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Peggy had called about 6 pm saying she was leaving the office. She was going to stop in and check on the perimeter before heading across the bridge to home, so she should have been home by 8 at the latest. It's now nine. Generally, she's not one to leave Daniel hanging like that, she at least has the office call him if some sort of emergency comes up, but tonight was different for some reason. Eventually though, at 9:08 on the dot, the sound of the garage opening can be heard and her long, elegant Aston Martin has pulled up the driveway and into the house.
*
There has to be some level of trust in their work but it doesn't make the waiting any easier. It's one thing to know that the office will call, but there's always the question of 'What if they don't know'? Granted, she's not the only agent who is down near that Hellmouth and if there was a worst-case scenario, then they have a lot more to worry about than a worried husband.
That doesn't stop him from waiting up, certainly, nor does it stop him from being concerned and somewhat relieved when he hears the sound of the car in the driveway. As he limps to the front door, a dollar is placed in the Pickle Jar. He then makes his way outside to meet Peggy as she gets out of the car.
"Are you all right?" is, of course, the first question.
*
The blood and rips on her trench coat aren't easily hidden, especially the one on her arm. It's *right there*. Something having ripped into her, though it's definitely not a bullet hole and probably not even a knife wound, it's too large and jagged for that. The mess on her leg is a little less obvious, but as she gingerly shifts out of the car, the fact that she too is limping isn't going to be able to be hidden. It's amazing she managed to drive home with that injury, needing to work both clutch and gas, but she managed. She always does.
"…I…I'm fine. Don't panic." The first words out of her mouth, firm and reassuring, even if it's clearly a bit of a live. "It… it looks worse than it is. I promise. We did a quick dressing at the park, it's not so bad. I just… wanted to get home. Didn't want you to worry. I'm fine." She reiterates, trying to reassure as much as she can as she shuts the door with her hip and begins the ginger limp in towards the living room.
*
"You do realize that only one of us is allowed to limp in this household," Sousa manages a little levity, but he's still obviously very concerned at her appearance and the way she holds herself. He follows her in and locks the door behind them even as he watches her continue her way in the house. "Are you trying to prove something?" is asked gently, as if he is asking if she wants a foot rub or a scotch.
*
The limping comment makes her smirk, "Best inform Mickey of that before she starts learning to ride a bike. I forsee more than one skinned knee in our future." She tries to make it light and casual. See, everything is fine. His next comment just gets a sigh. While she might be trying to prove something — whether it's still that she can go into the field, or she's as tough as she used to be, or something else — she's still practical. Bleeding everywhere on their couch isn't all that wise and the field dressing probably wasn't quite enough for the wounds. So, she pulls off her trench coat and tosses it over a chair before continuing the rest of the way to their downstairs bathroomw here she can find both running water, soap, and a proper first aid kit. Her suit jacket follows the way of her coat, equally ripped, the bandage already partially bled through. She looks over both wounds, considering which to attack first. She settles on the leg, beginning to gently wrap the first dressing. Getting her stockings off the wound is going to be fun. "…I'm not trying to *prove* anything. I stopped in the perimeter to check in and get a quick report. The next thing I knew it was quite dark, I was alone, and there were wolves. Some… magic mess. I did not go hunting wolves intentionally, if that is your worry."
*
"Do you ever hunt trouble intentionally?" is quipped as he follows her to the bathroom, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. "Don't answer that question." If she looks like she needs help, Daniel will offer it. Otherwise, he knows when it's best not to get in Peggy's way. After 10 years of marriage and longer dating, he ought to know at least that.
Brows draw down as she describes the attack, "What about the other agents assigned there? How were you left alone? And wolves? With magic?" His scown deepens, "Did any bite you? Or just scratch?"
*
A look is given to him with an arched brow and a slightly deeper smirk as he asks if she hunts trouble intentionally. "…Sometimes. I've been good the last few years. You're a horrible influence on me." Peggy deadpans, but her somewhat pale lips are also giving him a softer smile, trying to reassure that everything is quite alright and she *wasn't* trying to reclaim the old days with this. She then goes back to, ever so carefully, pulling her stockings out of that wound. It hurts rather fiercely, a quiet hiss between her teeth, but she does manage.
The injury is clearlty a bit. The edges of the wound ragged but in a roundish shape. She managed to put the thing down before it pulled a whole chunk out of her calf, but the teeth dug in deep and definitely pulled. She's bleeding everywhere. "…if I can get away without stitches, I'll consider this lucky." She mutters, mostly to herself, now trying to clean out the wound. His questions draw a look. "Bit. Two. I shot the others dead before they got close. And… I don't think it was the wolves that had the magic, but their master. A woman who called herself Lily Drake. Red eyes. Most unsettling. And the other agents… couldn't hear my call for back up. They were right there but.. it was like something put up a wall…or a cloak."
*
"Can I help at all?" is finally asked as she winces from removing those stockings. "And if you're still bleeding, maybe you -do- need stitches. Do you want me to call Doctor Pinkerton?" It might take a little for her to get out to Long Island, but surely she'd make the trip. He waits for her to say if she wants his help or not before just darting in.
"Just promise me that you'll give me a warning if you start sprouting hair in strange places or you start craving raw meat…or want to howl at the moon." He's kind of serious.
*
"…help… would be nice. Don't worry Dr. Pinkerton… I can do it, if you don't mind just keeping it clean." Peggy admits quietly. She's done worse before and now, well, probably she is trying to prove something. Pride is a hard thing, especially when one has been literally wounded. She then gives a little laugh at his comment about sprouting hair, a brow arching. She thinks he's joking at first, but then she looks up to his eyes and sees it's not totally a tease. "Oh…Daniel. I…I promise. But…I don't think they were that kind of wolf. When I killed them they…they didn't transform back to being a man. That's how that goes, right? THis woman called them her pets." She states with a quiet grimace. Then to the not fun task of stitching her own calf back up.
*
When Peggy starts to stitch herself back up, Daniel does try to intervene, "Don't you think a doctor should do that? Peggy…I get the independence but is it really that much of a pride thing to say that you can stitch yourself up? What does that prove and to whom?" He'll address the werewolf thing later. "I'm calling a doctor. You are -not- doing this here." Take it from someone who spent over a year in the hospital.
He starts to limp off towards the closest telephone to make the call.
*
The firm tone behind his voice makes her hand stop before she actually breaks skin with that curved needle. She stares hard at him, stubborn pride warring with logic behind her dark eyes. She exhales a slow, calming breath through her nose. "I… I was in the war too, Daniel. I learned the basics. It's… not that different." But it's also been twenty years. And he's limping off to the phone. She just sighs and sinks back against the closed toilet, closing her tired eyes for a few moments. He's too good to her and, many nights, exactly what she needs. She tucks the needle away and, instead, puts another, tighter field dressing over the wound, to keep some pressure there while they wait.
*
It's not a long phone call, but then he's limping back. "Need any help wrapping those back up?" Because if Pinkerton can't come, he'll keep calling doctors they know and Peggy had better hope that he doesn't have to resort to calling a Stark. "I never actually met any werewolves to know if that's how it goes," he circles back to that particular subject, "But one would think. I guess that's good," but he's going to definitely keep an eye on her through the next full moon, just in case. "I was in charge of Supernatural affairs for a while, remember?"
*
Help. That damn word. She should be better at taking it, especially with him, but it's still so hard. She can get her leg wrapped tight enough to help slow the bleeding but her arm is simply impossible without two hands. "… yes. Please." Peggy admits softly, stretching her arm up and offering the injured bicep to him. As he leans in to help her wrap, she just tilts her head up to kiss his collarbone softly. She was happy to be home, at least. "…And you are one of the smartest people I know, Daniel. Supernatural affairs or not, I'd…trust your opinion about all this. We'll keep an eye on things. I..I'm sure it's fine. We always are, aren't we?"
*
Sousa steps in further so that he can help wrap up the bite on her arm with some extra gauze, "It's kind of silly to be talking about werewolves, but with some of the things reported coming out of that…I just don't understand why it can't be stopped. We have magic people and flying people and energy-beam people…and they can't shut it down?" There's a pause as Peggy asks him that question, "We are, but I think we've been really lucky. I'm not really looking to tempt fate anymore, Peggy. Not that I want to give any of this us, but…there's doing our jobs and then there's tempting fate."
*
Even as her mind fought against *taking* the help, as she feels his careful, trained hands wrapping that guaze tightly, her body relaxes a bit more. She trusts him implicitly. Hell, there's a part of her that feels better just FOR him taking care of her. So she eases into it, leaning her good side slightly against him, and just breathing deeper. "I love you…" She murmurs, seeming out of no where, but it needed to be said. "…And I have a lead on someone who might help. Going, well…soon as I'm feeling up to driving back into the city." That alone is an admission that she might be feeling more shakey than she's completely admitted. "…and I will work on not tempting fate. I just think that is…the way of our lives, somedays."
*
"I love you too," Sousa answers and works on making sure her arm is wrapped well. "We can get you into bed…probably should elevate your leg and your arm. Did you wash it out with peroxide at the site?" The last thing they need is for the bites to get infected. "Is it the way of our lives?" But he's smirking then. "Maybe a little, but…I still think either you chase it or it chases you." Sousa isn't convinced that Peggy isn't seeking it just a little bit.
"Yes, poured a whole mess of it over both wounds. I'd rather not repeat that process — hurt damn worse than the bite in the first place." Peggy grumps, though in a good natured manner. Once he's finished wrapping, she pushes herself up into standing with her good arm, leaning against walls and doorframes to keep some weight off of her leg, but she's mobile and determined. "…Bed sounds nice… you can elevate whatever you like." She says it deadpanned, but then he's getting a look over her shoulder and a slightly arched, saucy eyebrow, before she makes her way for the stairs.
"And yes, this is our lives. You wouldn't love me if it wasn't. I might attract trouble but… that's what made you look my direction in the first place. You can't tell me I'm wrong." Peggy mutters, as she begins the slow climb of the stairs.
*
"Want my crutch?" is offered, also with a straight expression as Peggy gets to her feet and starts to limp her way towards the stairs. He won't fall over without it and he's far more used to the imbalance than she is. "Good…glad you did that. I don't need a gangrenous wife." And now he's joking. It's either that or get worried sick. His eyebrows lift at the coy look she gives him before he follows her to their bedroom, "I'll let you go on thinking that your trouble-attraction made me look at you in the first place. Sure. You keep thinking that."
She gently waves away the offer of the crutch — she really is managing, it's not that far to the bedroom. Just a step at a time. Besides, it's giving him a decent view of her rear end! "And no, no gangreen. I mean, maybe teeth and claws now, but I wouldn't put money on it." Still teasing. Teasing was better than being worried. It made the weird shock of the night far more easy. Then she's rounding the corner and into the bedroom, her voice dipping a little lower as to not wake up Mickey. She did *not* need their over curious daughter seeing the bloodied bandages. She smirks to him as she sinks to the edge of the bed so she can start pulling off the rest of her clothing while off of her feet. "It was *part* of what attracted you to me. I certainly wasn't the ideal wife."
Sousa closes the door most of the way and moves in to help since Peggy's arm and leg are all bandaged. He's not trying to be seductive at all since…no need to get blood all over the sheets and she probably needs to rest after the evening's events. At least the baby seems safe? "Who said I was looking for a wife? I only started that when I went out to California."
*
"Mmhmmm. Where you ran to because you thought I turned you down for a date. And you were incredibly attracted to me despite yourself, because you like trouble. So you ran somewhere you thought you'd be safe." Peggy states with that quiet, trouble maker grin just tugging at the corner of her lips. She lets him help her get the shirt off, at least her bra was mostly saved, and then even to shimmie out of her skirt. The stockings, blouse and trench coat got the worst of it, clearly.
*
"Ran? I got promoted! I got to run my own branch of the SSR, thank you very much, and it wasn't in dingy, cold, crowded New York City!" He did rather like California weather. "I just wanted the best agents with me." So it's a backhanded compliment? Sousa goes to grab a nightshirt for her, "You definitely turned me down for a date."
*
Peg stares at him, jaw slightly dropped, even if it's a playful argument they've had more than once over the years. "I had to find a new place to live! I had no *apartment*! You must forgive me, but as handsome as you were, I did need a bed to sleep in, thank you very much!" Peggy states with a warm chuckle, grin only growing. She must not feel totally awful, smiling like that, even if she's pale around the edges. "You were the one who was bloody awful at returning phone calls."
- *
"And you ended up living in one of Stark's mansion! I fail to see how this was any sort of hardship," Sousa teases right back. "I was busy and long-distance phone calls are expensive! You know how much we get paid…" or at least, back then, "It's not exactly like I was rolling in money from the promotion." Short as it lasted. Ditto with the engagement.
*
As he brings her night shirt, she tugs it on across her head but doesn't even bother to get up to pull it across her hips. She just tugs him down against her side, so they're sitting thigh to thigh, and then into a warm, lingering kiss. She's still smiling, even as the kiss breaks. "…you still like my troublesome ways. You always have." She whispers, voice far lower than it was a moment ago.
*
Sousa isn't about to resist and he is certainly more than happy to return the kiss, but even as she smiles after the kiss breaks, he turns more serious. "I do, but I also worry about you. Mickey worries about both of us." Maybe he made a mistake pointing out their domesticity the other night. He's not going to lecture her because he knows that she'll do just the opposite of what he asks her to do, but he just points it out. Quietly.
*
As he turns more serious, especially sitting this close on the bed, Peggy allows her smile to slightly fall. She studies his dark eyes, exhaling quietly through her nose. "…I know you do. And I know she does. I worry about both of you too, you know? I swear, Daniel, I didn't go there tonight looking for trouble. It was supposed to be a quick check in — show my face, shake hands, try to boost morale… that's it. I didn't hunt down other things. It just happened. That *is* a part of our jobs." She reaches one hand up, caressing the side of his face as she considers his expression. "…you want me to stay out of the field entirely."
"I know you didn't court this and no, that's not what I'm saying." Even though he sort of is. "It's not fair for me to ask that and I think you'd begin to resent me if I did." Just because he isn't as often in the field doesn't mean she shouldn't be. "Just be careful. Please. I know you don't always think about that but please try." He places his own hand over her's and wraps his fingers gently around her own fingers. "I probably would have done the same thing that you did…and would have been less successful at fending off wolves."
*
Her fingertips linger against his cheek, the side of her thumb gently tracing down the edge of his jaw. She gives him a slightly bittersweet smile as he says she'd resent him, but she can't deny it. She just keeps him close, taking in a deep breath of his scent and the safety of home that surround both of them. "I am careful. I…am being more careful, I swear it. Even though it doesn't seem it. I do think about it, Daniel… I do. If it was a year ago, I'd have followed after that woman, tried to arrest her, done something… but I let her get away. Because she had my number and she had way more on her side. So… it could have been far worse. It wasn't."
*
It's his turn to lean in and give Peggy a long kiss, "I know. I just…I don't want to lose you or the baby. I guess I'm just feeling mortality a little right now," with a second kid on the way, it's bound to happen. "And you're right. I do love you for your troublesome ways." He was about to say something else when the doorbell rings. There's a start and a rather blue curse word before he pushes to his feet, "That's probably the doctor. I hope it didn't wake up Mickey!" He'll be sure to answer the door and remind the doctor of the sleeping, curious 5-year old just a room or so down the hall.
*