"will you sing something for me" + daisyfitz? pretty please :)
AN ~ I was gonna make it all Soft(TM) and comforty but I thought I’d let these nerds have some fun for once :P Of course it still ended up fairly comforty bc that is My Jam and apparently I’ve got roadtrips on the brain but anyway, enjoy!
Rated G. very vaguely set around s2/3
“You’re a good singer,” Fitz remarked, as Daisy got back into the car and offloaded an armful of mints, snack cakes and other roadtrip goodies into his lap. His comment was out of the blue – he doesn’t speak much at all these days – but that wasn’t why Daisy snorts.
“Am not,” she scoffed, rolling a hard candy between her teeth.
“Are too,” Fitz insisted. “I mean, you’re not… in tune or anything-“
“- but it’s good, the singing. I like it.”
A smile touched his lips when Daisy blushed. Sometimes he forgets how unaccustomed she is to praise.
“It’s fun,” he continued. “It really makes the music feel… alive.”
“Well... that’s good,” she agreed, if a little abashedly. “You can join me, you know.”
Fitz shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m not very good at singing, ‘specially not, you know-“
“Never stopped me.” With a grin, Daisy dialed the volume of the music back up and flicked to the next song.
Fitz nearly jumped out of his chair and Daisy cackled with laughter.
“Sorry!” she squeaked. “Still on my workout playlist. But don’t you worry. I have a couple songs I’m sure you’ll know. Henry, play The Fitz Mix.”
Grinning to herself, Daisy started the car. Fitz listened curiously, watching her mischievous expression for clues. A familiar guitar strum came through the speakers and for a second, he couldn’t place it – and then he could, and groaned.
“Daisy, I’m not sing the- the bloody- the Proclaimers,” he griped, jabbing at the car radio with an accusatory finger. Daisy shook her head, primly, exuding confidence.
“You are,” she insisted. “It’s scientifically impossible not to sing to this song.”
“Sing and I’ll give you a mint?”
“Fine. Guess I’ll sing it by myself then.” She cleared her throat, and joined in, and Fitz crossed his arms tantrum-style and scowled as deeply as he could manage while she mangled the Scottish accent with all her might.
“n AH would WALK five hundred mayals anna AH would walk five hundred more –“
Despite his determination to hate Everyone’s Favourite Scottish Song, Fitz couldn’t help a smile creeping onto his face as Daisy glanced at him every couple of words, calculating just how “fun” and “alive” she could make the music sound before he rolled his eyes and caved.
They called and answered, both of them laughing as they rollicked along with it, and Daisy cheered. As the next verse approached Fitz pretended to exercise his jaw, and then launched into it with an atrocious amount of enthusiasm. Daisy laughed so hard she nearly steered them off the road for a second, but Fitz was incapable of distraction. For all the love-hate relationship he had with this song, he’d sung it in every place he’d ever lived, in every state of inebriation, and with all his deepest and dearest friends – and plenty of others besides. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t good at singing anymore, or that he couldn’t remember the words. His body remembered it, like it had once remembered how to use a screwdriver or the order of the alphabet.
They sung – badly, embarrassingly and carefree – as the car sailed down the open road.
