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They drive in silence down 21st, the rain making the street lights look even sharper through the windows.
Even though it was her idea, her prompting, really, he's starting to ask himself questions.
Why did he ask her to come with him?
He can't look at her right now, but he sees her, out of the corner of his eye.
Hands on Lola's wheel.
It puts him at ease, he supposes.
Her beside him in the driver's seat.
The noise of her foot on the pedal, and they crawl to the curb, and Daisy waits for a moment. Silence. Then turns the key.
"We're here."
He nods.
"I'll be right here," she reassures him.
Then he opens the passenger door.
It's not entirely unexpected.
That he's not greeted with a smile, but more like a blank expression.
Then tears.
His heart starts to drop in his stomach.
He feels like such a coward. Telling himself that year that it was better the way he left things.
It doesn't feel better.
She doesn't look better.
"It's cold, and you're getting rained on," she says, half-heartedly, but steps aside so he can come in.
For a moment, he almost- almost- turns and looks back at Lola.
"Sure," he tells her, rain on his jacket, sticking his hair to his scalp.
Then she hesitates, staring back out to the street before she closes the door.
"You're not dead," she finally says, putting the tea kettle between them on the coffee table.
"No," he says, with a guilty smile.
"I hoped for a long time that you weren't. You're a SHIELD agent, after all."
"Yes."
He takes the tea from her, not that he likes tea, but it's something to do with his hands.
"You are still a SHIELD agent?"
She holds the cup and saucer on her lap, elegant as he remembers her, then he sees the ring on her finger.
"Yes, although, Senator Nadeer would like to put an end to that."
"To a lot of things," she says, lifting the cup. "Do you know....Quake?"
He feels himself start to relax, finally.
If she only knew.
They get to talking and time passes.
She's married. Thank God.
He means, he's happy for her. That she found someone. That wasn't him.
And she is mad about finding out on television. That he's still alive.
She has every right to be.
But Audrey is so kind, she doesn't read him the riot act he deserves.
Just that she's happy he's alive, and blots at her eyes with her nice linen napkins.
This house is theirs now, not just hers.
The profiler in him can't help but pick out the evidence of the other occupant.
And a dog. He can hear it barking from a room upstairs.
Maybe they're not actually alone.
And then...
"Daisy!" he says, jumping to his feet.
"You mean she's here?" Audrey asks, smiling as he pulls on his jacket.
"I left her outside," he winces, getting to the front door. "In the car. I didn't think you'd-"
"Phil Coulson," she says, crossing her arms. "Invite her in."
His hand is lifted, still pointing at the front door to illustrate his direction.
"You want to meet her?" he asks.
"Yeah, of course," she rolls her eyes, smiling.
Then she bends down to her umbrella stand by the door, and hands him the sharp umbrella with the wooden handle.
"Here, use this. No use in you both getting wet."
"She'll appreciate that," he says, nervously, taking it. "I mean, if she comes in. I'm not sure-"
"If you want to race off, race off," she says behind her, as she heads back towards the kitchen. "I'm going to put on some more tea."
He stares after her for a moment, then remembers himself.
Opening the door, he opens the umbrella and steps out.
"I don't think I should-" she repeats, getting out of the car.
"It was her idea, Daisy," he says, shutting Lola's door after her.
"This is like, your personal life," she tells him, walking with him towards the door.
"Hey, this was your idea," he reminds her.
"I'm just here for moral support," she shrugs. "I wasn't supposed to meet your ex. I'm not even really dressed for this, right?"
"What's wrong with what you're wearing?" he asks, stopping at the front door.
"My jeans have holes in them," she says looking down, then pulling on her sweater. "I haven't washed this sweater in a week."
He looks at her, amused. "That's how you always dress."
"This is your elegant concert cellist ex," she rolls her eyes. "Simmons told me about her."
"Yeah, and?" he eggs her on, trying to not look too interested in the idea of that.
"She looks like she smells like strawberries."
His eyes widen.
"Eye witness account," Daisy assures him.
"You're a superhero," she says with a huge grin and pours Daisy a cup of tea.
"No, I'm not," Daisy smiles, and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Yes, she is," Coulson smiles, and sits back against the sofa.
Daisy opens her mouth to say something, and then stops when Audrey hands her a cup of tea.
"I wish my fiancée were here to meet you," she says. "Huge fan."
"Thank you," she takes the tea and wraps her hands around it.
"Thank you," Audrey tells her. "For putting him up to this." She points over at Coulson. "I guess he needed an extra push."
"Sure," she replies shyly, looking down into her cup briefly. "It looks like you managed without him, though," she says, glances at her ring finger.
"Oh, yes," she says, holding out her hand so Daisy can look. "Isn't it nice?"
"Beautiful," Daisy replies with a sigh, staring at the antique setting.
He can see her look around at the house, all the signs of domesticity that they've sacrificed in a way.
Just like her father and his new family.
"Do people ask you to quake things?" Audrey asks breathlessly. "I would never ask you to do that, though."
Daisy presses her lips together and peeks over at him.
"It was nice to meet you," Daisy reassures her with a friendly wave, and then walks down the shiny sidewalk to the curb.
"Audrey, I wish you all the best," he tells her, turning back to look at her, and holds out his hand.
She leans forward instead and wraps an arm around him to hug him.
"I saw the way you looked at her," Audrey whispers. "I remember what that felt like."
He feels himself tense up in her embrace, as she softens it with a kiss to the cheek.
"You let one good one get away," she smirks. "Don't let it happen again."
"She's-" he feels himself start. "We're not-"
She pulls back and pats him on the shirt pocket.
"Second chances look good on you, Phil."
How in the hell did this happen? He's here to apologize to her, not-
"You've always had kind of a thing for powered people," she goes on. "I always knew that, deep down."
"Daisy-" he lifts his thumb to motion behind him, afraid to turn around, knowing she's watching them.
"Waiting for you, Phil," she backs her way back towards the door. "What are you waiting for?"
He's not sure what to say.
It's a good question.
Her hands are on the wheel, but he feels nervous.
More nervous, he thinks, than when they started out on the drive.
"That went okay," she nods finally, rapidly, then looks over at him, and back to the street. "Right?"
She's nervous too, for some reason. He doesn't want her to be nervous.
"Yes, it was. I appreciate so much, what you did , Daisy. I'm sorry."
"For what?" Daisy asks, jerking her head over at him immediately. "Sometimes, I wish people didn't know who I was. That I could just be...normal."
"I know, and you didn't have to quake the cup of tea," he sighs.
"She was hinting, we both know it."
"Yes," he winces, trying to think of something, anything that could make this better. "Are you hungry?"
She blinks for a moment, like it's the wildest question she's been asked all day. Which, they both know it's not.
"I think so," she finally answers. "Yes."
It's been awhile since he's been here, but he remembers some good spots.
"There's this place a few blocks away," he starts.
"That you used to go with Audrey," she finishes.
"We'll find someplace new," he tells her with a smile.
They are sitting shoulder to shoulder at the bar, both a little rain-coated.
Finding parking wasn't easy, they had to walk a few blocks to get here.
"I'm so hungry," she says, shivering a little like she wants to warm up.
He wants to put an arm around her, and rub the cold away.
But he doesn't.
"Hot soup sounds good," he tells her, opening the menu between them.
The place is small, but it's packed. He can smell the fish sauce and chilis coming from the kitchen.
"Just order something good," she tells him. "I'm going to get us drinks."
She stands from the barstool and leans over the counter, waving at the bartender.
Then realizes what she's done and shrinks back, trying to make herself look smaller.
"I'm going to change my hair again," she mutters. "Or should I wear glasses? That works for some people."
"You shouldn't change a thing," he stares. He's found that he's been staring, but she doesn't seem to mind.
"Unless you want to," he adds. "But not for anyone else."
Daisy stops shivering as she stares back.
He wants to think that she's warm now.
"We should do this more often," she tells him, as they hang out under the awning.
"With an umbrella," he adds. "Sure."
"No," she shakes her head, her hands stuffed in her jeans pockets. "I mean, get out. Like this."
"Have dinner?" he asks, like he's not sure what she really means.
"Yes," she answers back slowly.
Or a date, he thinks. He could ask her out. It never occurred to him before.
She has a type, and he's not her type.
"You can pick," she goes on. "You're good at that sort of thing."
"I like good food," he smirks at her. She loved the Thai food. He likes seeing her happy. So much.
"And you're good company." She pushes a wet strand of hair behind an ear. "You make me feel...special. Not like a freak show," she explains. "But, special in a normal way."
"You are special, Daisy," he tells her, slipping his coat off his shoulders when she shivers again.
She doesn't protest at all, and lets him wrap it around her shoulders, and then pulls her closer to him by the jacket.
So close, he can see the water caught on her eyelashes.
What is he waiting for?
"It's stopped raining," she announces.
Her hands are on the wheel again, almost ready to turn the keys and start Lola up for the ride home.
"Aren't you tired of me driving?" she asks him before she starts it.
"No," he shakes his head. "I like it when you drive."
She smiles to herself, privately, and then raises an eyebrow.
"Good to know."
"It feels safe," he continues, finding himself swallowing against the idea of her misinterpreting it, or rather, that she's made some discovery he wasn't ready for.
"I trust you," he adds.
"Do you?" she asks, and her hand falls away from the ignition.
Her eyes flutter for a moment, like she's committing herself to something, and then she leans over the console between them and brings her hand between them, raising it to his face.
Fingers trace along the wet hair at his temple, then along the edge of his jaw, and he's forgotten that he needs air to breathe.
She is enough, and he's capturing every sight and sound and feeling as the space between them narrows.
Connected by warm lips, their cold noses bumping against each other.
"Daisy."
He can't think of any place he would rather be in the world.
"I trust you," he tells her, and then he leans in to kiss her again.
It's raining outside, and he opens the door to grab the paper and put out the dishes from the night before.
"It's still raining," she says, standing near the hotel room window, as he tosses the paper on the chair.
Wrapped up in a robe, her hair all messy from rain and being tumble dried in the sheets.
She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"I'm so hungry," she groans, when he pulls her against him and leans to kiss her neck. "-nd distracted."
Twisting in his arms, she wraps her arms around his neck and then he finds himself where they started, flat on his back in bed.
If she needs help making up her mind, he's happy to help persuade her.
"Phil," she sighs, as he slips his hand underneath the hem of the robe, moving up inside of it, while he plants kisses on her cheek, her chin.
She gets impatient and draws his face towards hers, kissing him on the mouth, waking him up. Better than coffee.
Better than he ever thought it could be. He thinks about a house. Their house.
It just pops into his mind.
But he's getting ahead of himself here.
"Brunch," he suggests, just as the robe starts to come apart in his hand.
"It's too early for brunch," she points out, with her lips pressed against his.
"Exactly."