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Piper didn’t like Davis at first. He reminded her of boys that used to hit on her in college, their eyes glassed over and cheeks a drunken red. They’d say shit like, “Hey sweetheart,” while Piper’s girlfriend at the time would snort and laugh.
“Doesn’t he know a butch when he sees one?” Piper’s girlfriend would ask, and Piper would shrug. Men saw what they wanted to see.
Except Davis. He saw a steadfast soldier point her gun, and he saw the anxious woman underneath. He didn’t leer—he noticed—and Piper noticed him in return.
i. the Swell
the first physical symptom of love
As a girl, Piper wanted to be an astronaut. She played with toy spacemen and built cardboard rocket forts, using spheres of cheese as steering wheels.
The first time she flew in an airplane, ten years old and almost taller than her mother, Piper rolled her hot wheels over the small window. She liked that they were bigger than the cars.
She pressed her fingers to the glass and looked at the matrix below her, twisting highways and palm-sized pools. She watched them grow as she descended, and felt that she was watching herself shrink.
Davis noticed Piper’s love of windows right away. She’d curl up in the Zephyr’s co-pilot seat with a novel, then peer over its cover to watch the world below them rise and fall. Even when the sun shone in Davis’ eyes, he left the blinds open for her.
Eventually, Piper abandoned her pretense and curled up in the chair without her novel. The first time, Davis told her a story—a saga from his SHIELD Academy days that involved a pink Zippo lighter and his roommate’s genetically-engineered teacup pig. Piper bellowed with laughter, louder and harder than she had in ages, as Davis looked at her in bewilderment.
“What’s so funny?” Davis asked.
“The pig was really on fire?” Piper gasped.
Davis shrugged.
“And your solution was to pour vodka on it?”
“I thought it would put out the fire,” Davis said. “As all liquids should.”
“Not alcohols!”
“Well I know that now!” Davis looked at Piper and grinned. “The pig survived.”
“Imagine my relief.”
Piper’s smile was glued to her face, a near-permanent accessory when Davis was around. She turned to him and watched his eyes crinkle, his slight smirk quirk higher on his lips. She felt affection swell up inside of her, a warm fuzzy feeling like fleece against her skin. Piper laughed, and as she made eye contact with Davis, she realized—the swell of affection was for him.
“I can’t believe you’re gonna be a dad,” Piper said.
Davis smiled. “Me either.”
ii. the Joke
you had to be out there
Space was different. Davis stopped telling stories—was it because he no longer wanted to, or because Piper knew them all? He grew quiet, withdrawn, introspective.
One day, he forgot to lower the Zephyr’s blinds. Piper put her book down and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Davis frowned. His lip trembled.
Piper turned on auto-pilot. “Talk to me,” she said.
Davis looked at her, then back at the Zephyr’s controls. “If I’m counting the days right—”
“Which you probably aren’t.”
“—I think it’s December. Maybe January.”
Piper took a deep breath.
“My son loves Hanukkah,” Davis said. “Pudgy little fingers waving at the candles. I miss him.”
“He misses you too,” Piper said. “And so does Cassandra. You’ll see them again.”
Davis sighed. “Not anytime soon.”
Piper looked behind the cockpit at Daisy and Simmons. Simmons was waving her arms erratically and yelling at Daisy, whose arms were crossed and her expression stern.
“What if we’re gone too long?” Davis asked.
Piper turned around. “What?”
“What if he doesn’t recognize me?”
“Lucky kid,” Piper said, “forgetting your ugly mug.” Then she punched him in the shoulder.
Davis smiled and wiped his tears. Piper handed him a tissue, which Davis accepted. Then he turned off auto-pilot and lowered the blinds.
Piper kissed her first alien that night, on Cema Prime. Daisy and Simmons were chasing a lead while Piper and Davis staked out a dive bar nearby. The alien on Simmons’ radar frequented the spot, and Piper and Davis were meant to ask around about him.
Instead, they got drunk on what was essentially Space Absinthe and challenged two pink-skinned aliens to Gravity Darts, a game involving anti-grav belts and a death wish. The aliens fluttered their eyelashes and laughed, and Piper was loose enough to flirt with any species, as long as they were female. She threw an arm around the alien’s scaly skin and kissed her amber lips, small bumps like those on areolae rubbing Piper’s mouth. They made out in the corner of the bar for seconds or hours or years—Piper later learned that the pink-skinned species secreted time-slowing liquid from the bumps on their lips—and when she resurfaced, Davis wasn’t wearing any clothes.
“I lost at Gravity Darts,” he explained.
Piper shook her head and took off her jacket. She threw it around Davis’ shoulders, then handed him a napkin. “For the manly bits,” she said.
Davis covered his dick with the napkin and thanked her.
When Daisy and Simmons arrived at the bar with their hostage in tow, they each shot Piper a skeptical look.
“What happened to Davis’s clothes?” Simmons asked.
Davis looked forlorn as he said, “Gravity Darts.”
Piper burst out laughing.
“Piper kissed an alien,” Davis said.
“Hey!” Piper said, still laughing. “She was cute.”
“She was pink.”
“So are you, asshole,” Piper returned. Her fingers clutched her stomach as belly-deep laughter ran through her, unstoppable like poison.
Daisy and Simmons looked at each other and shrugged. “Let’s put him in the containment unit,” Daisy said, nodding to the hostage. “Then I could use a drink.”
iii. the Arm
'cause that’s what teamwork is: being there for each other
When Piper was a girl, she would often go on road trips with her family. They’d drive from Piper’s childhood home in Ohio to her grandparents’ farm in Iowa, playing games like ‘I Spy’ and ‘Geography’ while Piper rolled her hot wheels across the minivan’s back seats.
When Piper was old enough to sit in front, she recognized a pattern. Whenever her mother stopped short, she’d throw her arm out and slap Piper in the teeth.
“You’re not my airbag,” Piper would snap, pushing her mom’s hand away.
Davis never got the hang of making U-turns.
“There are no lanes in space,” Piper said, gesturing to the black starscape. “It is literally impossible for you to get anyone killed. Just turn the fucking Zephyr around.”
“You do it then, if it’s so easy,” Davis grumbled. He moved his whole body to the left as he turned the Zephyr, then jerked upright as he straightened it. As if Davis were playing Mario Kart Wii and he couldn’t figure out the damn steering wheel.
“I trained with medical,” Piper said. “If you crash into an asteroid, I’ll sew you back together.”
“Have you read the anesthesia chapter yet?” Davis asked.
Piper smirked. “No.”
“Then I’ll pass,” Davis said. “Let me die in space, and then—woah!”
Davis’s arm slammed into Piper’s neck as the Zephyr took a sudden nose-dive, moving away from a large chunk of rock flying towards them. Piper pushed his arm off of her and buckled herself in.
“Hands on the wheel, asshole!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Davis said, bringing his arm back to the controls. His knuckles were white and his brow was furrowed, eyes darting to the big chunk of rock. “Instinct,” he muttered.
Piper grumbled, then opened her comms. “Sorry about that,” she said to the rest of the team. “Davis was trying to kill us.”
Davis shot her a glare.
“Looks like he changed his mind. We’re safe now. Over.”
“I hate you,” Davis said.
“You love me,” Piper said, flashing Davis a shit-eating grin.
Davis just chuckled. “You’re right,” he said. “I do.”
Piper looked out the side window, turning her face so that her most annoying friend wouldn’t see her growing smile.
iv. The Rush
the strongest sensation of love
Returning to Earth was less like a breath of fresh air and more like a return to abnormality. Space had been predictable, formulaic—all Piper’d had to do was whatever Simmons told her to, and she had done it well. They’d completed their impossible mission—and though Fitz wasn’t exactly safe and sound, at least he was with Simmons again.
With Izel gone and most of the team safely returned, Piper snapped up the rare opportunity to chill. She challenged Davis to go shot-for-shot with her at SHIELD’s celebration party, which lasted until the third shot of whiskey made Davis wobble and groan. Then he collapsed on the couch with Piper beside him, snoring absurdly.
Piper pulled out her favorite snapback—YOU LOOK LIKE I NEED A BEER—and put it on Davis’s head. Then she took out her phone, smiled, and took a selfie with him. She clicked on the photo and stared—at her red cheeks and bright smile, at Davis’s crooked nose and drooling lips—and felt a tug in her gut.
She zoomed in on Davis’s stupid face, took a screenshot, and set the close-up as his contact photo. Then she texted the full selfie to his wife.
Cassandra replied, Don’t let him have too much whiskey!!! Goes right to his bladder. Have fun Xx
Piper sent Cassandra a purple heart emoji and clicked off her phone. Davis’s snoring was louder now, a series of inhales and burps. He snorted and scrunched up his nose, still fast asleep, and Piper felt assaulted by her love for him. It smacked her in the face and pulled her under, overwhelming her ability to move.
This was Piper’s favorite person. Her family.
...snoring like an idiot in the middle of a party after a year and a half with her in space.
Piper pulled the snapback over Davis’s face, hoping it would help him stay asleep. Then she leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, soothed by the familiar beat of his heart.
v. The Drop
when your heart knows that something is wrong
Piper had seen a lot of shit in her thirty years of life, especially once she’d joined S.H.I.E.L.D. After the dead frozen kid and the carjacker with the flaming skull, she truly thought she’d seen it all. Then she’d gone to space—to the Fire Planet and the Fucking Planet and Kitson, the worst of each combined—and she was sure. Nothing could surprise her anymore.
Then Piper shot herself in the hand and Davis stepped off of a ledge, regaining consciousness just in time to die. A lump dropped like an anvil down her throat, then slashed through her heart with its shrapnel.
Simmons patched up her hand, afterwards.
“This might be a silly question, but how are you feeling?”
Piper looked at Simmons, incredulous. “How am I feeling?”
Simmons grimaced.
“Davis is dead,” Piper said. Her eyes welled up. “I’m feeling bad.”
“I understand,” Simmons said. “More than most.”
Piper closed her eyes and tried to swallow her rage. You got Fitz back, Piper thought. But Davis will always be gone.
+1 the Swell (reprise)
the first physical symptom of love
In a previous life, Piper had wondered if she might be bi—if her feelings for Davis could be sexual. But watching LMD-Davis laugh, and frown, and look like he’d cry if he had tears—Piper knew she was gay as a Maypole. His body meant nothing to her.
But his consciousness meant everything.
“Partners in crime are kinda like soulmates,” Piper said from her spot on the Zephyr. “If you think about it.”
LMD-Davis looked away from the controls and blinked at her. “Alright, puffhead,” he said, adjusting the blinds. “Where’s your stash?”
Piper shrugged. “Have you checked up your ass?”
“I don’t have an ass.”
“Right, because you are one.”
LMD-Davis rolled his eyes and made a face at her.
“Cassandra always said you were the immature one,” Piper said with a smirk. “Few more years and Nicky’ll be more responsible.”
LMD-Davis groaned. “He already is.”
Piper laughed. “Of course he is. You big dumb baby.”
The corners of LMD-Davis’s lips quirked into a smile. “Soulmates, huh?”
“It was just a thought.”
“A saccharine one.”
“Davis would never say saccharine.”
“Well, I would,” LMD-Davis said, frowning.
That’s when it hit her—the swell. It bubbled from her stomach to her chest, then squeezed her heart. “I love you, you know that? Even if you say shit like ‘saccharine’ now.”
“I—” LMD-Davis bit his lip. “Was it… never mind,” he said. “I love you, too.”
“Oh no no,” Piper said, leaning forward. She flipped on auto-pilot and shot Davis a cheeky grin. “Was it what?”
“Was it worth it?” LMD-Davis blurted. His synthetic cheeks turned red.
Piper opened her mouth, then closed it. “Was what worth what?”
“Spending your FitzSimmons wish on me,” he said. He scratched his ear. “Was it worth it?”
“Duh,” Piper said automatically. “Wasn’t even a shortlist. It was you or fuck off.”
LMD-Davis smiled. “Alright,” he said. “Cool.”
”Cool,” Piper mocked. “Idiot-Bot.”
LMD-Davis responded by punching his soulmate in the arm.