#daisyjohnsonfic

[shirilily]

we were in screaming color

A collection of drabbles for Pride 2020

Ch. 8:  4 times Sye corrects someone on the team when they misgender her and one time she doesn’t need to (nb!Skye, S1)

[theclaravoyant]

for the drabble challenge, 80. "Let's run away together" + ship of your choice?

thanks for the prompt!

i had some static quake feels to get out in this one, but in a slight copout/fresh take on the ship of your choice suggestion, you’re welcome to apply it to any of your fave daisy ships because i just want her to be happy

enjoy

for @aosficnet2‘s True Drabble Challenge (100wd). Prompt me?

-

The night is quiet, but for Daisy it sings. She can hear not only the crickets, but the swaying of the trees and somewhere, a river; not only her own heart but his, and the flow of air in their lungs and blood through their veins. Alive. Together. If she tries, maybe she could even hear the stars above them. It feels like infinite possibility.

“Let’s run away together.”

She expects him to laugh it off and surrender to the golden light that will soon engulf their precious night. Instead, he takes her hand and squeezes.

“Just tell me where.”

[aosficnet2]

Attention AOS Fandom: Fic Exchange Alert!

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[theclaravoyant]

messy ~ an autistic!skye fic

AN ~ So the dawn of time ago, I got a handful of prompts for autistic!Daisy including one more specific one where Skye has a meltdown when everybody gets mad at her about Miles. A lot has happened with my life and writing since that prompt, but tonight I finally came back to it and realised where I had stumped myself before. I’m so happy to finally untie this knot! So, without further ado, autistic!Skye ft S1 Bus Family, especially the Bus Kids (and yes, there’s found family feels) (but they’re fluffy feels I swear)

Read on AO3

messy

“I told you! I already told you, I didn’t think it would- !”

Something should have seemed off then, when Skye apparently decided to bite her own tongue and fall silent right in the middle of an argument – nay, a fight. Of course, in those few seconds it seemed obvious why she’d done it: there was no way she was going to win against the entire rest of the team, especially when even she herself wasn’t really on her own side. She knew what she had done was wrong, was dangerous, but what she was doing with Shield felt just as wrong, just as dangerous, sometimes. It was all messed up in her head, and now she was beginning to realise that it had become all messed up in her heart as well, and it didn’t seem worth questioning, that she would fall silent in the face of inevitable defeat, with an added dimension of self-exploration.

It was not worth questioning – in fact, the tension was so thick that everyone was actively avoiding questioning it – until they were sitting in the car on the way back to the Bus, and more and more things started to seem off.

Skye didn’t smile at FitzSimmons’ bickering. She didn’t help, or complain, when all their equipment was shoved all over her, she just let it happen as if she didn’t even realise she was in its way. She didn’t ask about music, or bury her head in the nearest device. She didn’t even look at the window. She stared straight ahead, at the back of May’s seat, and if somebody looked closely they might notice her shoulders shaking. Her arms shaking. Her fingers shaking. Her lips shaking.

In a way, Skye knew all this was happening. It had happened before – not for a long time, but it had. She’d forgotten how to hide it properly, she’d caught it too late, and now she was trapped. Trapped in more ways than one. Words felt sharp and stuck in her throat and it felt like she was choking, even when she gave up trying to speak them. Everyone’s anger was so loud, it felt like all the air in the car was shaking with it. Every little jingle of a zip or clearing of a throat, it all clambered on top of each other until there was no air anymore, there was only noise, and all Skye could do was tap on her own arm and remind herself that it would not be long until she could lock herself back in her room on the Bus until all the other sounds went away.

(A little voice in her head began to hiss: They already don’t want you. How much worse could it be? She tapped and tapped, but it only got worse. She’d forgotten how the song went. Had she ever even known at all?)

Then Simmons tapped her on the shoulder, and she almost felt like screaming. Couldn’t they just leave her alone? Hadn’t she already said she was sorry?

“Skye?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

Even their caring was loud. Skye felt tears well in her eyes. She couldn’t do this. What kind of spy was she? Well, she wasn’t one, and that was the whole point wasn’t it? That’s what had led her here to begin with? Failing the people she- Well, these people. Betraying them, actually. Oh, wow. She really did not need this. And the caring. And the cracking open of a bottle of water. Skye gritted her teeth and swallowed, glad that May’s door controlled the locks in this car so she couldn’t throw the door open on impulse. Objectively, she knew, that would be bad, but the sensory overload was worse – well, almost. So she kept tapping, and turned away from Simmons. Maybe they would just figure that she was upset and leave her be. Tapping, tapping. It wouldn’t be much longer.

Simmons, of course, was very good at noticing things, and had never been particularly good at leaving things be. It certainly didn’t help matters that – though in fairness, through not much choice of her own - she was pressed right against Skye’s leg in the confines of the car. She could feel the shaking. The silence in the car was deadly, and people were still annoyed, and Simmons was not all that used to speaking when people were silent and annoyed, but somebody had to, right? It seemed to be what Skye would have done. So Simmons tapped her gently.

“Skye? Are you okay?”

Skye made an uncomfortable sort of motion, almost a shrug, but one that looked like she had never shrugged before in her life. She turned to the window with a slow sort of awkwardness, like she was acting and had forgotten how. Staring out the window, her fingers were moving, tapping back and forth on her own arm, and on the side of the car door, with an incessant, spidery, anxious rhythm, and near-silent, using the pads of her fingers like she was trying to remember some sort of song.

Fitz leaned forward in his seat, and frowned. He’d seen Skye upset before, but not like this. Miserable Skye wasn’t nearly so restless. Worried Skye wasn’t usually so quiet. It made his skin crawl. He could only imagine what it must be like to be inside her head right now. What could possibly have been going on?

He shared a worried glace with Simmons, and then they both looked up into the rear view mirror. May was still paying attention to the road, thank goodness – though she’d never admit that her hands were tighter on the wheel than they otherwise might have been. Coulson looked up and then back at them with concern, even distress, in his expression.

“What is it?” he asked. “Is she sick? Skye, have you eaten today?”

“I think she’s having some sort of seizure,” Fitz put in.

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Simmons corrected. “She was responsive. Sort of. I think she can hear us, she just… can’t ask for help.”

“What?” Coulson demanded, shifting in his seat, discomfited by the idea that he didn’t know what was going on, and apparently couldn’t do anything about it. “What do you mean, she can’t ask for help? Is it- is it an anxiety attack or something?”

“Well, I wouldn’t blame her,” Fitz muttered, “you were saying some pretty harsh things back there.”

“And you weren’t?”

“Hey, we all said things we didn’t mean, okay, and I’m sure Skye-“

“I’m sure Skye doesn’t need us to speak for her when she’s sitting right here-“

“Well clearly somebody should since she’s gone nonverb- wait. She’s gone nonverbal? Like, nonverbal nonverbal?“

“I think so to.”

Understanding flashed between Fitz and Simmons like electricity in the air. All of a sudden, bags and crates were passed back and forth with purpose as Fitz wrestled noise-cancelling headphones from one of them and his phone from another. Simmons dug around in the packs as well, but she couldn’t find something that fit what she was after quite right.

“What do you need?” May asked. “Should I pull over?”

“Buttons, buttons,” Simmons muttered, gesturing a pressing motion. “She’s doing this sort of, tapping thing. Probably more satisfying with something to push. Like, a calculator, or…”

“This do?”

Coulson held out his car keys. Since Lola was somewhere far away, he had no need of them, and judging by the way Simmons’ eyes lit up, they might just be helpful after all.

“Skye?” Simmons checked with her again, tapping her on the shoulder so that she could be more sure that she was being addressed. “It’s okay. You don’t have to speak. Fitz has something for you, you should put these on. They’re very good. They'll make it quiet.”

She gestured a sort of padding motion with her hands. Skye still looked a little dazed, but if nothing else, she recognised the headphones being held out to her and she didn’t fight it when Fitz reached forward hesitantly to put them on. Instantly, the world was muted. The rushing of the wind past the car, and the wheels on the road beneath her. The jingle of buckles and rattling of breath. All of it faded beneath the sound of her own blood in her ears. It was odd, but soothing. Skye let out a breath.

(The others did too. It had been a long, stressful day and it was nice to take a moment and rally around one of their own. And she was, one of their own, in spite of everything. They took a moment, each to themselves, to reflect on that somehow unsurprising truth.)

Fitz lifted his phone and waved the end of the aux cord.

“Do you want music?” he offered. She frowned, trying to read the shape of his lips. It really was quiet in here; she could only catch the slightest murmur of sound even though, from the shape of his mouth, he was deliberately trying to be loud. “Or can be silent. Music? No music? You know what, here, you pick.”

He plugged the phone in and passed it to her, and she realised what he must have been saying as he left a song paused beneath her fingers. You pick. Huh.

Another tapping on her shoulder. Skye looked toward it, and saw Simmons offer forth a set of car keys. She gestured the clicking motion with them, and passed them to Skye, and it felt a little silly but Skye couldn’t help but smile as she mimicked her. The tapping certainly felt a lot less neurotic this way, where she couldn’t twice feel it on her own skin. Plus, the clicking sensation was oddly satisfying. She did it again, and again, and she had to laugh at herself.

“Simmons, you’re a genius,” she said. “But I guess you already knew that.”

Skye was pretty sure they’d laughed, but she wasn’t quite settled enough to check that yet. The sounds had quietened down, but the anxiety spiral was still going strong. She’d had a lot of these on the way back to the orphanage, and she’d been really looking forward to putting them behind her. Still, at least the view outside looked a lot nicer now that she wasn’t half mad with desire to claw through the glass and get out to it. She didn’t mind the silence, but maybe, she could drown out some of the anxiety too if she tried listening to a song. She could always pause it later if she changed her mind, right?

She pressed play, and this time, it wasn’t herself she laughed at.

“ABBA?” she teased, smirking at Fitz.

“Oi, I was trying to find something you might like.” His indignance was clear, even if his voice was gloriously peacefully muffled.

“Oh, okay sure,” Skye assured him, and as he continued to blather, she added: “For the record, I can’t hear you.”

She could if she wanted to, of course, but she wasn't quite ready to jump back into the wind-whipping reality of the outside world, so instead she pointed at the headphones he had given her, and he rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in exasperation. Simmons stifled a giggle as Skye went back to staring at the view. If she was not mistaken, Fitz would be complaining right about now. Something about how you try to do one nice thing! Jemma would be rolling her eyes at his nonsense and trying to reassure him. May would, just generally, be rolling her eyes. Coulson probably still had his eyes on her in the rear view mirror, Skye mused. He was always looking out for her, that one.

(Somehow, her heart and her head didn’t feel quite so messy anymore.)

[theclaravoyant]

Autistic Skye/Daisy?

Hi Anon, thanks for the prompt! I hope you don’t mind, I combined this with another more specific prompt, and it’s finally been posted here! I hope you like it <3

[shirilily]

47. “Dogs don’t wear clothes!”

This pairing is not my forte, you know, but I hope you can enjoy nonetheless!

{Warning for language}

In her defense, she was having a pretty crappy day before this asshole decided that it was okay to park this old piece of junk he probably calls ‘baby’ on her spot.

Now, she knows she doesn’t have any legal right to that spot. She knows. But it is the perfect parking place on all her block- close enough to her building, but away enough from the trees so birds won’t crap on it too much, and away from the corner teens use to hang out-, and in the last six months since she moved here, she has not found it occupied once.

Until today.

She parks behind it a little viciously, and if she touches the rear bumper of the other car a little more than it is strictly necessary, well, who can’t blame her, right?

“Hey! That’s my car!”

She comes down of the car stomping and screaming, and okay, she feels like a little child throwing a tantrum, but she did have a fucking awful day, okay?

“And that’s my spot!”

In two seconds flat there is a handsome man all donned in black leather standing in front of her, and somehow the fact that his freckles are so attractive makes her go even madder.

“Street parking is for everyone, you crazy woman!” He kneels to evaluate the damage from up close, and only then- that his face is not distracting her, ahem- Daisy sees the small black dog with a tiny red sweater he is holding under his arm, and she realizes he came out running of the pet store near her building.

“What are you even doing here, hm? Getting new clothes for your dog? Dogs don’t wear clothes, dumbass!” It all comes out of her mouth in a rushed explosion, and after she yells herself hoarse, she feels much better, like she has cleansed the negativity out of her body. Also, a little dumb, because she is yelling at a stranger on the street about his dog’s clothes.

He stands up, his nostrils flaring and looks her up and down in distaste.

“What can you know, chiflada?”

And that way he marches away, the dog still waving under his arm. Daisy exhales and takes a minute to fully calm herself down with her back against the door of her card. This was it, disaster averted.

Until, of course, she notices him entering her apartment building.

Well, fuck.

[theclaravoyant]

from the ashes [platonic fitzdaisy, S1/2]

AN ~ Not for any Bingos, but for a very patient Anon who asked for “Daisy being there for Fitz after Jemma left in S1/2″. I hope you like it!

Angst/Hurt/Comfort. platonic FitzDaisy, with background Bus Kids/FS as was canon compatible at that time. Rated G.

Read on AO3 (~2000wd)

from the ashes

Skye was busy a lot these days: May was a tough S.O., and there was a lot to be done in the wake of the fall of Shield, with hundreds if not thousands of agents in the wind who had to be tracked down, identified, and protected or blacklisted depending on which way they had turned. She had been plunged into the thick of it, but at least now she had the confidence of Coulson, May and the team on her side. Other team members were not faring so well, and especially not Fitz.

When Skye had first found out what had happened, who had done it, she was just about sick with rage. Her instinct had been to barrel after Ward, if not physically, then online. Expose him. Send the full forces of Shield to hunt him down. But there were more important things for them all to be doing and surely one of those things was helping Fitz. He had not died, after all; simply had the life he’d known blown to shrapnel. The problem with that was, though, that nobody knew how to pick up the pieces. Not Fitz himself, certainly not Skye, and not even poor Jemma, who poured her heart and soul into trying to help him and found herself running up against brick wall after brick wall after brick wall. Everything she tried to do seemed to hurt or stress or betray him, and he was so frustrated with everything, including himself, that even if he could figure out how to do it better, he couldn’t articulate it to her. Skye could never have imagined them becoming so broken, and even when they did, she couldn’t imagine Jemma leaving.

Then Jemma did.

This had shattered what was left of Fitz. His life, his friends, his confidence in himself. All of it was awash in a mad storm and Skye knew all too well what it was like to be abandoned by somebody she was sure had loved her, in one way or another. She knew all to well what Fitz must be feeling: after all, Jemma had never given either of them a reason for leaving, had never even said goodbye. Skye had thought – and so had Fitz apparently – that she had just been headed off on a visit home, but then she’d dropped off the radar. Just like that. Fitz had torn himself up over it for weeks, and had come to the conclusion that she had given up on him, or been repulsed, or been scared off: that, for whatever reason, she had abandoned him. Skye had tried and tried to promise him that was not the case, but she couldn’t give him an alternative. If she were being honest, she was feeling quite abandoned too.

Unfortunately, this didn’t really help her reach out to Fitz as much as she might like. He was feeling lower than he’d ever felt, and he was bitter and angry and horrifically depressed and honestly, Skye was worried about him, but if Jemma couldn’t help him, how could she? And it didn’t help that he struggled to communicate back, too. He was different to how he was before, and it unnerved Skye – it unnerved all of them – and though she was more ashamed by the minute to admit it, she knew the team was starting to abandon him too. They ignored him when he got upset, instead of trying to figure out why. They didn’t stop the lab techs from gossiping, or from avoiding Fitz in the hallways. They even started to avoid him themselves. It was cowardly, Skye knew, but what else was there to do? She was busy, she told herself. She was just too busy.

But she loved her friend, and it hurt to see him, hear him, feel him in pain. She just needed a push in the right direction, to help her passion overcome her hesitation, and today was the day she received that push, in the form of a crashing sound. It could have been a mistake, she thought, but then it was followed by another, and a howl of anger and despair.

It was coming from Fitz’s room, of all places, and Skye’s first thought was that he must be in danger so she ran up to his door with her heart in her throat. The smashes and thuds continued in a fairly regular pattern, with the occasional cursing and muttering and wordless screeches in between. Then there was a break. Perhaps he’d run out of things to throw around, but he seemed to be breathing heavily. Running out of momentum? Skye took a deep breath. It was now or never.

She keyed in his code and the door slid open.

Fitz turned to her and for a brief, brief moment she saw his body light up as if he thought that maybe, just maybe, it was Jemma coming home. When he saw that it was Skye, he froze up. There were books and clothes and sheets and instruments and souvenirs scattered about the place, some more broken than others, and he standing amongst it all. Helpless. Distressed. He held a plastic model Tardis in one hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers around it as if waiting for the fury and pain to bubble back up and inspire him to throw it to the ground, but it did not. It hovered below the surface, quelled by that brief moment of hope that all was not lost, and by the fact that Skye hadn’t turned and left him yet.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” Skye offered. “You don’t want to break that, Fitz. Maybe put it down?”

Fitz clenched his fist again, until he could feel the plastic straining against his fingers. Surely nothing would be such a satisfying cure to the tension beneath his skin, than to throw it into his dresser mirror, or similar. It probably wouldn’t break though, and his arm didn’t want to move anyway. Tension was turning to tears, overwhelmed by confusion and frustration and shame.

“It’s okay, Fitz, I’m not going to take it off you,” Skye assured him. “I just… I understand. I understand why you’re so hurt so angry, but this isn’t how you want to deal with it. I promise.”

He nodded. She waited a beat and asked,

“Can I come in?”

Fitz retreated and sat on the side of his bed. Skye stepped through the carnage to join him, and he realised as a bitter taste settled on his tongue, that she was right. Littered across the floor were Academy shirts and jackets and books he and Jemma had once studied together. A little carved monkey on a keychain, a gift she’d bought him from their first trip to the Central Park Zoo. An old copy of the Hobbit, with some of its pages scattered – it hadn’t been faring well before this onslaught, when Jemma had read it to Fitz at his bedside. Seeing it finally broken brought tears to his eyes, and all he could think of was how much Jemma loved that book. What had he done?

Skye inhaled slowly, heavily, as she took in the wreckage of the room. Beside her, Fitz whimpered with regret and heartache and Skye began to feel herself fill with the same. She’d been doing quite well with denying how much she missed Jemma, by hiding in the betrayal of it all just as well as Fitz did sometimes, but the loose ends still stung sometimes. Especially since she’d hoped to be putting those days behind her – which was part of the reason she had come in here. She took Fitz’s hand, the one not still half-heartedly clinging to the Tardis, and intertwined his fingers with hers. She leaned into him, until the warmth and pressure soothed them both.

“I don’t mean, like, you shouldn’t be angry,” she clarified solemnly. “I’m angry too, I get it. I know you loved her a lot and sometimes it feels like it was all some big joke and none of this is worth it anymore, right? It’s just- I’ve been there, and I wish somebody had stopped me.”

“…From what?” Fitz asked, after a moment.

Skye drew a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. More came to take their place, but apparently it was going to be that kind of a moment, so she let them be this time.

“You know how I was… I was in the foster system when I was a kid. Some of the homes, they sucked, but some of them were great. They were really great. But even the great ones kicked me out. Sent me back. I mean, now I know it was Shield making them do it, to keep me safe or whatever, but it still- it still hurt, you know?” She sniffed again, suddenly feeling acutely like that little girl all over again. She squeezed Fitz’s hand and pushed on. It had been so long since she’d thought about this, and felt it all, that now she couldn’t stop.

“One family, they bought me this camera,” she recalled. “Oh, it was beautiful. Way fancier than I knew anything about, so I spent weeks reading the manual and watching these tutorial things, learning everything I could about it. Taking pictures of literally everything. We went on a camping trip, me and them and their son and daughter, and I documented it all on this camera and I was going to scrapbook it and everything. I finally thought I was part of something. But of course…”

“They sent you back.”

“Yeah.” Skye blinked. Closed her eyes for a moment, lost in the bittersweet memory of her last few moments of peace at that house. “As soon as we got home. I didn’t even get to unpack.

“So of course I was furious, and I smashed the camera and ripped the manual all up and everything and it wasn’t until way later, after I’d run away and was living alone in my van feeling sorry for myself one night, that I realised… I’d destroyed everything I had of the people that had loved me. That had taken me into their home, their family. I could have done photography for money, I could have even sold the parts, but that’s not what I missed. It was the photos. It was the whole thing, what it meant. It was gone. Forever. All because I’d been a bit too angry for a few too many seconds.

“I just- I didn’t want that to happen with you and Simmons. That’s all.”

She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes, and glanced at Fitz’s other hand – the one around the Tardis. He lifted it from his lap, and put the Tardis down on the bed-sheets beside him, safely away from impulsive hands. In silence, Fitz took a few moments to let Skye’s story sink in, and then squeezed her hand.

“Thank you,” he said. “I think- I think you’re right.”

“I hope I’m right,” Skye added.

“Me too.”

For a few more seconds, they sat in silence together, and then Fitz slid off the bed to the floor and began cleaning up the mess. As he cradled his precious copy of The Hobbit and tried to slip its fallen pages back into place, he had to wonder if – and if so, how – it might ever be the same again. Maybe it wouldn’t, he realised, but at least now, he had Skye kneeling beside him to help pick up the pieces. Perhaps this didn’t need to feel quite so much like an ending after all.

[theclaravoyant]

Daisy coming out to May fic?

AN ~ This fic does not meet any Bingo squares BUT it does fill a prompt for @marvelthismarvelthat who gave me the idea quite a while ago in a different ask, as well as requests from two Anons (or one super enthusiastic one!). I’m also going to mention @loved-the-stars-too-fondly who expressed some interest in this idea :D Enjoy!

I am still accepting prompts (platonic and otherwise), but will be prioritising those that help with my bingo squares.

This one works as a part II/sister ficlet to Ch.33 of my Platonic AOS collection, in which Daisy comes out to Coulson, but it can stand alone. All you need to really know is, Daisy crashed with a ladyfriend during her vigilante days, and now that she’s back at Shield she wants to make sure Hayley gets home safe.

Rated T. Hurt/comfort, mild angst with a happy ending. May & Daisy, with discussion of Daisy/OFC and hints of potential Daisy/Piper.

Read on AO3 (~1100wd)

Daisy hovered in the passageway by the hanger, flipping her phone anxiously s she paced. She’d technically said goodbye to Hayley this morning, but part of her still wanted to run over and grab her. Give her one last kiss. Then again, another part of her wanted to run away into the mountains and never be seen or heard from again, and yet another at wanted to induct Hayley into Shield and kick ass across the world together, so what did she know?

She knew that Hayley couldn’t stay, and this she repeated to herself firmly to drown out the daydreams. She knew that this was the right thing to do, and the safest. She’d already made up her mind on that – especially since she knew May had been put in charge of Hayley’s escort. Or so she’d thought.

Despite her mantras, a renewed sense of uncertainty coursed through Daisy’s veins as she watched May farewell the driver of the big black SUV, tap the window, and walk away. Resisting the urge to bounce on her feet, and struggling to modulate her voice as it strained with fear and anger, Daisy queried:

“You’re not going?”

“No,” May told her simply, turning to stand beside Daisy so that they could both watch as the hangar doors slowly opened. She could already anticipate the words about to leap out of Daisy’s throat, and pre-emptively cut them off.

“I’m the Assistant Director, Daisy,” she pointed out. “Shield doesn’t run itself.”

“So, what, you send my girlfriend off with Agent Number Five?”

“He’s Number 7-5, actually,” May corrected, “and you don’t need to worry. Davis is a good agent, and a sensitive man. He’ll make sure Hayley gets home safe. He’s already given her chocolate and tissues in the car.”

Daisy hung her head, listlessly turning her phone as the fire evaporated from her veins. Behind that lock screen was her last conversation with Hayley; she’d been meaning to delete it all day. And it was in that moment Daisy was forced to own up to the source of her explosiveness, her anger, even her fear. She was feeling like a coward, and taking it out on someone else.

“’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to get snappy before, I’m sure Davis is a good guy, I just want the best for Hayley. If anything happened to her…”

“I understand,” May promised.

“No, but I mean like-“

“I understand, Daisy,” May repeated, turning to face her at last. “Not least because you yelled it just now. You and Hayley were together, you felt safe, maybe even a little in love. You feel like, if nothing else, you owe it to her to keep her safe – even if that means making her leave. I understand that.”

Her eyes were heavy with ghosts and Daisy had a strong and sudden feeling she was talking about Andrew. There were still so many layers there that she had never unpacked, but what she did recognise was the pain of driving people away for fear of hurting them. She wondered if May regretted it. But if she regretted it, why was she letting Daisy do the exact same thing now? Was it the same, or was she just projecting? Or was May the one who was projecting? Did it even matter? After all, the deed was done. The car was gone. There was nothing and nobody there but May and Daisy and the moment of vulnerability they’d suddenly found themselves standing in.

Daisy swallowed hard.

“And- and the other part?” she ventured. “The part where… she’s a her?”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I- I kind of want to, if that’s okay?”

May’s expression softened, the pain fading from her eyes. She gestured down the hall, and offered: “Come to my office, we’ll have a drink. You can tell me as much or as little as you want.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Daisy agreed. She could use a drink, or two, or five, today. And as her feet began walking without needing direction toward May’s office, Daisy found that it was easier, much more of a relief than usual, to offload the weight of coming out from her chest.

“I’m bisexual,” she began. “I’ve known since I was, I dunno, probably twelve…”

She skipped through her life, picking and choosing moments that she hadn’t reflected on much before. With many more boyfriends than girlfriends, it had stopped coming up recently, but as she talked she reflected on more and more of the good times with Hayley. Not just the safety but the fun, and the love. Sharing ice-cream. Visiting the beach. Running for cover in the rain. Those were memories she could always cherish, not just the messy, heartbreaking, cowardly end. Maybe she’d never truly know in the end if she did the right thing, but that wasn’t exactly the same as having regrets: a bittersweet revelation, but one that left her smiling as she drained the last of her scotch.

This brought Daisy back to reality; to the fact that May, who didn’t particularly enjoy a lot of talking at the best of times, had sat through a winding and rambling highlight reel of her life story; and to the fact that she had almost definitely taken up enough of the Assistant Director of Shield’s valuable time. Daisy stood and cleared her throat, looking for a place to put her glass. May held out a hand to take it.

“Are you sure you’re ready to go?” she offered.

“Yeah,” Daisy assured her. “I’m fine. It was good to talk though. Thanks for listening.”

“Thank you for sharing,” May replied. “I won’t tell anybody, of course.”

“’s okay,” Daisy said with a shrug. “It’s not really a secret for me, and all the important people know now anyway.”

May nodded, and a smile touched Daisy’s lips. She waited for May to take a seat at the large oak desk in case there was something else, but it was not until just before she turned to leave, that May had one more thing to add.

“You asked me what I think about you loving girls,” she reminded Daisy, calling her back from moving toward the door. “Not that it matters, but what I have to say to that is, that I think you should meet Agent Piper, from Davis’ unit. It sounds to me like the two of you might have something to talk about.”

“Oh?” Daisy raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is that?”

“It means talk to her yourself, and figure it out.”

May gestured smugly to the door. Daisy scoffed, and rolled her eyes with a reluctant smile, and considered herself dismissed.