[ there it is. the sharp memory, the defining line. seven months without, he says, and the implication is all too clear. no matter how much daisy tries, no matter how much she works to fight the aftermath of the framework, no matter how many times she reassures him of his worth or encourages his hands-on tinkering or reminds him of his humanity, she still isn't enough. she's still not jemma.
it's hard to fight down the voice that tells her she'll never be enough; when she manages to speak, her voice is soft, hurt coloring the spaces in between words. ]
I know you do, Fitz.
[ and she knows, too, without hesitation — if there was a stone she could move for him that would bring the two together, she would do it. no matter what the cost. ]
You don't need to get my permission.
[ has she said that already? she feels like she has. a broken record of "you don't need me," in all ways that seem like they matter. ]
[ he knows that was a misstep — no, that makes it sound like he broke a plate, not as though he ranked the people in his life and said, sorry, but you're on the second rung. it's because of me, not you stays in his mouth. it's a copout.
he matches her softness, wishing he could take the temperature of her feelings with a brush of his hand. is she hurt? angry? disappointed? ]
But I want it — to hear what you think.
[ with jemma, he can finish sentences and thoughts and motions, slide in exactly where he's wanted most, identify every crack in her voice. jemma knows that he would listen to her read the shopping list with rapt attention.
the point is: with daisy, he needs to be clearer. ]
You don't have to be a rocket scientist, [ or a biotechnical wonder. ] to have an opinion worth knowing.
[ she's the person that he texts during the day now, with miscellaneous whinging and petty remarks about his coworkers. he shares theories and updates incessantly, whereas his messages to bobbi require greater crafting. they chat in the kitchen just like they did on the bus, and eat takeaway on the sofa when they can't arsed to leave. ]
What I think? [ she sucks in a breath, uncertain. honesty is usually the best policy, daisy knows this — and typically, she would be unflinchingly honest with fitz, giving him whatever information she could to help him mentally calculate the answer. but this is more than just calculations. this is their entire world, their existence, their meaning to each other. she isn't sure how honest to be in the face of something like that. ] I don't know.
[ lie. an attempt to buy time, sure, but mostly it's a lie. ]
I think — I think you want him to tell you it's not your fault. I think you want Strange to turn around and say that some law of magical physics is pulling everyone's superpowers away like magnets off a chalkboard and shaking them up before handing them out like candy. I think you want a get out of jail free card, Fitz.
[ harsh? maybe. ]
But you were never in jail in the first place. At least not with me. I've always told you the Framework wasn't your fault. A goddamn robot was in love with you, it's not even remotely your fault that she turned out to be some Nazi bitch with a Pinocchio complex.
[ the hint of a sniffle in the background, muffled by her stupidly long sleeves as they wipe away moisture (allergies) from her eyes. just listen to me, damnit. ]
[ he settles on a bench beyond the entrance of the sky park, unsure if it's the same one that he and markus found.
the truth is at least half what she thinks, harsh though it is: a wish that markus and strange will exonerate him for the various parts of the framework, but he also hopes they'll tell him the opposite and finally hold him accountable, if not for turning HYDRA than at least for killing agnes and mace. the core problem for fitz is that he didn't leave the framework behind. he took the doctor with him — or he let that part of himself stay at the surface, instead of pushing it down.
but hunter had told him, simply, everyone has a dark side. on good days, fitz can accept that.
with daisy sniffling, swearing that she doesn't blame him, he exhales and lets it be just that. dark sides can be checked, contained — used, like anything else. if daisy can look at him and see more than the framework, that's enough. it has to be. ]
Okay. [ he swallows, head tipped skyward. he really ought to spend more time here, considering how much he took sunshine for granted, before they locked him up at a black site. his voice quavers. ] Thank you, Daisy.
[ does she think he's over it? no. does she think this will be the last time they go back-and-forth around his worth, or the value of her reassurances, or what they mean to each other? definitely not. but it's nice — a relief, even — to put it aside for now. ]
[ it was on his mind as potential repayment, anyway: leaning against the kitchen counter with his fingers hooked on a bag of her favourite takeaway, smile sheepish. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ there it is. the sharp memory, the defining line. seven months without, he says, and the implication is all too clear. no matter how much daisy tries, no matter how much she works to fight the aftermath of the framework, no matter how many times she reassures him of his worth or encourages his hands-on tinkering or reminds him of his humanity, she still isn't enough. she's still not jemma.
it's hard to fight down the voice that tells her she'll never be enough; when she manages to speak, her voice is soft, hurt coloring the spaces in between words. ]
I know you do, Fitz.
[ and she knows, too, without hesitation — if there was a stone she could move for him that would bring the two together, she would do it. no matter what the cost. ]
You don't need to get my permission.
[ has she said that already? she feels like she has. a broken record of "you don't need me," in all ways that seem like they matter. ]
no subject
he matches her softness, wishing he could take the temperature of her feelings with a brush of his hand. is she hurt? angry? disappointed? ]
But I want it — to hear what you think.
[ with jemma, he can finish sentences and thoughts and motions, slide in exactly where he's wanted most, identify every crack in her voice. jemma knows that he would listen to her read the shopping list with rapt attention.
the point is: with daisy, he needs to be clearer. ]
You don't have to be a rocket scientist, [ or a biotechnical wonder. ] to have an opinion worth knowing.
[ she's the person that he texts during the day now, with miscellaneous whinging and petty remarks about his coworkers. he shares theories and updates incessantly, whereas his messages to bobbi require greater crafting. they chat in the kitchen just like they did on the bus, and eat takeaway on the sofa when they can't arsed to leave. ]
no subject
[ lie. an attempt to buy time, sure, but mostly it's a lie. ]
I think — I think you want him to tell you it's not your fault. I think you want Strange to turn around and say that some law of magical physics is pulling everyone's superpowers away like magnets off a chalkboard and shaking them up before handing them out like candy. I think you want a get out of jail free card, Fitz.
[ harsh? maybe. ]
But you were never in jail in the first place. At least not with me. I've always told you the Framework wasn't your fault. A goddamn robot was in love with you, it's not even remotely your fault that she turned out to be some Nazi bitch with a Pinocchio complex.
[ the hint of a sniffle in the background, muffled by her stupidly long sleeves as they wipe away moisture (allergies) from her eyes. just listen to me, damnit. ]
no subject
the truth is at least half what she thinks, harsh though it is: a wish that markus and strange will exonerate him for the various parts of the framework, but he also hopes they'll tell him the opposite and finally hold him accountable, if not for turning HYDRA than at least for killing agnes and mace. the core problem for fitz is that he didn't leave the framework behind. he took the doctor with him — or he let that part of himself stay at the surface, instead of pushing it down.
but hunter had told him, simply, everyone has a dark side. on good days, fitz can accept that.
with daisy sniffling, swearing that she doesn't blame him, he exhales and lets it be just that. dark sides can be checked, contained — used, like anything else. if daisy can look at him and see more than the framework, that's enough. it has to be. ]
Okay. [ he swallows, head tipped skyward. he really ought to spend more time here, considering how much he took sunshine for granted, before they locked him up at a black site. his voice quavers. ] Thank you, Daisy.
no subject
[ does she think he's over it? no. does she think this will be the last time they go back-and-forth around his worth, or the value of her reassurances, or what they mean to each other? definitely not. but it's nice — a relief, even — to put it aside for now. ]
But you're buying dinner this time.
[ you owe me for being a drama queen. ]
no subject
Done.
[ it was on his mind as potential repayment, anyway: leaning against the kitchen counter with his fingers hooked on a bag of her favourite takeaway, smile sheepish. ]
I'll see you tonight.