[ daisy's chest portal had offered something a little less conspicuous. at first, she hadn't realized it'd even come from something so bizarre — she'd just assumed it had been tracked in with her upon arrival, a found object perhaps lost in the safehouse or in the city and returned to her by some good samaritan. but after talking with others, she'd realized the nature of the reveal, and so she'd clutched her newfound item a little closer to her chest.
it hangs there now, actually — it being jiaying's necklace, its chinese runes now little more than ancient history tucked underneath her clothes, resting in between the swells of her breasts on a long chain as to avoid detection. one day, she might show fitz, but that day is not today.
today, as it turns out, is a day for picking up a glass of posh wine, and for bringing it to her lips for a much-needed sip. alcohol, good alcohol, is a treat. a blissfully mind-numbing treat. one they probably very much need if they're going to get through this dinner. ]
I deserve a lot of things. [ it's not quite self-deprecating, no hint of daisy's usual bitter dark humor. it's just honest, and quiet, and soft. vulnerable. ] I... [ a sigh, fingertips bringing the glass back down, her hands palming out over the tabletop only to clasp back together. fidgeting isn't her normal modus operandi, but neither is genuine honesty either. ] I fucked up a lot, you know. Before here. I abandoned the team, I ran away, I — I pretty much destroyed everything we worked for, all because I was having an identity crisis and wanted to find my mommy.
[ daisy scoffs a little, under her breath. it sounds ridiculous, but it's true. ]
Turns out, she was a murderous, petty bitch, hell bent on destroying the world. Which is where I get it from, I guess.
[ she doesn't want fitz to contradict her. she's not asking for forgiveness or for absolution. this time, she knows. ]
And — I don't know, I thought... I thought here, maybe, it might be different. Not being Quake, not being SHIELD, I might get to figure myself out while we were here. But I just keep doing the same shit, and I keep hurting you ... and Katelin, and everybody else too.
[ so. ]
So I probably do deserve it, you know? And maybe that's okay.
Hey, hey, no, don't — [ shaking his head, searching for the words. ] Don't do that. Even if you think you deserve it, know that we all — I don't think that.
[ he said some nasty things when she left, stands by them, too, but she doesn't deserve the same judgment now. he reaches out, covering her hands on the table with one of his own, thumb brushing over her skin, an intentional push at the empathy bond. it conveys a swell of something more than the usual earnest fondness and admiration for one daisy johnson. ]
You are a good person. [ he really believes it, too, the sincerity and passion radiates from their point of connection in waves. ] With your parents, without your parents, that's on you 'cause you've proved you were a hero time and again. You exposed Ward, you found and trained people like you, [ the caterpillars. their sweet inhumans. ] you fought to drag us all out of the Framework. [ his voice cracks. ] And even if you don't feel up to it now, you have to choose to be that way, anyway. [ he believes this world needs SHIELD. their touch sharpens, his feelings resolute. ] So, it's not okay.
[ a rare concession: it's not okay for either of them to wallow in this, to give in to their lesser impulses when people are suffering and disappearing and flung far from home. ]
[ as a rule, daisy johnson doesn't weep. she's never really been the kind of person to give into melodramatic crying fits. after all, rage was much more her style, anyway; explosions have always been far more expressive than floods. plus, the window table at a dimly lit restaurant doesn't seem quite the place.
but when fitz's thumb brushes against the back of her hand, and the tidal wave of their connection threatens to capsize her, daisy very nearly does. it's an overwhelming swell of emotion — all of fitz's own hope and trust and care, buoying her up even as moisture pricks at her lashline, solitary drops of saltwater threatening to spill down onto the apples of her cheeks held at bay by the gentle smile she gives him in thanks.
and then, just when she thinks she might soldier through it, comes five words: you are a good person, said as simply as his own name, a truth that requires no thought behind it. the lump in her throat swells, and daisy chokes on it; the jostling shakes loose the tears lingering at the corners of her eyes, and then from the broken dam come so many more, rivers of them streaming down her cheeks and pooling in the fabric of her dress, leaving damp spots and streaks in their wake. ]
Oh, Fitz. [ it's said on a sigh, a hiccup in between choked back cries, and for a moment daisy hears someone else's voice coming out of her mouth. sad, yet grateful; she can only imagine what he feels as her hands grip tightly to his own. ] I don't know if I can.
[ be better than this, that is. how can she be better than the broken person she already is? ]
[ oh, fitz, she says, and he's already maneuvering around the table, awkwardly keeping their hands linked until he can get to her. no hesitation or preamble, when he can press a kiss to her forehead, soft and reassuring (like he'd do for jemma, though that doesn't occur to him now) and wrap his arms around her shoulders, unafraid of closeness, not with her.
the heartache and gratitude wash over him, while he puts considerable effort now into thinking beyond himself, grasping at memories of jemma and coulson and mack and the rest of the team telling him how to go on, that they'll carve a new path together. the recollections help bring calm and warmth to the table, where he might otherwise allow himself to sink into the dark, alongside daisy. ]
[ faintly, ] Well, I don't know if I can, either. [ he thinks of markus, too, unwilling to accept fitz as the guilty party. fitz can be better. he has to be. when he continues, his voice has grown firm. ] But we're not doing it alone, are we? I'm with you. All the way.
[ his lips brush against the crinkles in her forehead, pulling away just as her head lifts up to peek at him. a second earlier on his or later on hers might have met their mouths somewhere altogether different, but as it stands, her face buries into the crook of his neck, his own arms wrapping tight around her shoulders as she does her best to quell the cries that have come forth.
the waiter comes — with the worst timing, with a sharp pang of irritation from fitz flooding through the empathy bond — and goes, murmuring softly in concern about the 'pretty couple'. there's a moment where daisy wonders what fitz told them, what white lie he spun to allow them to have their own wine at dinner tonight, but the thought's gone as quick as it comes. ]
Okay. [ his voice is firm and reassuring, the way hers often is for him, a reminder that brooks no room for argument; in turn, daisy's is soft, a little ragged around the edges, but compliant. ] Okay, okay.
[ a deep breath, hot exhales brushing against the crease of his collar. ]
I'm sorry, I — I don't know — what I'm... crying for. [ stumbling over an apology that's more embarrassing than the actual tears, daisy can't help but wince. ] I just. [ what!!! ] I don't know what I'd do without you, Fitz.
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no subject
it hangs there now, actually — it being jiaying's necklace, its chinese runes now little more than ancient history tucked underneath her clothes, resting in between the swells of her breasts on a long chain as to avoid detection. one day, she might show fitz, but that day is not today.
today, as it turns out, is a day for picking up a glass of posh wine, and for bringing it to her lips for a much-needed sip. alcohol, good alcohol, is a treat. a blissfully mind-numbing treat. one they probably very much need if they're going to get through this dinner. ]
I deserve a lot of things. [ it's not quite self-deprecating, no hint of daisy's usual bitter dark humor. it's just honest, and quiet, and soft. vulnerable. ] I... [ a sigh, fingertips bringing the glass back down, her hands palming out over the tabletop only to clasp back together. fidgeting isn't her normal modus operandi, but neither is genuine honesty either. ] I fucked up a lot, you know. Before here. I abandoned the team, I ran away, I — I pretty much destroyed everything we worked for, all because I was having an identity crisis and wanted to find my mommy.
[ daisy scoffs a little, under her breath. it sounds ridiculous, but it's true. ]
Turns out, she was a murderous, petty bitch, hell bent on destroying the world. Which is where I get it from, I guess.
[ she doesn't want fitz to contradict her. she's not asking for forgiveness or for absolution. this time, she knows. ]
And — I don't know, I thought... I thought here, maybe, it might be different. Not being Quake, not being SHIELD, I might get to figure myself out while we were here. But I just keep doing the same shit, and I keep hurting you ... and Katelin, and everybody else too.
[ so. ]
So I probably do deserve it, you know? And maybe that's okay.
no subject
[ he said some nasty things when she left, stands by them, too, but she doesn't deserve the same judgment now. he reaches out, covering her hands on the table with one of his own, thumb brushing over her skin, an intentional push at the empathy bond. it conveys a swell of something more than the usual earnest fondness and admiration for one daisy johnson. ]
You are a good person. [ he really believes it, too, the sincerity and passion radiates from their point of connection in waves. ] With your parents, without your parents, that's on you 'cause you've proved you were a hero time and again. You exposed Ward, you found and trained people like you, [ the caterpillars. their sweet inhumans. ] you fought to drag us all out of the Framework. [ his voice cracks. ] And even if you don't feel up to it now, you have to choose to be that way, anyway. [ he believes this world needs SHIELD. their touch sharpens, his feelings resolute. ] So, it's not okay.
[ a rare concession: it's not okay for either of them to wallow in this, to give in to their lesser impulses when people are suffering and disappearing and flung far from home. ]
We have to be better than this.
no subject
but when fitz's thumb brushes against the back of her hand, and the tidal wave of their connection threatens to capsize her, daisy very nearly does. it's an overwhelming swell of emotion — all of fitz's own hope and trust and care, buoying her up even as moisture pricks at her lashline, solitary drops of saltwater threatening to spill down onto the apples of her cheeks held at bay by the gentle smile she gives him in thanks.
and then, just when she thinks she might soldier through it, comes five words: you are a good person, said as simply as his own name, a truth that requires no thought behind it. the lump in her throat swells, and daisy chokes on it; the jostling shakes loose the tears lingering at the corners of her eyes, and then from the broken dam come so many more, rivers of them streaming down her cheeks and pooling in the fabric of her dress, leaving damp spots and streaks in their wake. ]
Oh, Fitz. [ it's said on a sigh, a hiccup in between choked back cries, and for a moment daisy hears someone else's voice coming out of her mouth. sad, yet grateful; she can only imagine what he feels as her hands grip tightly to his own. ] I don't know if I can.
[ be better than this, that is. how can she be better than the broken person she already is? ]
no subject
the heartache and gratitude wash over him, while he puts considerable effort now into thinking beyond himself, grasping at memories of jemma and coulson and mack and the rest of the team telling him how to go on, that they'll carve a new path together. the recollections help bring calm and warmth to the table, where he might otherwise allow himself to sink into the dark, alongside daisy. ]
[ faintly, ] Well, I don't know if I can, either. [ he thinks of markus, too, unwilling to accept fitz as the guilty party. fitz can be better. he has to be. when he continues, his voice has grown firm. ] But we're not doing it alone, are we? I'm with you. All the way.
no subject
the waiter comes — with the worst timing, with a sharp pang of irritation from fitz flooding through the empathy bond — and goes, murmuring softly in concern about the 'pretty couple'. there's a moment where daisy wonders what fitz told them, what white lie he spun to allow them to have their own wine at dinner tonight, but the thought's gone as quick as it comes. ]
Okay. [ his voice is firm and reassuring, the way hers often is for him, a reminder that brooks no room for argument; in turn, daisy's is soft, a little ragged around the edges, but compliant. ] Okay, okay.
[ a deep breath, hot exhales brushing against the crease of his collar. ]
I'm sorry, I — I don't know — what I'm... crying for. [ stumbling over an apology that's more embarrassing than the actual tears, daisy can't help but wince. ] I just. [ what!!! ] I don't know what I'd do without you, Fitz.