evite | ✈ open post 2kforever

It's ruined anyway. [ he has other shirts but it's just a topper on this shitty day. the fingers of his good hand curl into his palm and he nods, eyes flicking to her briefly. ]

Go ahead. [ he knows he doesn't have to say be careful because she can see his arm. yanking his shirt off him roughly is just going to aggravate the burn and piss him off and haven't they had enough of that tonight? ]

Lorna's made her choice. [ for now. he's not giving up on her but he can't go back there without having something on reeva payge. something that might combat her voice and then, the abilities of the frosts to boot. ]

My priority now is making sure everyone else is safe. [ except himself, obviously. ]

[ it doesn't take a trained doctor to know to be careful. her ministrations are soft, patient; rather than drag his injured arm up, daisy cuts the seam connecting the sleeve to the body of his shirt, separating the fabric so that the sleeve can pull down while the rest stays connected. it's easy enough, then, to unbutton and undress, gently leaning him forward as needed until the shirt lays in a pool on the floor beneath them.

the sight isn't unfamiliar. it twinges something in her memory, a warmth low in her belly that's both unasked for and unhelpful. she can't think about that right now.

better to focus her attentions on the wound itself. a cool sterile cloth, soaked through with cold water from the fridge and further chilled by the ice it's been resting on, gently lays atop the burn. it'll sting, sizzling even, but after a moment, the pain will give way to numbness. ]

Here. Two of these. No more.

[ the bottle of medication and a glass of water next, handed over with one hand while the other presses the cloth in place. thanks to fitzsimmons' genius work, the pills should put a damper on the nervous system's pain receptors, while still allowing him to remain in focus and alert. ]

When you're ready, we'll bandage you up.

[ he doesn't try and stifle his reactions at this point. she knows he's in pain so when she starts taking care of it, he hisses, wincing and shifting the tiniest bit because he can't stop himself. the suddenness of the dressing makes him curse low, under his breath. he sits there, fingernails pressing painfully into his palm until the worst of the pain eases.

then, he takes the offered painkillers and downs them without water. he doesn't need them and he wants them to start working as soon as possible. he blinks his eyes open, finally focusing a little more than he'd been doing while she'd been touching his arm.

he realizes, then, that he's sitting there without his shirt, on her couch, and she's close. he's suddenly grateful for his skin tone because she'd be able to see the flush if not. he swallows and flexes his hand a bit. there's still pain but it's dulled significantly already. ]

I'm good. I can take it. Go ahead.

[ better to get it done with so he can try and put it out of his mind. ]

Okay, if you're sure.

[ she tries to be quick. thankfully, he doesn't have any deep cuts or other sutures that would require stitches; the process of applying fresh, clean bandages is more of a juggling act than anything else, hands deftly switching between keeping the gauze in place and unraveling the medical tape that will take over for her hands-free.

eventually, all is in place, a pattern of zigzagging tape and gauze creating a thin barrier along his arm. it looks worse than it is — but if she remembers anything about mutant bodies, it'll heal given enough time. and, perhaps, enough energy to do so. the worst of it is over. ]

There. [ a hand drapes fingertips from his upper arm down to his wrist; if she's wrapped him up well, and if the drugs have kicked in, it should only tingle slightly, like nails along the scalp ] Is that better?

[ once she's done, he tries to move his arm and while it still doesn't feel great, it's a muted pain that he's easily able to tolerate. her fingertips draw one reaction from him: a shiver that has nothing to do with pain.

goddammit, he'd thought those feelings were dead and buried. she'd thrown him out and he'd walked away and he'd just become angry and bitter about the whole thing. he'd locked that part of himself away despite john and clarice trying to get him to talk about it.

and now here he was, back in her living room, sans his shirt and shivering. ]

It's fine. Thank you.

[ it doesn't feel like his arm's going to fall off anymore. ]

Fine is better than nothing, I guess.

[ a small, soft smile curves across her mouth, relief washing away some of the nerves that were tangled up in her stomach. some. the rest still linger as she peers up at him, her eyes taking in all the parts of him she'd long since memorized.

he looks good. it'd be stupid to ignore that. stress and danger keeps them all thin, and she's pleased to see he hasn't shaved the beard she'd found so much pleasure in running her fingers through. but now's not the time or the place — even though the couch used to be the place, didn't it, if the memories that have started to flit through the back of her mind are anything to judge by — to restoke that fire.

even if, right now, it's extremely tempting to lean up on her knees and close that gap. ]

You probably shouldn't take painkillers on an empty stomach, though, and I'm pretty sure the Inner Circle's not in the habit of feeding its enemies. [ correct her if she's wrong, but she's sure she's not. ] Plus, I can't exactly get to work on an empty stomach.

[ he did come here for information, after all. ]

No, there was no five course dinner before Reeva Payge did whatever she can do. [ he'd seen a lot of powerful abilities but that was something else. he'd felt pain but worse, he'd felt fear. terror that he was going to die right then and there, leave john and clarice alone and never get a chance to make up for so many mistakes. ]

I haven't eaten in awhile. [ maybe since last night? he tends to leave the food for those that really need it and only eat when he can't avoid it. ]

I could eat. [ and it sounds like he was going to be made to eat too especially if she was going to be his caregiver for the moment. ] Guess I should so I don't end up sick.

[ but that would be one way to make sure that he didn't get tempted to...stop keeping his distance because that was already happening. ]

You need to keep your strength up if you're going to save the world, Marcos.

[ a twinge of guilt dampens her smile. memories of so many fights — about shield, about daisy's part in it, about the relative luxury she lived in here versus what the underground had at their disposal. especially after being fractured by lorna's departure and the loss of so many good men and women. there had been so many times that daisy had wanted to walk into their warehouse with arms full of food and supplies, but without their agreement, she'd never have made it in the doors.

but maybe that could change. maybe they could work together, and those that still were in need could be cared for. like marcos, tonight, over chinese food and the lull of whatever program he wanted to watch, with the power of the remote she sets in his hands. ]

I'll get enough for you to take some back with you. A hot meal might change their minds, right? [ it's not that simple, but it's an easy kindness to give. daisy remembers what it's like to not have enough to eat. ] It shouldn't take long.

[ and thanks to the magic of the internet, it doesn't even require moving. just a few taps on her phone, and all's done. she even splurges for express delivery. ]

Do you want to, um. [ should she get up? now that dressing wounds and tending care isn't the primary objective, she can't help but recognize the sense of deja vu in being on her knees in front of him on her couch. daisy, stop. ] There's a million channels. I'm sure there's something to watch.

[ and yet... she doesn't immediately move. rooted to the spot, face tipped up towards him, unable to tear her gaze away again. ]

I could barely save myself today. [ it's acidic to say but it's true. the power he has is dwarfed by the power reeva and her blonde hench women have. they could have very easily killed him and he almost wonders why they didn't. maybe to bring a message back to the underground as to who they're messing with? he doesn't know. he didn't stick around to ask because they literally dumped him out on the street. ]

I guess it couldn't hurt. [ and he thought maybe he'd owe them after doing a disappearing act. he was going to have to at least text john so he didn't start breaking walls and freaking out. ]

You don't need to entertain me. [ the words are soft, quiet while her gaze catches his and he holds it. it's a bad idea, his brain says. there's no guarantee here. it could all go wrong especially if john doesn't want to work with them. would she throw him out again, blame him for turning her down?

it's a bad idea but he can't stop thinking about it. he's managed to put her out of mind sometimes but she'd always come back, a sudden thought because of something he'd seen, a dream to help him sleep better. it was always something. ]

You don't need to do anything. [ she's already done enough. ]

[ "you don't need to entertain me." he says it, and daisy wants to correct him, because this isn't about entertainment. it's about... well, it's not about that. it's about caring about another person, something she's always tried to do. with him, with the caterpillars, with every innocent person she's come across since joining up with shield years ago.

but it's not just an innocent person. it's marcos, and the weight of their past hangs over every movement she makes. it lingers in her memories, it prompts words she swallows down, it suggests actions she's neither brave nor self-indulgent enough to make. like closing the gap between them, like cradling his face in her hands, like whispering his name the way she has a million times before. marcos, she wants to say, and the three words she used to always follow it up with. but those words can't be said anymore.

she has to say something else. anything else. ]

I — [ but the words don't come out right away, because his gaze doesn't leave hers. there's a hush to the air, a silence that falls over both of them, until he breaks it again. you don't need to do anything. the spell breaks, and daisy frowns. ] I would do anything for you, Marcos.

[ truth, simple and bare. no laughter, no teasing, no double entendre twisting the definition of her words. just honest emotion. a confession. ]

I never stopped wanting to.

[ never stopped doing a lot of things. ]

[ isn't that how they got into this mess in the first place? trying to do anything and everything for the other? getting so wrapped up that when it came to an end, it felt like the removal of a limb? there time together had been intense and all consuming and it had been good. he'd never felt like that about someone else and, for awhile, he'd thought it could last, be a real, permanent thing.

and then it had ended up and it nearly killed him. he'd shut down for awhile after that, letting only a few people in. time passed and wounds healed but now, here he was, back again and feeling that all too familiar tug of attraction and desire and want and something else. something deeper, something more.

it was still there. he hadn't healed. he'd just buried those feelings to try and keep going.

without thinking too much, marcos finds himself sliding off the couch and down beside her, in front of her, whatever. his knees hit the carpet and he's careful not to jostle his bandaged arm too much but words like that, her words, her face, her everything are too hard to resist. he doesn't touch though.

not yet. ]

You said I ruined your life.

[ there's no accusation but curiosity. a question. if she was still feeling something, wasn't she afraid of that happening again? ]

[ he's close. he's so close. her heart beats wildly in her chest, threatening to crack open her ribs in order to leap across the narrow gap between them; the sound of it rumbles in her ears, deafeningly loud. how can he not hear it? ]

Losing you ruined my life, Marcos. [ a critical distinction. how could he ever think he ruined her life? ] And it was my fault. I was so stubborn, so goddamn hurt and stubborn and afraid, I just let you walk away.

[ she'd regretted it every day since, but hadn't known how to fix it. hadn't known how to swallow her pride enough to ask for a second chance. ]

Losing you, losing ... all of this? Worrying about you, wondering if you were okay, searching the news every day for any reports of mutant deaths or Sentinel Services or... god, any of it. I had old contacts from Rising Tide check in on you guys, make sure your electric bills got paid off; I had Mack use his old connections in Atlanta to ask the local cops to steer clear of the warehouse... I never, never stopped worrying about you. That ruined my life.

[ her words are rushed, frenetic; there's a desperate edge to them, as she tries to clear all the fog from her mind that comes with all the memories of those horrible first few weeks without him. where she'd just laid in bed and cried, curled up in her bunk on the zephyr, unable to do much of anything but drown in the misery of it all. jemma had brought her tea and soup, fitz had brought her battery packs for her laptop, but mostly... everyone had just steered clear. a hurt, emotional inhuman with the power to fracture the earth wasn't one you wanted to upset any further by saying the wrong thing. ]

Being with you was the happiest I think I've ever been. You didn't ruin anything. I did.

I didn't know you did all that. [ but how could he have known, he reasons? he wasn't looking for anything like that. no one was. when he'd walked out and she'd let him, he'd assumed that all avenues, all connections were closed. a clean break while she did her work with shield and he did his with the mutant underground.

he'd been wrong. he'd been incredibly wrong. ]

I'm sorry. [ he looks down, embarrassed and guilty that she'd done so much and he'd been spending his time seething, angry and upset that she'd turned her back just because he'd disagreed with her.

he sighs and it's a shaky thing, a strained thing. but, he also reaches across the small bit of space between them and curls two of his fingers around her hand. the smallest, slightest bit of a peace offering. or a signal that he heard her heart and his was doing the same thumping beat against his ribcage. ] I didn't know.

You don't have to apologize.

[ her hand is shaky against his, rotating in his grip to squeeze back. there's a breath caught in her throat, an uncomfortable anxiety rolling in her belly; the uncertainty of everything leaves her feeling a little light-headed. like the floor was going to slip out from underneath her. ]

I would do it all over again, if it meant keeping you safe.

[ true. no lie detector test needed, no bright lights shone in her eyes to discourage dishonesty. she'd have done it a million times over, if necessary, to protect him. to protect all of them, the inhumans and the mutants and their loved ones, from the people who only wished them harm. from sentinel services, from the watchdogs, from the purifiers. from anyone who seethed and hissed freak under their breath when someone different walked past on the street.

for marcos, she'd do anything. like let him into her apartment after months of silence, like abandon her night off to nurse him back to health, like send him home with arms full of food just to make sure everyone else got some. it didn't matter that they weren't together anymore. some things just don't change. ]

I'm the one who should apologize. I... I expected so much of you. Things you could never have given, promises you couldn't have kept. [ her frown grows a little more pronounced, though her hand clings tight to his. ] I'm sorry. For everything.

Yeah, but I wanted to try. To give you those things, to be the person you wanted me to be. I wanted to try. Things just got -- [ crazy. intense. and then chaotic. they'd fallen apart almost as fast as they'd come together and now they seemingly had a second chance. is that what this was? a chance to pick up the bits and pieces of their relationship and try and puzzle them back together.

or was this just residual feelings? things they'd never fully let go of and now that they were face to face again were coming to the surface? he doesn't know the answer to that. he knows what answer he wants it to be but he doesn't know the real answer. ]

I still love you. [ it's a leap he feels like he has to take. he'd tried to forget those feelings, tried to convince himself that he didn't but it hadn't worked. nothing had worked and so he's kneeling there in front of her, feeling those emotions bloom once again, sliding over him like a comfortable blanket. ]

I never really stopped. [ he shrugs and looks a little shy about that. ] You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.

[ suddenly, her heart stops. the deafening sound of it slamming into her ribcage is replaced almost instantaneously by the echo of silence. her breath, her heart — it all seems to still as she stares at him, eyes wide, mouth parted just slightly as she tries to come to terms with what he's said.

i still love you. she doesn't know whether to say it back or pull away, whether to laugh or cry, whether to squeeze his hand hard enough to imprint the patterns of her skin on to his or run away while she still has a chance. because if she says it back, what then? what options do they have?

to be together, to be a hurricane of emotions that threatened to take the other out, or to not, and suffer apart? no good answer, really, but daisy knew which one she wanted. fuck the consequences.

her hand slips out of his, a regrettable necessity in order to cup his face in her hands, thumbs brushing soft against the stubble of his cheeks. so close. he can probably feel her breath as she exhales, hot and shaky. ]

I couldn't have stopped if I tried. And I did, I tried so hard, but it never worked. I never stopped loving you.

[ his breath gusts out in an exhale, relief and happiness flickering over his face. he wouldn't have been upset if she hadn't returned the sentiment but it would have hurt. deep down, it would have hurt though he wouldn't have shown it. she had every right not to feel anything for him after everything.

but, she does. she still does and he smiles for the first time in what seems like weeks. months. maybe longer. he leans forward and rests his forehead against hers, nuzzling into her hand. ]

Don't make me leave if -- [ if john made the decision to not work together. he wants to hope that maybe they can figure something out this time but if they don't, he doesn't want to have to leave again. ]

We'll figure something out if that happens. [ he'd do anything he could to make that happen. ]

We can't make that kind of promise. [ she might have, before. might have said anything to keep him around, even if it wasn't true. but now, as complicated as everything's gotten, as much pain as both their people have gone through, things aren't that easy.

it's not like mixing in-laws for once a year get-togethers. this is about exposing agencies to one another, for better or for worse, to try to prevent the kind of genocidal disaster that the inner circle was so hellbent on creating. to protect their people, and to protect the innocent on both sides of the equation.

if john didn't want shield anywhere near the underground, and if shield wasn't willing to let daisy go... what choice did they have? it wasn't like they could just run away, leave it all behind. ]

I wouldn't ask you to leave them instead.

[ she's the sacrifice play. always has been. if it comes down to it, daisy goes down for the count. if it protects him, she'd do it. the underground needs him more than she does. ]

[ is it the answer he wants to hear? no. is it the answer he knows he needs to hear? yes. but that doesn't stop his shoulders from slumping. he closes his eyes but doesn't move away from her despite his disappointment in the answer.

it doesn't matter if he knows she's right, he's still disappointed because he knows there's still a chance that this won't be able to continue past this night. if john doesn't want the partnership then they'd be, once again, cut off from each other. ]

I know you wouldn't.

[ and he wouldn't ask her to leave shield either. he'd never forgive himself if he even considered the idea of making her leave what she loved to do because of him. ]

I'm sorry.

[ he shakes his head slightly. ]

[ he doesn't have to say anything. she can see him deflating right before her eyes, see the slump of his shoulder and feel the hot air that rushes from his face as he exhales out all that disappointment.

the truth is, this isn't the kind of situation where there's an easy answer. they can't just forget their responsibilities. they're both twined too deeply into a very personal set of struggles to ever just walk away, even if the romantic ideal might be nice to think about. but they can, in the moments where life allows, carve out a space for each other. they can try to walk a line between work and home, between "yours" and "mine", and have a small spot that's for them both.

even if it feels a little like escapism. maybe that's what they need. ]

You don't have to apologize. Can we just... not talk about it, for a little while? Please?

[ she feels a little ridiculous, too, for asking. the lingering question of what will they talk about doesn't get asked. ]

[ that was probably a good idea even if the 'what ifs' would hang over them until they got a solid answer one way or another. and forgetting about that could be accomplished in a variety of ways but were they ready to broach those? or would it just complicate things if, again, they weren't able to make their two organizations together work.

he sighs and nods. ]

We don't have to talk about it.

[ the next thing he wants to say is 'we don't have to talk at all' but that's one of those ways that they could escape but he isn't sure she's ready for. or wants. he sighs and nods, staying close to her and finding nothing coming to mind on what to talk about next.

they'd been pretty good at talking once before. and he thinks they still are but this wasn't really the time to talk about hobbies and the weather and food. ]

[ it's the silence that feels heaviest. the shared burden of their situation hangs like a dark thundercloud above their heads, and even agreeing not to talk about it only means they sit here, foreheads touching, both thinking about it but not saying a damn thing. maybe that's worse.

every few moments, daisy tries to say something, anything — her mouth opens, a quiet exhale or a soft coo, just anything to break the silence. and then nothing, her mouth closing shut again, a small shake of her head. what can she say? what can they talk about that isn't, in some way, connected to what they've already agreed not to talk about?

how's john, she wants to ask. how are clarice and the struckers and everyone else holding up? but it's too close for comfort. how's the baby, she almost says, but thinks better of it. definitely not the right time.

eventually, after who knows how many minutes of lingering uncomfortable silence, daisy exhales through her nose, a sound that seems to drag on much like the quiet between them had before. ]

All I can think about is all the things I don't want to talk about. [ her tongue sweeps out to brush over her lower lip, teeth dragging against the corner. nervous energy. ] And you. I keep... thinking about you, about what it was like when you were here before.

[ about what we used to do, on this floor, on this couch. ]

Yeah.

[ yeah, he knows all about thoughts like that. about asking about her work, her coworkers, how she's been, what she's been doing because they all, somehow, tie back to what they'd agreed to not talk about. and any information he wants to offer up will just bring it back to the subject that must not be named. he supposes that mundane subjects like the weather and television shows would be work but he can't see the conversations lasting long. ]

Yeah, I'm -- [ right there with you. he felt it too, the energy, the electricity and the only reason he hasn't acted on it is because he just wasn't sure it was reciprocated. but now he knows for sure and...he's still not acting on it but it's definitely not because he doesn't want to. he does. it's just such a complicated thing now. there were so many things to think about.

but then again, maybe they should just escape for a night. get lost in something good. ]

I should -- I should text John. [ which is not what he wanted to say but does need to do that. he needs to let him know he's all right. ] And then I can be yours for the night.

[ maybe, hopefully, that makes it better. he wants it to. ]

[ she nods, offers up what she hopes is some kind of nonverbal acknowledgement, an understanding of what it is he's explaining. he should check in. whatever he's come from, they — the underground, that nebulous "other" that hovers on the fringes of each sentence they utter — need to know he's okay. that he's been bandaged up and offered shelter for a night, if nothing else.

and then he gets up, walks away, and daisy's left to herself, her back up against the couch and the floor in front of her suddenly seeming an impossible expanse. she doesn't want to pry, doesn't want to look over his shoulder and investigate whatever messages he's sending. she could, if she really wanted to. she has the set up on her laptop, it wouldn't take long to port in his number or pull from the local cell tower traffic to find out what was being sent. but she doesn't want to do that. she doesn't want to infringe on his privacy like that, not if she doesn't have to.

but she can't just sit here either, staring at her hands, wondering if she's doing the right thing or making a giant mistake by admitting to feelings that she spent weeks trying to push back down. no, she has to get up, pace a little, find something for her mind to focus on while he handles whatever he needs.

when marcos is done, whether it be texts or a phone call or photo evidence of his still-breathing body, he'll find her in the kitchen, staring into the fridge like it holds the answers to life itself. ]

[ john is concerned and then, once marcos tells him where he is, he's angry. angry that marcos is putting himself through that again, putting himself in a position to get hurt so badly again. but, marcos shuts him down with the bare bones of daisy's offer before telling him he'd be back tomorrow.

once that was done, he made his way through the apartment, eventually finding daisy in the kitchen. the pain in his arm is almost nonexistent and he barely realizes he still doesn't have his shirt on. he could go and find that, put it back on, make things a little easier but it's ruined anyway.

he comes to stand behind her, leaving a few feet of space between them. ]

What are you doing?

[ he doesn't think he'll startle her but he keeps his voice quiet anyway. he shifts a little to peer over her shoulder and see what was so interesting inside the fridge. ]

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