[ she doesn't answer. at least not right away. her mouth presses tightly together, a thin line that holds back all the words she's not ready to say; she shakes her head, just slightly. as if sensing the tension, zingo climbs down, wandering off, presumably to go lay in bed and wait for john to come home.
alone, daisy shivers, free hand wrapping around her upper arm. ]
Forget it. [ she should have kept her mouth shut. ] I'm happy for you.
[ he shakes his head and scoffs, disbelief settling over his expression. first the whole thing with him being on a pedestal in her eyes and now this. ]
We're not together if that's what you're thinking. [ they would always have something that connected them in their kid but he wasn't going to cross that line again. ]
But it's nice to know that you think I would. [ no no, it wasn't nice at all. ] Thanks.
That's not — [ but the way his expression changes, the way his jaw hardens, something flashing in his eyes... daisy stops short, exhaling, guilt twisting something sharp in her stomach. ] I just want you to be happy, Marcos.
[ she has her own problems with lorna after what she'd done, problems that could likely fill a novel's worth of angry, hurt, bitter speeches. but those were her problems, her own opinion, and if being with lorna again for whatever reason (happiness, the good of their kid, common comfort, delusion?) was what made marcos happy, she sure as hell wasn't anyone to stop him. what right did she have to try and dictate his decision on that?
the silence that follows is uncomfortable. heavy, painful; it makes her want to walk away the same way he had before, only she doesn't have anywhere to go. ]
[ this is getting tiring and more than that, it was getting frustrating. he doesn't know why she's doing this, making everything about his safety, his comfort, his happiness with little to no regard for herself. it can't be a death wish because no one's trying to kill her but he doesn't know why she's doing this to either of them. ]
Would you stop acting like this? Acting like you're nothing. Stop it.
[ the words come out sharp, cutting and he glares at her because he needs her to stop this. he doesn't want to hear defeat and fatalism in her voice anymore. no, she's more than that, she's better than that. and he's done listening to her think of herself this way. ]
I know we're not! [ wait, what? hard brake, backpedal, that's not what she meant. ] I — [ ugh. ] Never mind.
[ what's wrong with her brain? maybe she does have a concussion. maybe her impulse control is totally fucked from getting slammed into a car and then into the floor. maybe she's having delusions and not actually speaking. that would honestly be preferable. maybe this is all just a hallucination and she's not even conscious yet. that wouldn't be great for her, health-wise, but maybe it'd be better.
it's not exactly enjoyable to argue with him. she hates it, actually. arguing like this, it's exhausting and miserable and makes her feel like the world is spinning around her, topsy-turvy. though ... on second thought. maybe that's the concussion. ]
I think I need to lie back down.
[ really convenient segue into NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS. ]
[ that...that wasn't just a slip of the tongue. that wasn't just a simple mistake that anyone could make. no, there was absolutely more to her words than she wants him to believe and he's torn. torn between wanting her to elaborate on why she'd said that and so vehemently and letting her rest.
he was already going to be in trouble with caitlin for riling her up like this. ]
Never mind? Are you sure?
[ it's the...smallest opening he thinks he can give her without pressing. if she wants to talk, she can talk but he guesses she's going to try and say it was accidental and play that she's suddenly much more injured than she was ten minutes ago. ]
[ is she sure? no, she's not. she's entirely unsure. between the urge to continue backpedaling her way into laying face-first on the couch and pretending to pass out and spilling her guts revived coma patient-style, daisy doesn't know what to do.
he hadn't made a face, hadn't laughed, hadn't really reacted at all. he'd just stared at her, as if trying to channel the frosts and read her mind, and given her the softest opening known to man in a voice that sounded almost as unsure as she felt. not the voice of a man ready to casually dismiss the statement. ]
I … [ the answers feel heavy in her mouth, and daisy starts and stops a few times saying nothing at all, a deer in headlights look even without marcos' light flooding the room. ] I don't know.
[ this is such a bad idea. this is such a bad idea. she's repressed these feelings for so long that the sheer concept of letting them out feels like breaking the hoover dam.
it's easier to huff out a laugh at herself, self-deprecating and so soft, and bury her face in her hands. ]
[ this is uncharted territory. a slip of the tongue that he wants to latch onto and make into something bigger than it is, probably. because there's no way it's anything like he's thinking. maybe it's — god, maybe it's nothing at all. ]
Do you want to lay down till Caitlin comes back? She can check you out and catch you up on some things. I can —
[ give her some space. leave her alone. let her be. it's hard to tell what she wants and how she wants it. ]
I'm already gonna be in it enough for starting a fight. Maybe I should just let you rest.
[ see, there. brushing the entire thing aside with a simple 'okay', as easy as breathing. it should make her feel better, let her breathe a bit easier — but it doesn't. it just leaves that anxious uncertainty tight in her chest, the words she could have said if she was braver still milling in her mouth.
but she knows, without having to think about it, that she doesn't want to be alone. ]
If I have a concussion, she's going to be mad if you let me fall asleep again.
[ true. but also an excuse to keep him from leaving again, to keep him from turning away and leaving this half-started conversation before it can even potentially get started at all. ]
[ that was a good point. caitlin had given him pretty strict instructions not to let her go back to sleep once she'd woken up and he's pretty familiar with how easily she can fall asleep in just about any place that gives her a moment of quiet.
so, he nods, sitting back in the chair and slumping down a bit to be more comfortable. ]
She should be back soon to check you out. [ and while he knows daisy probably wants the okay to start moving around, he doubts she's going to get it today or for the next few days. ]
I can get the laptop and give you something to watch, if you want. [ so she doesn't just have to stare at him and wonder what he's thinking. or maybe that's what he was doing to her while he tried not to push her on things he's certain she's not telling him. ]
[ she is staring at him. but he's staring at her too, gaze hot against her skin, and daisy can't figure out why. ]
Marcos.
[ she says his name to stop him from inevitably listing off alternatives to pass the time, gesturing at the space next to her on the couch. it's not the most comfortable set of cushions in the world, they both know that. she's slept with her head against someone's lap in this couch more times than she can count. if he wants her to rest and relax, he's obviously the only person available to volunteer right now.
this should be no different than every other time. right? so why does it feel different? because it is. ]
I — [ she has to say something. ] You have to promise me things won't be weird, okay?
I — [ immediately starting with a disclaimer like that isn't a good sign. she's gearing up to say something deeply personal and he's getting a warning to not make things weird. he licks his lips and slides off the chair so he can drop back into the spot he'd been in a little while ago. ]
I can promise to try and not make things weird. [ but outright promising isn't something he wants to do until he hears what she wants to tell him. ]
What's going on? [ was she really that against watching something on the laptop? ] What's the matter?
[ he's so close. from the couch to the chair, there had been the buffer of space between them. the coffee table, the rug beneath it, the ugly carpet floor. her empty glass. things to look at between them, to trap her gaze, to make it less — anything? personal? she doesn't know. but he's right there, so close, his body a hair's breath from where hers stops on that small couch, and it takes more willpower than daisy thought she even had to restrain herself from getting up and running away.
he's so close, the reality of what she's trying to say hits her like a freight truck. hits her like she'd hit the car, even, the shockwave of reality slamming into her, and daisy swallows hard once, twice, three times before she manages to speak. ]
You've — you're — [ god, she can't do this. she doesn't know how to say this without sounding like a completely batshit insane person. the kind of person who's had feelings for someone who absolutely does not return them for years now, who's watched them fall in love and fall out of it, who's watched them have a kid and lose their kid and nearly lose their mind as a result. but she is that person, isn't she?
and he knows, for better or for worse, because she's already fucked up and said something she shouldn't. this is just... this is just finalizing it. clearing the air. maybe she'll feel better after. (probably not, but she'll cling to that.) ]
I know we're not together. [ better. she can actually release the breath that's been clutched in her mouth. ] I know because I've thought about it a million times since I met you.
[ her gaze finally, finally meets his, and there's a sense of resignation in it. not quite sad, but... accepting. ]
And it's never been — good timing, I guess. You were with Lorna, and then you weren't, and I just. [ she blows a breath out, lips vibrating ] I don't want things to be weird between us because of it.
[ she pauses for half a second, her tongue darting out to push through her lips before pulling back. ]
We don't have to talk about it. You can ... you know, put something on, and I'll wait for Caitlin to come back, and we can just.
[ well, the warning about not making things weird makes more sense now. she starts speaking and his stomach roils, twisting and turning with the revelation. he stares at her, surprise and shock commingling. had he picked up any sense of this? no. at first it had been because he hadn't taken time to know her. she was a good person and good in a fight but he'd been caught up in other things.
then, when he'd finally woken up and paid attention, he'd found her good as a person as well. warm and funny and kind and honest and unafraid. she'd stayed up nights talking to him when he hadn't wanted to be alone and shoved him awake on mornings when getting up was hard.
and now she was confessing something like this. something so big, full of possibilities. ]
Daisy, we've known each other for...years now. [ she'd been feeling this way for years? was that why she was throwing herself in front of bullets and bombs? was that why she was thinking of herself last in every single equation? ]
Some things make a little more sense now. [ their argument of earlier being the prime example of that. he blows out a breath and peers over at her. ]
Why did you — what made you tell me now? [ he hasn't dipped into his own feelings yet, hasn't examined them and told her what he feels and what he wants to do. he doesn't know if he's read for that just yet. ]
[ like she had six heads, like there was something wrong with her. the question of why she'd blurted out something like that, unintentional as it had been, had hung thick over them both. she'd known it wouldn't just go away. he'd wonder about it until she confessed, and things would be uncomfortable until she did.
they had to work together — but it was more than that. marcos was more than just someone she worked with. he was her friend. family, in a way. she couldn't just tiptoe around him and ignore the question forever. ]
And I just … I don't know. I got tired of John's stupid knowing looks. [ he may not be able to read minds, but he'd always been able to read her. ] There just wasn't a good way to tell you. A good time, I guess.
[ "break up with the mother of your child?" or "oh wait, you just did, now here's a bombshell you're not prepared for?" or "hey i know the world is about to end but here's a fun fact nobody asked for?" ]
You told me not to make things weird. What else was I going to do but stare until you told me why?
[ so really, it was kind of your fault, wasn't it? marcos rubs his thumb against his lower lip, still trying to digest this very new, very...unexpected news. they were friends, yeah, but had he ever thought she'd say she wanted more? that she'd thought about more? that she'd looked at him that way?
no. because he was a mess and a wreck and didn't know how to deal with his own issues. why would anyone want that? ]
And you and John talked about this? [ had he buried his head so far down in the sand to miss that? he swallows and tears his eyes away from her, staring straight ahead now. ]
I'm sorry. [ oh wait, that sounds bad. like he's going to let her down easily or something and he hastily clarifies: ] I'm sorry that I didn't notice any of this.
[ many times. he'd known before daisy had even let herself acknowledge the feelings were there — he'd known when a casual attraction had shifted into something far more painful, when the sound of her heartbeat went from skipping to torturously slow. when sitting through meetings with lorna sprawled on his lap had been like being stabbed, john had given her tasks to do that would take her eyes away. helping sage with monitors, processing new security protocols, heavy lifting or construction, anything she could do to avoid being in the room.
and when things had gotten worse, when lorna had left, he'd helped her work through her feelings so she didn't carry the weight of them with her every day. he'd helped her detangle what was personal and petty from what she could work through — being glad, on some level, that she was gone; being sad, too, for her friends; being hurt by the betrayal and being angry at the impact of her loss. ]
John's known for a long time. [ simple as that. ] I asked him not to say anything. I didn't … I didn't want it to be another thing you had to think about, after she left.
[ and now she was back, and somehow, it felt like worse timing. but he apologizes, and daisy's brow furrows a bit, confusion evident in her expression as her gaze tips back up to his. ]
What are you sorry for? I'm not — I wasn't expecting you to notice. Or to feel the same way, or anything, I just. Had to tell you, at some point.
[ he's surprised. he is. he hadn't really expected daisy of all people to look at him like that. to feel like that about him. not when she could have anyone's eyes. why would she want someone who was such a mess? someone who had a kid and could barely manage his own emotions? he frowns, looking down at where her legs were laying across his lap. ]
This has been — years? [ he has no idea how she's managed to deal with this for so long. to keep it down and away from him for years upon years? she's a stronger person than he is. that's the only explanation. ]
I'm sorry. [ that she'd had to watch him be with lorna. even if he loved lorna, adored her then, he still can't understand how that must have felt to her. and then it fell apart and she'd still stood beside him.
[ years, he says, like the idea is impossible to fathom; he apologizes, offers condolences, says all the right things, and daisy just... exhales. she doesn't know what else to do in the wake of confessing something she never intended to tell him in the first place. ]
When we first met, you were so — I don't know. Confident? Capable. People looked to you and John for answers, for direction; you held the Underground together, and when I was trying to figure out where I fit in, you always found a place for me. [ a friendship, once she'd proven herself worthy of one. ] And I'm not going to lie, I had a horrible crush on you at first. I think it's the beard.
[ john had called her out on it almost immediately. not to be cruel, but to let her down gently, to clue her in on the state of affairs so that she didn't do something she'd later regret. she'd worked on stuffing those feelings down immediately thereafter, to only some success. ]
I knew nothing was going to happen. I mean, you were with Lorna, and I was — a mess, honestly, when I first got there. But the more I got to know you, the closer we got … it wasn't just a crush, you know?
[ now it's her turn to look down, gaze skimming down the length of her legs to where his hands rest. she's acutely aware of the heat of them against her skin. ]
I almost left so many times, but I couldn't. I didn't want to be alone, I didn't want to abandon what we were fighting for, I didn't want to — to leave you, as stupid as that sounds.
[ maybe it explains why she reacted so poorly to lorna leaving when she did. because she'd had reason to leave and never took it, even if it would have been easier. ]
I think I'll always — [ feel something? she shrugs. ] But telling you … I guess it just doesn't feel like this big secret anymore.
[ it's the least important of anything she's said but that might be exactly why he catches on it. it's a bit of levity in an otherwise very personal, very vulnerable batch of words. his hand comes up and rubs at said beard, thicker now than it had been a few weeks ago. stress will do that to you, he supposes.
he shakes his head, stops thinking about his beard and what she might have imagined in regards to that. her hands and her cheeks and — yes, time to turn that part of his brain off. she doesn't need that right now. ]
It doesn't sound stupid. I'm glad you didn't leave. I don't want you to leave. I would have — [ it would have been a loss. a big one. one that would have devastated him in some kind of way. ]
You're not nothing. [ he says it again. ] Not to me.
[ it comes out softer than she means it to, but she does know that, at least. she knows that she matters in as much as any member of the underground matters, especially with their dwindling numbers and shaken faith. she knows that leaving would be unfair to him and everyone else, that turning her back on them would be a betrayal she could never take back or erase — and she knows she never will.
even if it hurts her in the process, daisy will never quit. she'll jump in front of a bullet, but she won't quit. ]
I'm not going to leave, Marcos. [ that, she can promise him. that, and something else, something more weighty that's been sitting on her chest since he snapped at her earlier. ] But, listen — I know I'm, like, the last person in the world who needs to comment on this...
[ not that it's ever stopped her before ]
If you and Lorna — please don't feel like you can't, you know. If it makes you happy, if that's what you want, please don't think I'm the reason you can't. The last thing I want is to be some homewrecker in your relationship.
[ he shake his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to keep himself from getting angry at yet another push towards lorna. he and lorna weren't going to reconnect. not like that. they were working on a friendship but the intimate relationship they'd once had was broken beyond repair. ]
If I wanted to go back to Lorna, I would. But that's not what I want so stop assuming it is. [ please. ] Me having a kid with her doesn't mean I'm just going to forgive and forget.
[ he loved them both, lorna and dawn alike. he always would. ]
[ 'stop talking about lorna' probably doesn't mean 'stop talking at all', but that's basically what happens. mostly because marcos snapping at her to stop making assumptions feels like a slap in the face — and so daisy sits back, her gaze dropping to look down at the floor off the side of the couch.
what can she say? there's nothing to say — condolences are hollow and they both know it. it's no secret that daisy's as bitter about what lorna did as anyone else, only forgiving her the small amount necessary to work with her moving forward. it'll take more than a crisis and a shared enemy to rebridge that gap. but she can't be hopeful, either, because what kind of friend allows hope to surge up in their chest when a relationship falls apart?
apparently whatever kind of friend daisy is (a shitty one) because she feels it. but she won't — can't — say that. so she says nothing. she nods her head, jerky and uncertain, and her mouth pulses in and out of a sharp line, an uncertain but accepting expression if ever there was one. ]
[ unless lorna was all she was going to talk about? that couldn't be the case though. he knows that her relationship with lorna was strained at best and nonexistent at worse. he hopes that maybe they could be civil and supportive since it appeared that lorna was back for good but it wasn't something he was going to push her towards either. ]
But you're not the first person to make the assumption that I'm just going to forget everything and go back to her. I want to make my own choices.
[ and not just be pushed back towards someone who'd nearly wrecked his life when she'd left. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Me and Lorna what?
[ if he was calm before, he's not anymore. he sits up, not sure he likes the accusation that he thinks is edging her words. ]
What are you implying?
[ out with it. ]
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alone, daisy shivers, free hand wrapping around her upper arm. ]
Forget it. [ she should have kept her mouth shut. ] I'm happy for you.
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[ he shakes his head and scoffs, disbelief settling over his expression. first the whole thing with him being on a pedestal in her eyes and now this. ]
We're not together if that's what you're thinking. [ they would always have something that connected them in their kid but he wasn't going to cross that line again. ]
But it's nice to know that you think I would. [ no no, it wasn't nice at all. ] Thanks.
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[ she has her own problems with lorna after what she'd done, problems that could likely fill a novel's worth of angry, hurt, bitter speeches. but those were her problems, her own opinion, and if being with lorna again for whatever reason (happiness, the good of their kid, common comfort, delusion?) was what made marcos happy, she sure as hell wasn't anyone to stop him. what right did she have to try and dictate his decision on that?
the silence that follows is uncomfortable. heavy, painful; it makes her want to walk away the same way he had before, only she doesn't have anywhere to go. ]
It doesn't matter what I think, anyway.
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[ this is getting tiring and more than that, it was getting frustrating. he doesn't know why she's doing this, making everything about his safety, his comfort, his happiness with little to no regard for herself. it can't be a death wish because no one's trying to kill her but he doesn't know why she's doing this to either of them. ]
Would you stop acting like this? Acting like you're nothing. Stop it.
[ the words come out sharp, cutting and he glares at her because he needs her to stop this. he doesn't want to hear defeat and fatalism in her voice anymore. no, she's more than that, she's better than that. and he's done listening to her think of herself this way. ]
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[ what's wrong with her brain? maybe she does have a concussion. maybe her impulse control is totally fucked from getting slammed into a car and then into the floor. maybe she's having delusions and not actually speaking. that would honestly be preferable. maybe this is all just a hallucination and she's not even conscious yet. that wouldn't be great for her, health-wise, but maybe it'd be better.
it's not exactly enjoyable to argue with him. she hates it, actually. arguing like this, it's exhausting and miserable and makes her feel like the world is spinning around her, topsy-turvy. though ... on second thought. maybe that's the concussion. ]
I think I need to lie back down.
[ really convenient segue into NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS. ]
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he was already going to be in trouble with caitlin for riling her up like this. ]
Never mind? Are you sure?
[ it's the...smallest opening he thinks he can give her without pressing. if she wants to talk, she can talk but he guesses she's going to try and say it was accidental and play that she's suddenly much more injured than she was ten minutes ago. ]
no subject
he hadn't made a face, hadn't laughed, hadn't really reacted at all. he'd just stared at her, as if trying to channel the frosts and read her mind, and given her the softest opening known to man in a voice that sounded almost as unsure as she felt. not the voice of a man ready to casually dismiss the statement. ]
I … [ the answers feel heavy in her mouth, and daisy starts and stops a few times saying nothing at all, a deer in headlights look even without marcos' light flooding the room. ] I don't know.
[ this is such a bad idea. this is such a bad idea. she's repressed these feelings for so long that the sheer concept of letting them out feels like breaking the hoover dam.
it's easier to huff out a laugh at herself, self-deprecating and so soft, and bury her face in her hands. ]
I don't know what I'm sure about.
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[ this is uncharted territory. a slip of the tongue that he wants to latch onto and make into something bigger than it is, probably. because there's no way it's anything like he's thinking. maybe it's — god, maybe it's nothing at all. ]
Do you want to lay down till Caitlin comes back? She can check you out and catch you up on some things. I can —
[ give her some space. leave her alone. let her be. it's hard to tell what she wants and how she wants it. ]
I'm already gonna be in it enough for starting a fight. Maybe I should just let you rest.
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but she knows, without having to think about it, that she doesn't want to be alone. ]
If I have a concussion, she's going to be mad if you let me fall asleep again.
[ true. but also an excuse to keep him from leaving again, to keep him from turning away and leaving this half-started conversation before it can even potentially get started at all. ]
Don't go. [ not again. ] Please?
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so, he nods, sitting back in the chair and slumping down a bit to be more comfortable. ]
She should be back soon to check you out. [ and while he knows daisy probably wants the okay to start moving around, he doubts she's going to get it today or for the next few days. ]
I can get the laptop and give you something to watch, if you want. [ so she doesn't just have to stare at him and wonder what he's thinking. or maybe that's what he was doing to her while he tried not to push her on things he's certain she's not telling him. ]
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Marcos.
[ she says his name to stop him from inevitably listing off alternatives to pass the time, gesturing at the space next to her on the couch. it's not the most comfortable set of cushions in the world, they both know that. she's slept with her head against someone's lap in this couch more times than she can count. if he wants her to rest and relax, he's obviously the only person available to volunteer right now.
this should be no different than every other time. right? so why does it feel different? because it is. ]
I — [ she has to say something. ] You have to promise me things won't be weird, okay?
[ so dramatic ]
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I can promise to try and not make things weird. [ but outright promising isn't something he wants to do until he hears what she wants to tell him. ]
What's going on? [ was she really that against watching something on the laptop? ] What's the matter?
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he's so close, the reality of what she's trying to say hits her like a freight truck. hits her like she'd hit the car, even, the shockwave of reality slamming into her, and daisy swallows hard once, twice, three times before she manages to speak. ]
You've — you're — [ god, she can't do this. she doesn't know how to say this without sounding like a completely batshit insane person. the kind of person who's had feelings for someone who absolutely does not return them for years now, who's watched them fall in love and fall out of it, who's watched them have a kid and lose their kid and nearly lose their mind as a result. but she is that person, isn't she?
and he knows, for better or for worse, because she's already fucked up and said something she shouldn't. this is just... this is just finalizing it. clearing the air. maybe she'll feel better after. (probably not, but she'll cling to that.) ]
I know we're not together. [ better. she can actually release the breath that's been clutched in her mouth. ] I know because I've thought about it a million times since I met you.
[ her gaze finally, finally meets his, and there's a sense of resignation in it. not quite sad, but... accepting. ]
And it's never been — good timing, I guess. You were with Lorna, and then you weren't, and I just. [ she blows a breath out, lips vibrating ] I don't want things to be weird between us because of it.
[ she pauses for half a second, her tongue darting out to push through her lips before pulling back. ]
We don't have to talk about it. You can ... you know, put something on, and I'll wait for Caitlin to come back, and we can just.
[ move on. ]
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then, when he'd finally woken up and paid attention, he'd found her good as a person as well. warm and funny and kind and honest and unafraid. she'd stayed up nights talking to him when he hadn't wanted to be alone and shoved him awake on mornings when getting up was hard.
and now she was confessing something like this. something so big, full of possibilities. ]
Daisy, we've known each other for...years now. [ she'd been feeling this way for years? was that why she was throwing herself in front of bullets and bombs? was that why she was thinking of herself last in every single equation? ]
Some things make a little more sense now. [ their argument of earlier being the prime example of that. he blows out a breath and peers over at her. ]
Why did you — what made you tell me now? [ he hasn't dipped into his own feelings yet, hasn't examined them and told her what he feels and what he wants to do. he doesn't know if he's read for that just yet. ]
no subject
[ like she had six heads, like there was something wrong with her. the question of why she'd blurted out something like that, unintentional as it had been, had hung thick over them both. she'd known it wouldn't just go away. he'd wonder about it until she confessed, and things would be uncomfortable until she did.
they had to work together — but it was more than that. marcos was more than just someone she worked with. he was her friend. family, in a way. she couldn't just tiptoe around him and ignore the question forever. ]
And I just … I don't know. I got tired of John's stupid knowing looks. [ he may not be able to read minds, but he'd always been able to read her. ] There just wasn't a good way to tell you. A good time, I guess.
[ "break up with the mother of your child?" or "oh wait, you just did, now here's a bombshell you're not prepared for?" or "hey i know the world is about to end but here's a fun fact nobody asked for?" ]
Now's not really a good time either, I know.
no subject
[ so really, it was kind of your fault, wasn't it? marcos rubs his thumb against his lower lip, still trying to digest this very new, very...unexpected news. they were friends, yeah, but had he ever thought she'd say she wanted more? that she'd thought about more? that she'd looked at him that way?
no. because he was a mess and a wreck and didn't know how to deal with his own issues. why would anyone want that? ]
And you and John talked about this? [ had he buried his head so far down in the sand to miss that? he swallows and tears his eyes away from her, staring straight ahead now. ]
I'm sorry. [ oh wait, that sounds bad. like he's going to let her down easily or something and he hastily clarifies: ] I'm sorry that I didn't notice any of this.
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[ many times. he'd known before daisy had even let herself acknowledge the feelings were there — he'd known when a casual attraction had shifted into something far more painful, when the sound of her heartbeat went from skipping to torturously slow. when sitting through meetings with lorna sprawled on his lap had been like being stabbed, john had given her tasks to do that would take her eyes away. helping sage with monitors, processing new security protocols, heavy lifting or construction, anything she could do to avoid being in the room.
and when things had gotten worse, when lorna had left, he'd helped her work through her feelings so she didn't carry the weight of them with her every day. he'd helped her detangle what was personal and petty from what she could work through — being glad, on some level, that she was gone; being sad, too, for her friends; being hurt by the betrayal and being angry at the impact of her loss. ]
John's known for a long time. [ simple as that. ] I asked him not to say anything. I didn't … I didn't want it to be another thing you had to think about, after she left.
[ and now she was back, and somehow, it felt like worse timing. but he apologizes, and daisy's brow furrows a bit, confusion evident in her expression as her gaze tips back up to his. ]
What are you sorry for? I'm not — I wasn't expecting you to notice. Or to feel the same way, or anything, I just. Had to tell you, at some point.
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This has been — years? [ he has no idea how she's managed to deal with this for so long. to keep it down and away from him for years upon years? she's a stronger person than he is. that's the only explanation. ]
I'm sorry. [ that she'd had to watch him be with lorna. even if he loved lorna, adored her then, he still can't understand how that must have felt to her. and then it fell apart and she'd still stood beside him.
he blows out a breath. ]
You're not nothing, you know. Not to me.
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When we first met, you were so — I don't know. Confident? Capable. People looked to you and John for answers, for direction; you held the Underground together, and when I was trying to figure out where I fit in, you always found a place for me. [ a friendship, once she'd proven herself worthy of one. ] And I'm not going to lie, I had a horrible crush on you at first. I think it's the beard.
[ john had called her out on it almost immediately. not to be cruel, but to let her down gently, to clue her in on the state of affairs so that she didn't do something she'd later regret. she'd worked on stuffing those feelings down immediately thereafter, to only some success. ]
I knew nothing was going to happen. I mean, you were with Lorna, and I was — a mess, honestly, when I first got there. But the more I got to know you, the closer we got … it wasn't just a crush, you know?
[ now it's her turn to look down, gaze skimming down the length of her legs to where his hands rest. she's acutely aware of the heat of them against her skin. ]
I almost left so many times, but I couldn't. I didn't want to be alone, I didn't want to abandon what we were fighting for, I didn't want to — to leave you, as stupid as that sounds.
[ maybe it explains why she reacted so poorly to lorna leaving when she did. because she'd had reason to leave and never took it, even if it would have been easier. ]
I think I'll always — [ feel something? she shrugs. ] But telling you … I guess it just doesn't feel like this big secret anymore.
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[ it's the least important of anything she's said but that might be exactly why he catches on it. it's a bit of levity in an otherwise very personal, very vulnerable batch of words. his hand comes up and rubs at said beard, thicker now than it had been a few weeks ago. stress will do that to you, he supposes.
he shakes his head, stops thinking about his beard and what she might have imagined in regards to that. her hands and her cheeks and — yes, time to turn that part of his brain off. she doesn't need that right now. ]
It doesn't sound stupid. I'm glad you didn't leave. I don't want you to leave. I would have — [ it would have been a loss. a big one. one that would have devastated him in some kind of way. ]
You're not nothing. [ he says it again. ] Not to me.
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[ it comes out softer than she means it to, but she does know that, at least. she knows that she matters in as much as any member of the underground matters, especially with their dwindling numbers and shaken faith. she knows that leaving would be unfair to him and everyone else, that turning her back on them would be a betrayal she could never take back or erase — and she knows she never will.
even if it hurts her in the process, daisy will never quit. she'll jump in front of a bullet, but she won't quit. ]
I'm not going to leave, Marcos. [ that, she can promise him. that, and something else, something more weighty that's been sitting on her chest since he snapped at her earlier. ] But, listen — I know I'm, like, the last person in the world who needs to comment on this...
[ not that it's ever stopped her before ]
If you and Lorna — please don't feel like you can't, you know. If it makes you happy, if that's what you want, please don't think I'm the reason you can't. The last thing I want is to be some homewrecker in your relationship.
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[ he shake his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to keep himself from getting angry at yet another push towards lorna. he and lorna weren't going to reconnect. not like that. they were working on a friendship but the intimate relationship they'd once had was broken beyond repair. ]
If I wanted to go back to Lorna, I would. But that's not what I want so stop assuming it is. [ please. ] Me having a kid with her doesn't mean I'm just going to forgive and forget.
[ he loved them both, lorna and dawn alike. he always would. ]
She's not what I want. Not anymore.
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what can she say? there's nothing to say — condolences are hollow and they both know it. it's no secret that daisy's as bitter about what lorna did as anyone else, only forgiving her the small amount necessary to work with her moving forward. it'll take more than a crisis and a shared enemy to rebridge that gap. but she can't be hopeful, either, because what kind of friend allows hope to surge up in their chest when a relationship falls apart?
apparently whatever kind of friend daisy is (a shitty one) because she feels it. but she won't — can't — say that. so she says nothing. she nods her head, jerky and uncertain, and her mouth pulses in and out of a sharp line, an uncertain but accepting expression if ever there was one. ]
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[ unless lorna was all she was going to talk about? that couldn't be the case though. he knows that her relationship with lorna was strained at best and nonexistent at worse. he hopes that maybe they could be civil and supportive since it appeared that lorna was back for good but it wasn't something he was going to push her towards either. ]
But you're not the first person to make the assumption that I'm just going to forget everything and go back to her. I want to make my own choices.
[ and not just be pushed back towards someone who'd nearly wrecked his life when she'd left. ]
And she's not who I choose.
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