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It’s not love at first sight.
Or second.
Not even third.
Fuck. She’s pretty sure it’s not love at all.
It’s just a desperate need to feel something—anything that’s not the agonizing pain in her stomach, her heart, every cell of her being each time they run into another wall, another dead end, each time the hope in Simmons’ eyes is overshadowed with defeat, only to be replaced moments later with another wave of desperate determination.
She has seen that look before—when the monolith took Simmons. Fitz had gone through the same cycle of hope, determination, defeat. It had drained him until he seemed like nothing more than an empty shell.
Simmons looks drained, too; dark circles under her eyes, her skin ashen, and yet she remains stoic, strong, unwavering—determined.
Somehow it’s even harder to watch her. At least when Fitz had been looking for Simmons he didn’t have the image of her dead body etched into his brain. He didn’t have the knowledge that not finding her meant losing her twice.
It happens three months into their search. One of their leads takes them to the space goons, and a few punches, kicks, bruises, and bloody noses later, they finally get hold of the cryo chamber.
It seems like victory—until they realize the chamber is empty.
For the first time since they’d taken off to find Fitz, Daisy sees tears in Simmons’ eyes. She doesn’t know what to say, how to comfort her friend.
She wants to scream or ram her fist into a wall. She wants to yell at the universe for being so cruel. She wants to yell at him for getting one of himself killed and the other kidnapped.
In the end, she doesn’t do anything. She gives Simmons some privacy and goes to the infirmary to let Piper check on her injuries.
She sits on the med bed in silence, staring at everything and nothing while Piper cleans the cut above her eye.
“All set,” she hears Piper’s voice through the fog in her mind. Daisy blinks, trying to force her eyes to focus on the other agent.
Piper tosses her gloves in the trash, before placing her hands on her hips, exhaling sharply. “We should have packed some booze for this trip. I sure could use a drink.”
Daisy jumps off the bed, scoffing in amusement. “Yeah, me too.”
She begins to chuckle without knowing why. The sound turns into a wave of laughter, until it morphs into desperate sobs. She hunches forward as her eyes fill with tears. Her trembling hands try to reach up to press against her eye sockets, but she seems too weak to lift them high enough.
And suddenly she feels Piper pulling her closer. She wraps her arms around her colleague’s neck in a desperate hug and cries.
When she finally pulls away after what feels like half an eternity, she sees Piper, blurry in front of her tear-filled eyes. She notices Piper’s concern, her sadness, and guilt.
And that’s when it happens.
Not love at first sight.
Not love at all.
Just the desperate need to feel something—anything that’s good.
That was three months ago.
Nobody else knows. They hide their relationship—their whatever it is.
It seems too cruel to allow themselves to feel, to have companionship, to talk—never about the now, only about the past, about losing Prince, about losing Lincoln, about their earlier missions, about pranks they’d played, but never about the now.
It seems too cruel to have something their friend, their colleague is denied.
They hide it, but they can’t bring themselves to deny themselves what they have. It’s almost as if being together, gluing their hearts back into a whole with whatever they’ve established allows them to stay strong enough for Simmons’ sake, to keep going.
They find him on Valentine’s Day—six months after they had taken off from Earth.
Daisy has never cared for Valentine’s Day, and yet, it seems fitting, it seems fair that they’d be reunited on a day meant to symbolize love.
She looks at her two friends as they cling to each other, holding each other so tightly it seems they’re trying to morph into one body.
Her eyes wander to Piper, standing at the other side of the cargo bay. They smile at each other—a weak, exhausted smile, the smile of a person not quite ready to believe in a happy end.
She knows that’s it. They would head back to Earth, finally go home, and then life would go back to normal.
Still, she finds herself outside Piper’s bunk after everyone else has long gone to bed. And when the door opens, she wraps her arms around Piper’s neck, pressing her body flush against her. She sobs—cries like she cried three months ago when they’d started whatever they’d started.
She cries out of relief and exhaustion, out of fear and pain. She cries for a Fitz they’d lost, one whose actions she wished she could forget, wishes she could forgive. She cries for the Fitz they found and everything he’d missed. She cries because Simmons’ worst nightmare is finally over, because her friend can finally start to heal again. But most of all she cries because she doesn’t want to lose this, doesn’t want to lose her, doesn’t want to lose them.
It wasn’t love at first sight.
Or second.
Not even third.
It was a love that began as a desperate need to feel something—anything.
It was a love that had developed, grown, morphed into something true, and real.
Quietly.
Without anybody noticing.
Not even themselves.
She cups Piper’s face, looks into her warm, brown eyes, and a calmness overcomes her.
“I love you,” she whispers.
One corner of Piper’s mouth ticks up.
It’s the only reply Daisy needs.
It wasn’t love at first sight.
It’s better than that.