.

“I want the world safe,” he decided on finally, “to make sure everyone can go home and enjoy a
good meal and a good book.”

“That can’t be all,” Peggy said, eyeing him over the rim of her mug, “come on.”

Daniel spread his hands wide. “I’m a practical guy, and that’s what I want.”

“No one’s completely practical,” Peggy said easily, “you’ve got to have something in there that is
just for you.”

He should have told her about it then.

What he said instead was: “I want everyone here to do their own damn paperwork.”

Peggy had laughed. Her smile was warm. And Daniel’s chest throbbed.

“Daniel!” Peggy lurched forward when Daniel went into another coughing fit, hunched over his
desk, covering his mouth with a tissue. “Are you alright?”

“Water,” he gasped, “please?”

Peggy vanished with a glass. Daniel pulled the tissue away, catching sight of something and hoping
it wasn’t blood.
It wasn’t.

By the time Peggy returned, he’d hidden the tissue and the flower petal in his jacket pocket.

He scrambled for the phone when he got home, waiting to hear Hannah’s voice when she picked
up.

“Danny? Is everything okay?”

“Uh—“ Daniel touched the flower petal sitting on his coffee table— “kind of.”

“That’s normally a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, Daniel, what’s wrong?”

“Just…” Daniel bit his lip, not liking the note of worry in his sister’s voice. “Do you remember
that story book Mom gave us when we were younger? The one about monster anatomy?”

“Jeez, Danny, what’s happening?”

“Do you remember it?”

“Of course I remember it, Danny. Now tell me—“

“Wasn’t there something in there about flowers? Like, coughing them up, or something?”

Silence. A buzz of static and the rustle of clothing.

“Hannah?”

“Daniel,” Hannah murmured through the phone, her voice trembling slightly, “I need you to tell
me what’s going on now.”

Daniel sighed, his head dropping for a moment, swallowing heavily.

“…I coughed up a flower petal, Hannah.”

A sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

Daniel swallowed, straightening as much as he could. “Now can you please tell me what you
remember?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Hannah said shakily. Daniel could hear the noise in the background shift
—she must have been moving. “I have the book. Hold on.”

Daniel waited, his leg starting to ache as he stood by the phone, absentmindedly poking the flower
petal. It was sort of squat, like a triangle almost, but…not quite. It was rounded at the corners,
flaring out more at the base than at the top. As he touched it, it flipped over, the color dimming on
the other side. As he tilted his head, he realized what the shape looked like.

A shield.

The sound of pages turning drew his attention back to the phone, still cupped in his hand.

“Hannah?”

“I got it,” Hannah said, the pages stopping in their rustling. “Hanahaki.”

“Hana-what?”

“Hanahaki,” Hannah repeated, “the Lover’s Disease.”

“What?”

“Don’t squeal,” she scolded, “that’s what it says.”

“But I’m not—“ Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “What does it say?”

“The Hanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love,” Hannah read, “where the patient
throws up and coughs of flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love, platonic or
romantic.”

Daniel turned the words over and over in his head. He wasn’t in love, what the hell was it talking
about?

“How you treat it?”

“Let’s see…” Hannah flipped a page. “It says the infection can be removed through surgery, but
the feelings disappear along with the petals. It is too late to operate once the patient begins to
cough up the full flowers in large quantities. The best way to get rid of the disease is to admit your
feelings to either yourself or have the object of the patient’s desires.”

Daniel glanced down at the desk. “I just coughed up one petal.”

“Is it the first one?”

“Yeah.”

More rustling.

“So,” Hannah said, forcing cheer into her voice, “who is it?”

“Who is who?”
“The lucky lady?”

“Hannah…”

“Or gentleman?”

“Hannah!”

“Come on, you and I both know that—“

“Hannah, I’m not in love.”

Daniel slumped down onto the chair, burying his face in his hand. His ear was starting to burn
from the phone being pressed against his head for so long.

“…I’m pretty sure this means you are, Danny.”

“But that doesn’t make sense!” Daniel cried, “I don’t...all the things that you’re supposed to feel
when you’re in love, I haven’t had any of them!”

“What things are those?”

“You know—“ Daniel waved his hand— “butterflies or tingly things, or whatever. Head buzzing.”

“Perfectly scientific description.”

“Hannah—“

“Alright, alright.” Hannah took a deep breath from the other end of the line. “It also says that in the
early stages it’s possible to fall out of love and have it be fine.”
“That would be easier if I knew what caused it.”

“Just…think about it, okay, Daniel?” Hannah pleaded through the phone. “I’ll come up on the
weekend, I’ll bring the book, we’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t have to do that, Han.”

“I know, but I want to.”

“…thank you,” Daniel mumbled, “for everything.”

“Always, Daniel.”

The phone clicked as Daniel set it back on the receiver. He didn’t get much sleep that night.

Peggy commented on it the next day. He drank more coffee. It stopped the coughing, at least for a
little bit. He dodged the other agents and coughed into his handkerchief.

Hannah threw her arms around him when she arrived that weekend. Daniel buried his head in the
crook of her shoulder, dueling emotions warring in his chest. He was thrilled to see his sister. He
was dismayed at the reason she came.

“Come on,” she said briskly, sweeping into the living room, “I brought everything I could think
of.”

They spread the books out on the coffee table. Anatomy. The monster book. Some medical book
Hannah borrowed from her husband. Telephone book. A new puzzle, but this time, Daniel didn’t
feel warm at all.

When they’d exhausted the books, Daniel slumped against the couch.
“…did you figure out who it is?”

“No,” he grumbled, “there’s no one I can think of.”

“It’s not someone from work?”

“I don’t love any of them in that way,” Daniel said.

“The book said platonic feelings count too.”

“I know,” Daniel said angrily, “I know but that’s not it either! I respect the people I work with,
they’re incredible agents and I’m proud to work with them.”

Hannah sits quietly, waiting for him to be done but it only makes it worse because now he sounds
irrational.

“They’re strong, determined people who want to fight to make the world a better place. And they
can do it, believe me, I believe in the world they want to make. I’d follow her to hell and back if it
meant—“

“‘Her?’”

Daniel froze, his hand still outstretched.

His chest was so cold it burned.

“…Daniel…?”

Hannah turned his face gently to look at her. “Did you figure out who it is?”

Daniel licked his lips and nodded. “…Hannah, I messed up.”

Hannah quirked a brow. “What, does she not like you?”

“I messed up,” Daniel repeated miserably, not taking his sister’s bait, “I…I messed up.”

“Daniel, come here—“

Hannah pulled him into a hug, letting him curl his hands around his frigid chest and sob, getting
interrupted every now and then by hacking coughs. A few flower petals fluttered to the ground but
they went ignored.

“Now,” Hannah murmured, “what did you mess up?”

Daniel grabbed the handkerchief and angrily swiped at his face. “If I’ve gone and fallen in love
with the only woman in my office then that means I only admire her because of that and not
because she’s an incredibly capable agent who—“

“Easy,” Hannah admonished, taking the handkerchief from him and gently wiping his face, “I
know Susie and I trained you better than that.”

Daniel clenched his jaw. “But of course I admire and respect her, she’s amazing, you would love
her too—“

“Daniel,” Hannah said, “it’s okay. You’re allowed to feel this way—“

“But clearly I’m not!” Daniel waved at the flower petals on Hannah’s dress. “I don’t want her to
think that I only respect her because I love her, I want her to think I respect her because she’s more
than deserving of respect!”

“And you can tell her that, Daniel—“

“No I can’t,” Daniel scoffed, “come on, would you believe it?”
The look on Hannah’s face told him the truth.

“Do you think you can fall out of love with her?”

Daniel shook his head glumly. “About as much chance as I have of getting my leg back.”

Hannah patted his shoulder. “So then what are you going to do?”

Daniel twisted the handkerchief between his hands, taking it back from Hannah. He stared at the
books laying on the table.

“I should get the surgery, shouldn’t I?”

“That would rob you of being able to feel anything,” Hannah pointed out.

“But it would mean no more this,” Daniel argued, “no more…flowers.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It would ensure the working relationship in the office wouldn’t be strained or affected
negatively.”

“But what do you want, Daniel? That isn’t it and you know it.”

Daniel sank into the couch. What did he want?

“You’ve spent so long trying to help everyone else,” Hannah murmured, “and help them keep their
dreams that I’m scared you’ve lost yours.”

“I haven’t,” Daniel insisted stubbornly. “I still want the world safe. I still want people to feel
secure. I still want people to feel—“
“To feel…” Hannah prompted when he cut himself off.

“…to feel warm,” Daniel finished pathetically, “and-and wanted.”

“And for you, Daniel?” Hannah shifted closer on the couch. “What do you want for you?”

“The same thing,” Daniel mumbled, “I…I wanna be safe. I wanna be warm. I want my job and my
books and…and…”

“To be wanted,” Hannah finished for him, “don’t you?”

Daniel nodded, feeling the burn in his cheeks and the icy ache in his chest.

“Now, now,” Hannah chided, lightly tapping his cheek, “what’s this for?”

“…’s stupid.”

“I know you well enough to know it’s not.” Hannah tucked her hand under his chin and pulled his
face up. “No hiding. You talk to me, hmm?”

“…I’ve been good, haven’t I, Han?”

Hannah’s mouth fell open in shock. “Danny, what the hell kind of question is that?”

“It’s just…I’ve-I’ve been good, haven’t I?” Daniel clutched the handkerchief until the fabric
groaned in protest. “I’ve been-I’ve helpful and friendly and I-I help people…right?”

“Of course you have, Daniel, of course—“ Hannah wrapped her arms tightly around him— “where
is this coming from?”
“I—I—“ Daniel swallowed the cough in his throat. “I…helping people makes me happy, Han. I-i-
it makes me feel warm. Why—why is it making me feel empty now?”

“Daniel…”

“I wanna be good, Han,” Daniel whined against his sister’s shoulder, “being good makes m-me
feel warm—warm, so…so why is it—why am I cold?”

His voice cracked and he couldn’t help it. The cracks in his chest burst open and flowers bloomed.
He shivered through Hannah’s embrace, through his sweater, through his shirt, through his bones.

“Don’ wanna feel cold, Han,” he managed before everything fell apart.

How had this happened? He’d just been doing what he’d always done, staying focused, keeping his
eye on what was important, helping other people do the same. He hadn’t meant to l—to love Peggy
like this. He just wanted to help, to see her warm smile and make her feel like she wasn’t
wandering without a purpose, that she could chase her dreams.

That was his dream.

Why did it have to turn into a nightmare?

The practical thing to do was get the surgery, Daniel knew. It was early. It wouldn't be that bad.
Certainty not as bad as when he was first getting used to his leg. Or lack thereof.

But then he wouldn’t be able to feel anything. And sure, nothing sounded better than the icy gale
blowing through his lungs right now but then he wouldn’t feel warm either.

And he so desperately wanted that warm.

Hannah held him as he fell apart on the couch, rocking him back and forth, shedding her own tears.
When they finally pulled apart, their arms ached from the strain of clutching each other so tightly,
but Daniel didn’t want to move farther than a hair apart. The dull ache was almost cathartic.
Almost.
“…I don’t want the surgery, Hannah,” Daniel admitted, eyes closed, voice hoarse.

“Then you won’t get it.”

“But—“

“No,” Hannah said firmly, “you won’t. If you don’t want it, you won’t get it.”

“…isn’t this thing…fatal?”

Hannah glanced at the book. “It can be. But you will figure it out.”

She smiled through their tears. “It’s a puzzle, Danny. You’ll solve it.”

He worked.

He refused to go quietly. He didn’t deny that he had the disease, that wouldn’t get him anywhere,
but he didn’t let the disease take him passively. He burned the flowers with scalding cups of tea, he
spit out the blood—when it started to come—and took another bite of the cherry pastry, the colors
mixing until he couldn’t tell which was which. He forced himself to smile, lips together so they
couldn’t see the bloodstained teeth. He walked tall with his head held high as the vines grew past
his lungs, past his throat, around his ribs and tightened into a straitjacket. And he coughed into
blank tissues that go straight into the trash before a petal flutters to the floor.

He wouldn’t go without a fight.

He drowned himself in warmth and bathed in the cold.

He gritted his teeth and kept saying all the things the others needed to hear. He worked himself
until he couldn’t spare the mind to focus on the ache in his chest. He closed case after case and
corrected filing error after filing error. The praise from the others filled him with warmth, the
flowers flourishing.
He spent the night shifts dodging Peggy’s questions, insisting that yes, he had in fact come down
with something. No, it shouldn’t be an issue for much longer. No, he didn’t know if it was
contagious. Better stay over there just in case. Each soft word she uttered was another thorn
snagging the inside of his lungs, each kind touch another breath he wouldn’t be able to take. When
he turned away, the flowers withered, the cold seeping into is veins and trying its very best to turn
him inside out.

The petals didn’t come up clean anymore. Now they came up attached to long strings of spittle and
blood. He started keeping more blank tissues in his desk, a larger trash can just for him. Thompson
made a joke he didn’t hear, something about working himself to death, softened by the concerned
furrow of his brows. Peggy jumping to his defense was the sweet rain over the fertilizer.

He wasn’t in love with her. He couldn’t be.

And even if he was, telling her wouldn’t be fair.

Forcing his emotions onto someone else was wrong, it was basically blackmailing her into
reciprocating his feelings or being responsible for his death. That was a horrible situation and he
was not going to do that to her. What kind of monster would?

Trick question.

Monsters weren’t real.

He coughed up a cluster of them and didn’t think twice about it, throwing it into the trash and
getting back to work. He wasn’t in love with her. Because that would mean he only saw her as a
woman and that was not true. He respected her, he admired her, he supported her. That was what
she needed. Not some lovesick fool.

The worst night was with Krzeminski.

“You sweet on her, Sousa?”

Daniel didn’t reply.

“Alright, pal, I’m gonna give you a nickel’s worth of free advice.”

Please don’t.

“Give it up.”

You’ve got absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, what do you think I’ve been trying to do?
Well, not like that, but—

“No girl’s gonna trade in a red-white-and-blue shield for an aluminium crutch.”

It should’ve worked. It should’ve helped him prove to himself that he wasn’t in love with her, even
platonically, because that was true.

Peggy Carter deserved the best the world could offer. Daniel doubted even Krzeminski’s head was
big enough to think they could compare.

It should’ve done something.

As it turned out, the nerves that detect heat and the nerves that detect cold could function at the
same time.

Daniel’s lungs now knew what hellfire tasted like.

Krzeminski didn’t notice, because of course he didn’t. He trotted off with one of the sandwiches
and swaggered to the break room. Daniel got up slowly, reaching for his crutch and clicking to the
bathroom. He barely made it to the sink when he coughed.

Blood splattered the mirror.

He coughed.
Spit ran down his chin, hanging precariously.

He coughed.

One petal shot out and stuck to the glass.

He coughed.

It was stuck.

It was large and it hurt and it froze and it burned and it was stuck.

Daniel cursed, feeling the blockage lodge into the back of his mouth, the mirror too covered in
blood to see clearly. Tearing off his jacket, not caring when his crutch clattered to the ground, he
reached inside. Grasped. His fingertips brushed the end of it. Closed his eyes. Reached further. Got
his fingers around the end of it. Sucked in a breath as tight as he could.

Pulled.

It creaked and groaned and protested as he dragged it out, fighting for every inch. It slithered
against his throat, leaves and petals soaked in blood and spit. He forced his gag reflex down as he
pulled, his jaw starting to ache.

It hung in the air above the sink as Daniel panted, airway finally clear. He retches, throwing up the
last few bits that had broken off during the struggle. He slumped against the sink.

He had to clean up.

Several paper towels later, the vine stuffed to the bottom of the bag, he rejoined Krzeminski. The
sandwich tasted like blood until he forced his throat into submission.
When he found out Peggy was working on a secret mission he thought for sure this would do it. He
threw himself off the cliff, hating himself for it, hoping it would uproot the flowers. But no. The
more he learned, the more flowers he coughs up. No more vines, thank god, but more flowers. Full
flowers. He forced his lips shut when Peggy confessed properly, chest aching when she gave up
Steve Rogers’ blood. He shoved the ache away, standing up for her to Thompson, to Dooley.

He stood by her as best he could, apologized for when he couldn’t.

He woke up with her by his side and panicked, wondering if she’d seen the flowers. She hadn’t.

He teamed up with Jarvis to find Howard Stark. They didn’t.

He played along when Dr. Fenhoff tried to get him to shoot Thompson. He didn’t.

Thompson pulled him aside afterward, after the dramatic finale with the planes, after everything
had calmed down, after Peggy had gone home with a smile.

“You gotta tell her,” Thompson said bluntly, “I’m gonna go blind if you don’t.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daniel muttered.

“Sousa, you’re pining so hard after Carter that it hurts.”

“Oh, you think it hurts?”

The second it came out of his mouth Daniel winced. He turned away, desperate to get far from
Thompson, only to be thwarted by another coughing fit. Distantly, he heard Thompson curse and
crouch next to him. His crutch clattered to the ground, bracing himself on his hands as his chest
heaved.

Flowers spilled onto the ground.

“…what the hell, Sousa,” Thompson murmured, “what the hell?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Daniel growled, heaving himself to his feet.

“Sousa, you just puked up flowers, I’m worried.”

“It’s fine.”

“The hell it is.”

“Damnit, Jack—“

“Oh, first name now?”

“Thompson—“

“The two of you are as bad as each other!”

Daniel froze. “…what?”

Thompson, still looking concerned and freaked out over Daniel coughing up flowers—honestly,
fair—scoffed.

“You kiddin’ me? You two’ve been pining after each other for months.”

Daniel’s brain screeched to a halt. “N-no we haven’t.”

Thompson rolled his eyes. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Sousa.”

“I’m not in love with her.”

“Now that is a bald-faced lie.”

“I’m not!” Daniel clenched his fists. “I’m not in love with her because she’s a woman, I respect
and admire her because she’s a good agent.”

“Can’t you love her because she’s a good agent?”

If this were a fairy tale, Peggy would be listening. Peggy would love him back. Peggy would come
and hug him and not care about the blood and petals. There would be no more flowers.

Daniel never put his faith in fairy tales.

Instead, he blinked dumbly until Thompson shook his head and called him an idiot. There was a
little fond exasperation in it but Daniel didn’t hear it.

“Look,” Thompson sighed, “she likes you. Just…think about it.”

Daniel nodded.

Was…could he be in love with Peggy Carter?

She was worthy of love, he knew. Of course she was.

…was his love worthy of her?

He’d been good, hadn’t he? He’d been…he’d been helpful. He’d been kind. He’d worked his ass
off. He…he could love someone like Peggy Carter, couldn’t he?

He cleared his throat. He cleared it again.

He frowned.

He finished the day without coughing once.

He called Hannah, his fingers trembling on the phone again.

“Daniel?”

“I’m in love with Peggy Carter,” Daniel blurted.

Hannah laughed. “Well, I think it’s about time you figured it out.”

“Hannah, it’s—the flowers—“

“Are they worse?” Hannah’s voice grew shriller.

“No,” Daniel panted, his face breaking out into a smile, “no, they’re—I think they’re gone.”

“Oh, Daniel,” Hannah cried, “I’m so glad! You—you stupid man, all you had to do was realize
you were in love.”

“Yeah, I know,” Daniel said giddily, “I know, I…I’m in love.”

“…so what are you going to do?”

Daniel shrugged. “What I’ve always done.”

“Help other people at the expense of yourself?”

“Follow my dream.”

He couldn’t have faked the warmth in his voice, nor the one in Hannah’s when she replied with
how much of an idiot he is and not to scare her like that, how dare he.

The phone call ended and Daniel stared at the wall, still smiling.

He was in love.

When the time came to get back to work, he would applaud with the rest of the agents when Peggy
came in. He would roll his eyes when Thompson accepted the lion’s share of the credit. He would
smile when Peggy told him that she knew her value, everyone else’s opinion didn’t matter. He
would lean his crutch against the table and ask her what he should’ve asked months ago, if she’d
like a drink. Just as friends.

But for now, he stood at the wall, bathing in the warmth of being in love.

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