[ 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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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? ]
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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.