“Who the hell are you?” Daniel Sousa demanded.
The woman — the beautiful woman — sitting at his desk dismissed him as she perused his files. “Who I am is on a need to know basis,” she said, picking one up to read it more closely.
Daniel jerked a thumb at his door with his title, Chief of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s West Coast Division. “I need to know!”
The woman looked up. “No, you don’t. Because I don’t exist and we never met. Now, can you shut the door? Please?”
At thirty-six years of age, Daniel Sousa counted himself lucky to have the kind of job where he could make a difference. He still believed in Peggy Carter’s mission, still believed in the organization she started, and still counted her as a friend. He quietly looked out for her, as he always had, not to pave paths for her, but to keep an eye out for saboteurs and moles who might cause her trouble. That’s how he stumbled across HYDRA.
They murdered him in 1955 for that knowledge.
At thirty-six and a few months, he lived on borrowed time. Everything he knew was gone; everyone he’d known had moved on. Daniel’s solace was knowing Peggy lived a long, good life.
At thirty-six years old, in a whole new era, Daniel liked someone.