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When a Pop-Tart drops - somewhat disturbingly - from the heavens directly into her grasp, Daisy guesses she’d better take out at least one earbud and clue into her surroundings. Life between this moment and three weeks ago - when they’d all reset the world - has passed in relatively uninterrupted quiet. So - by her calculations - they’re about twelve hours from their next fiasco, regardless of Enoch’s advice about cherishing endings and accepting change.
She glances around her bunk, though, and the boxes she’s started to stuff with her possessions - she might not be ready to claim an actual address that she can distribute, but the Fitz-Simmons clan’s saying sayonara on Wednesday and this seems to have prompted the remainder of the team to consult their internal clocks or whatever, and she’s not planning on getting side-swiped by the inevitable - haven’t begun to move by themselves, and she’s not being fed by a protective poltergeist.
“Alya’s oatmeal looked sort of suspect - ” Daniel explains, tracing his fingers through Daisy’s hair before occupying his customary spot near her on her mattress “ - but I figured you’d still need to eat. Brown sugar, right?”
“Yep. You’re amazing!” Returning to her mission for the morning, Daisy munches at the pastry - corners first - with her gaze glued to the screen in front of her.
“Care to share what’s added twenty minutes to your ‘Be out in five’?”
Daisy pushes her project closer for him to inspect.
Daniel’s forehead functions as a kick-ass mood ring, lie detector, and billboard. It’s like that trick with trees? Only instead of counting his wrinkly lines to determine his age, she puts them together to see how strongly he’s experiencing confusion, anguish, or annoyance. Honestly? Some days she can’t fathom how he’d managed to climb as high up the clandestine portion of the federal ladder as he had; his incredibly open and adorably dorky face betrays him with freaking ridiculous regularity. Or, maybe, she’s mastered the art of reading him more thoroughly than the average person - an idea that both flusters and astonishes her.
Currently, the skin above Daniel’s eyebrows pretty much disappears under a multitude of ridges. “I know this is a website, I recognize the agency, and that’s my name?” He points, finding solace in the familiar letters. “The rest? No clue.”
“Some trivia?” Sliding her laptop back to her, Daniel focuses on Daisy’s features - because those he understands, her mind teases infuriatingly. “Quaking is one of my special skills.” He watches her, patiently anticipating the update she’s about to throw at him. “The other? Bending the internet - and its information - to my will.”
Daisy’s reveal enlightens Daniel zero percent. She opts for a step-by-step approach. “Um. You died in 1955, right? But - obviously and very fortunately for me, for an endless variety of reasons - you’re not dead, you know?” When Daniel nods, to contextualize the extent of her gratitude at his continued presence, Daisy pivots, planting her palms against his chest and kissing him. When they eventually come up for air, they’ve lost a little time. “I don’t know about you, but I want to be able to go out in public and repeat that a bunch. Plus, you deserve to rent an apartment, apply for gainful employment, and pass a background check. So?” She embraces his shoulders, excited. “Welcome to the 21st century, sir!”
“You’re – ”
“Creating a new identity for you. I’m just, like, descending you from yourself, though, so your brain? I’m shooting for soft serve - not soup - consistency.” When Daisy goes to gauge Daniel’s stability, she notices his crinkles cropping up; she lingers over them, hoping that they’ll flatten for her. “You worry too much, Dan my man.” Popping her lips against his cheek playfully, she attempts to save him from boarding the migraine train. “Here, have a distraction. What should your middle initial stand for now?”
“My best pal in the Scouts was Jeremy. That could work?”
“Oh, also Griffin from Party of Five was brought into fictional being fairly excellently by a Jeremy. Yes, a winner!” When Daniel aims a seriously befuddled frown at her, Daisy squeezes his knee reassuringly. “It’s TV, I’ll orient you, you’ll be fine.” Clicking to bring up an extra tab, her offer to let him type in his choice overlaps with an upbeat guitar riff and everybody wants to live...
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Its crew having finished the diplomatic dispatch that concludes their galactic gallivant - weirdly, exactly a year after they’d launched - Zephyr Three crashes concussively into a patch of Scottish grass. In doing so, the imposing spacecraft: a) narrowly avoids a neatly-arranged square of carrots; b) miraculously spares a collection of daisies that borders the edges of a pleasant front stoop; and c) splits the serene silence of what could have been a picturesque pre-dawn pastoral scene.
“Please tell me I didn’t Donnie Darko my best friend and her family?” Daisy breathes shallowly, clenching her fists in an effort to suppress a follow-up display of her seismic prowess with future painful ripples.
Daniel evaluates the damage. “Their landscaping definitely took a hit and - courtesy of our godawful racket - the residents two towns over will probably be alerting Interpol to an imminent incursion. But no - ” he helps her out of the captain’s chair, supporting the majority of her weight “ - no casualties apart from a decent chunk of foliage. Given the forces you’re fighting? Impressive as hell.” His smile shrivels as he catches Daisy grabbing her abdomen. He braces himself, fortifying his stance so he can solidly steady her. “We’ve got incoming!” he warns Kora in the last second before the ground rumbles and the walls waver.
Once Daisy’s ridden out her most recent wave - and shattered all of the glass and plastic coverings on the nav system’s components - she wilts.
“Hey, hey. No fading before the finale, Daise,” Daniel whispers into her ear, lifting her and signaling Kora to lower Z3’s entrance ramp.
Jemma, Fitz, and Alya connect with them where metal transitions to lawn. Alya’s ‘Did Aunt Daisy hurt herself in space again?’ might as well be jamming its way through, like, forty pillows and an ocean, but at least Daisy can hear her.
“This was always meant to happen, sweetie,” Jemma reminds, her mom voice at its brightest. “She’s just a teeny bit earlier - on the calendar and the clock - than Mummy was expecting.”
“Yeah, this little lady’s going for rebel status as soon as she can.” When Daniel’s shirt swallows her apology, Daisy shifts. Her improved view sets her head swimming, but allows for an unbiased assessment of her impromptu demolition. “And my fiancé’s a dirty liar. ‘Decent chunk of foliage’ my a - ” Daisy recalls her niece’s proximity “ - stounding surprise! That’s, like, half your yard!”
“We’ll get everything sorted!” Jemma has such a distinct lack of trouble dismissing her appalled alarm that Daisy spins through the million kid-related crises with which her friend must have dealt to render this situation normal. “Fitz has been angling to expand this and upgrade that for a while. All he required - per my instructions - was a legitimate necessity. Which you, my darlings - ” she grins, touching Daisy’s stomach lightly “ - have kindly provided him. Now - ” Jemma transfers custody of Alya, who waves spastically at Daisy and Daniel when she floats by them, to Kora “ - while I’m absolutely secure in my midwifery capabilities, the interior of the house is much better equipped to handle all eventualities of our endeavor, so perhaps we could hurry this along?”
“Still so strict, geez.” Daisy laughs. Her body senses a surge immediately after Jemma’s order, though, and her teeth grind together in preparation. “Also? You’re completely correct, in case you were wondering. I should never, ever doubt you.”
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Jemma and Fitz outdo themselves in the genius department to guarantee that a remarkable calm characterizes Shea Sousa’s initial encounter with existence.
[Poring over that anatomy analysis that Daisy’d requested she run had led Jemma to a startling discovery. She’d tripped over herself in her haste to get to the lab, reinforcing and recalibrating the schematic parameters for Daisy’s gauntlets to adjust for the increased pressure and strength of her hormones. Tinkering through the night and well into daylight hours, she’d loaded the enhanced gear onto a pet drone of Fitz’s - along with a congratulatory ‘The Force Is Strong With This One!’ onesie.
Fitz had retrofitted a guest room with titanium scaffolding in all essential areas, ensuring that the crumbling that accompanies each of Daisy’s contractions simply showers her and her assistants with a blizzard of plaster instead of pelting the group with huge sections of material and leaving only the frame intact. Then Fitz rapidly vacates, clinging to the pretext of having neglected to cloak the Zephyr.]
“This bitty bean is as perfect as can be!” Jemma passes the baby - cleaned up and having aced her battery of tests - to Daisy, who slots her daughter into a comforting cuddle so easily that it’s already difficult to imagine a world without her.
Alya rushes in unannounced shortly afterward, Kora sprinting and struggling to suck in oxygen as the pair skid to a stop. “I tried, I swear. You’re lucky I kept her busy that long. Muffin, anybody?”
Alya presents a plate piled with a lemon poppyseed pyramid. “I told Kora that birthdays are meant for cake and ice cream, not muffins. But she’s from somewhere strange, I suppose.” Her shrug shouts that she’s very generously choosing to ignore Kora's inadequacy in the matter, but that this sympathy won't become a routine.
“I’m sure she’ll remember for next time, Al,” Daisy laughs. “Right now, though? Somebody’s been asking about you.” Daniel reaches down to hoist Alya onto the bed with them so Daisy can introduce: “Alya - Shea. Shea - Alya.”
“She’s lovely!” Alya’s cheer stays at a low volume, and a small awe-infused finger taps an even smaller nose. “And her name is, too!”
Snapping a photo with his phone - which Daisy’d had to lie about, promising him it'd accidentally been packaged with her typewriter purchase so that he wouldn't obsess over busting it – before Alya can move her hand, Daniel chimes in with, “Well, she’ll need a good one to be as awesome as her buddy Alya, don’t you think?”
Daisy’s heart tumbles around in her chest. “Plus? Because we’re us? Shoving that J in there was clearly mandatory. So - if we’re being technical - this is Shea Jemma Sousa. Soon to be referred to almost exclusively as Shea Jay.” Daniel’s mouth opens like he’s about to contradict her, then shuts when he decides to let her edict slide uncontested. “Trust me!”
A burst of laughter breaks through Jemma’s delighted tears.
Daisy wonders if she’s going to feel like this - insanely and wonderfully wiped - until this adventure of theirs wraps. She thinks that answer's probably a resounding ‘Yes’.
She’s totally okay with that.