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Daisy looks at the white door with the simple brass knocker. The nameplate reads L. Fitz & J. Simmons in cursive lettering.
L. Fitz, the only person Daisy had ever felt compelled to call her brother. Yet, as soon as she had turned eighteen (or was assumed to have turned eighteen), she had run away from him and his mum Aileen.
She can’t quite remember why. They’d been the only foster home that hadn’t treated her like a subclass citizen. Aileen had treated her like a daughter, and Fitz had treated her like a sister. They had been kind—maybe more than she deserved.
Maybe Daisy had been afraid that somehow they would manage to hurt her like all the others had. Maybe she’d been afraid of hurting them. Maybe she’d been afraid of losing them.
So she left. Lost them on her own terms.
But she’d never been able to fully let go off the only two people she’d considered family, who’d maybe even had considered her family.
She had followed them on social media. Hacking skills were useful for that kinda stuff. Plus, they weren’t always very consistent with keeping their photos private, especially Aileen.
Facebook told her that Aileen had moved back to Scotland a few years ago. LinkedIn told her that Fitz was doing well as an engineer for a big company working on prosthetics in L.A.. She had seen the pictures from his wedding on Aileen’s Instagram. Jemma Simmons. A doctor. That much she knew. She looked nice. A bit stuck up maybe. Daisy hadn’t dared to do more research on her. Didn’t mean to be spying on her brother’s wife.
She hadn’t seen him in ten years. Hadn’t spoken to him. She wasn’t sure if he was aware that it was her on the news: ‘Quake’ as the tabloids had started calling her. She wasn’t sure how he’d react.
But she needed help. And he was the only person she could think of in L.A. whom she could turn to, who might not turn her away, who might keep her secret, who might be able to understand, willing to understand.
She takes a deep breath and knocks.
It takes a few attempts before she hears steps. Daisy looks to the ground in shame before the door even opens, holding her bruised arm. She sees his bare feet, his plaid pajama bottoms.
“Skye?” he asks in disbelief.
Hesitantly, she looks up. His blue eyes stare at her wide-eyed when he notices her bleeding lip, the cut above her eye, the way she holds her arm, the way she’s hunched forward from the pain of probably a couple of broken ribs.
His mouth is slightly open, a barely audible “What—?” escapes his shocked lips.
“I need a place to stay,” Daisy says. It’s all she manages. She has no right to ask for it. She doesn’t deserve it. But it’s the truth, and her eyes are begging him to not close the door on her.
He takes half a step forward and silently places one hand on her back, guiding her inside. She notices that he nervously peeks outside before closing the door.
Then he steps closer and lifts her chin carefully, his eyes wandering over her injuries.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asks, and reaches for the coat rack to grab his jacket. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“No!” Daisy exclaims, placing her hand on his arm to stop him. She winces as pain shoots down her arm. “I can’t,” she adds through her teeth.
He stares at her. Not angry. Not frightened. But confused. Concerned. Loving.
Daisy gazes to the floor, overwhelmed by seeing him again, knowing that he’s still the same man, honest, trusting, caring. He hadn’t change. She couldn’t exactly say the same about herself.
“Fitz?” a sleepy female voice can be heard, followed by steps coming down the stairs.
The petite brown-haired woman stops as soon as she notices Daisy in the hallway.
“Skye?” she asks, visibly confused (although quite possibly not half as confused as Daisy herself).
Jemma walks down the rest of the stairs. She looks at Fitz, whose expression hasn’t changed one bit and yet Daisy feels as if he is telling his wife an entire story.
She eyes up Daisy, her look critical, analytical.
“What happened?” Jemma asks, looking from Daisy to Fitz.
“She didn’t say,” Fitz remarks honestly.
She looks back at Daisy. “The cut above the eye needs stitches, and—” Her eyes wander to Daisy’s arm. “The arm should be x-rayed. Might be broken.” She turns back to Fitz. “We should take her to the hospital.”
“No!” Daisy exclaims once again.
His wife looks at Fitz, surprised.
“She says, she can’t,” Fitz shrugs his shoulders.
Jemma takes a deep breath, wrinkling her forehead, staring at the ground.
“I’ll get my emergency kit from the car,” she finally announces matter-of-factly, and reaches for her coat. “Get her to the living room,” she instructs Fitz, who nods quietly.
Jemma puts on her coat and heads out the door.
Once again, Fitz gently places his hand on Daisy’s back, guiding her into the living room area, offering her a seat on the couch.
“So that’s Jemma?” Daisy asks, curiously.
“Yep,” Fitz replies, before looking at her slightly surprised. “How do you—?”
“I have my ways.” Daisy curtly explains.
“Ah, right,” Fitz mumbles, trying to push some pillows behind Daisy’s back. “Skye, hacker extraordinaire.”
“It’s Daisy now, actually,” she says almost apologetically. “Or… Quake, if you’ve been following the news.”
He stands up straight and looks down at her, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He nods, without offering a reply, but the left corner of his mouth quirks up briefly.
Daisy smiles shyly. “How you guys meet?” she asks, trying to fill the awkward silence.
He takes a deep breath, and scratches the back of his neck. “I… I had an accident at work. Jemma was the doctor who patched me up. And… I don’t know… I showed up three days later at the ER to ask her out.”
“Three days?” Daisy asks, surprised. “That’s like serious record time for you.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, well, wasn’t gonna let that opportunity pass,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders.
“She calls you Fitz,” Daisy remarks, knowing that he’d always teeth-grindingly accepted his dates calling him Leo because they insisted it was too weird calling him by his last name.
“Why’d you think I married her?” he jokes.
Daisy chuckles briefly, until a sharp pain in her side forces her to stop.
Fitz turns when he hears the front door close, and Daisy instinctively tenses up in anticipation. She only relaxes when Jemma comes around the corner, carrying a medical kit and bag.
“Alright,” she announces, “let me take a look.” She puts the kit and bag down at one end of the couch, sheds her coat, letting it drop to the floor, and sits down sideways next to Daisy. She pulls out a pair of sterile gloves and puts them on, then grabs a suture kit from the bag and opens it up, briefly inspecting the instruments, and preparing the thread with the needle already attached. She looks at Fitz. “Why don’t you get the guest room ready?” she says calmly, and smiles at her husband.
Daisy can’t remember ever having seen Fitz’s eyes quite so gentle. He leans down to place a quick kiss on his wife’s lips, and replies, “I’m on it,” before heading out the room and up the stairs.
Jemma carefully begins cleaning Daisy’s cut above her eye.
“So, he’s told you about me?” Daisy asks, curiously after a few minutes of unbearable silence.
“The sister he’s always wanted?” Jemma replies, grabbing the suture instruments next to her. “Of course he’s told me about you, Skye. And showed me pictures.”
“It’s Daisy now,” Daisy mumbles quietly, trying not to let Jemma see the tears filling her eyes. “Not that it matters. He can call me whatever he wants.”
“Stubborn,” Jemma remarks dryly, placing the first stitch. “He often calls you stubborn.”
Daisy chuckles briefly, before grimacing in pain.
“I assume you won’t tell us who did this either,” Jemma remarks, never losing focus on what her hands are doing.
“Can’t,” Daisy replies, wincing briefly, as Jemma puts another stitch in her brow. “And you can’t tell anyone I was here,” she adds. “That includes Aileen.”
“Oh please,” Jemma scoffs. “You should know better than that. As if Fitz has ever managed to keep a secret from his mum.” She cuts the thread, and reaches for a pad to clean away some of the excess blood. “I mean, he and I agreed not to tell anyone about the pregnancy until I was at least twelve weeks along, and Aileen knew two days later.”
“You’re pregnant?” Daisy exclaims, raising her eyebrows and widening her eyes.
“And there I thought I was finally starting to show,” Jemma replies, straightening up briefly from her hunched over position, a hint of disappointment in her voice.
Daisy’s eyes wander to her stomach, and she notices a small bump underneath the loose-fitting t-shirt.
“Well, I wasn’t exactly focused on your stomach,” she remarks, apologetically.
“Oh, so you’re more of a boob person like Fitz,” Jemma jokes.
Daisy laughs out loud before her aching ribcage forces her to stop.
“You’re very different from what I imagined based on your pictures,” she says.
Jemma smiles. “Well, you’re very much how he’s described you.”
The corners of Daisy’s mouth quirk up involuntarily, and her eyes wander to the ground.
“All set upstairs,” Fitz announces as he rushes down the stairs. “How we doin’ here?”
“I still have to check her arm,” Jemma lets him know, turning slightly to face him. “And judging by her grimaces, I should also examine her ribs to make sure none is at risk of puncturing her lungs.”
Fitz raises his eyebrows. “You sure you’re not willing to go to a hospital, Sk-- Daisy?”
“Think I’m in pretty good hands here,” Daisy replies gesturing at Jemma with her head.
She watches nervously as husband and wife exchange looks, but relaxes when she notices Jemma’s reassuring nod.
“Get her some water, will you?” Jemma suggests. “I’ll finish up so we can catch some sleep.”
She sees his face. Hive. Infecting her. Ridding her of any clear thought. Enslaving her. She sees Lincoln. Pale. Bleeding. Cold sweat running down his face. She sees them. Masked. Watchdogs. Walking towards her. Grabbing her. Beating her. Too weak to use her powers. Too much damage done.
“Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore,” a nervous but calming voice says.
But she recognizes it too late. Realizes too late that she’s been dreaming.
Self-defense. Instinct.
It’s not until she sees his body fly through the air and crash against the bookshelf, until the books tumble down on him as he sits in shock on the floor that Daisy snaps out of it.
She jumps out of bed and rushes over to Fitz, who’s conscious but breathing heavily, his eyes wandering aimlessly, dizzy, confused.
“Oh God, Fitz, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeats over and over, her trembling hands reaching for him, yet unsure where to touch him. She ignores the pain in her ribcage and the one shooting down her arm.
“Fitz?” Jemma exclaims, standing in the doorway. She rushes over to her husband and kneels down beside him. “What happened?” she asks Daisy.
“I quaked him,” Daisy mumbles, trying to blink away tears. “I didn’t mean to. I had a nightmare. I… I—”
Jemma’s face remains stoic. No sign of anger. No sign of sympathy. A neutral expression. Strangely calm. She cups Fitz’s face in her hands. “Look at me, Fitz,” Jemma demands, and Daisy sees his eyes focusing on his wife. Jemma gently places her thumbs below his eyes and moves closer, examining his pupils. “Do you feel nauseous? Headache? Neck pain? Dizzy?” she rattles down a list of symptoms.
“I’m fine,” he whispers, placing his hands on her wrists to gently push away her hands. “Little dizzy, but fine.”
Reluctantly, Jemma lets go of his face and straightens up.
Fitz pushes himself up, using the bookshelf for support, grimacing in pain. Jemma gets up herself, grabbing her husband by the elbow to help him.
“I’m so sorry,” Daisy repeats, still kneeling on the floor.
She gazes up at the couple: her brother and his wife, who had welcomed her, helped her, who accepted to ask questions without getting answers.
Daisy notices tears in Fitz’s eyes, and something else, a struggle. His jaw is clenched and his entire body seems tense.
“I’m sorry, Fitz,” Daisy whispers, letting her head drop down.
He bites his lower lip and shakes his head briefly. “I have to call them,” he mumbles quietly.
Daisy’s head shoots up in panic. “Call them?” she exclaims. “Call who?”
“Your friends,” Fitz replies. He wrinkles his forehead for a moment. “Phil Coulson and—”
He looks at Jemma.
“Agent Mackenzie,” she adds.
“They were here?” Daisy asks, surprised and scrambles to get up. “When?”
“Few weeks ago,” Fitz replies, shrugging his shoulders.
“How did they—?” Daisy ponders for herself. “I’ve never told anyone—” Then she stops. “Yes, I did,” she adds quietly. “I told Mack about you. Fuckshit bonding!” she exclaims, throwing her head backwards.
“I’m gonna call them,” Fitz says, looking at his wife.
“No!” Daisy exclaims, taking a step closer to him, but immediately stops when she notices him backing up in fear. “Please, Fitz,” she continues more quietly. “You can’t. Don’t. Please.”
She’s breathing heavily, blinking away tears. He’d been the only one she had felt she could turn to. She can’t bear the thought of having him turn his back on her now.
“I have to,” he replies, and the sadness in his eyes is ripping her apart inside.
“Please, don’t,” she pleads. “I’ll be gone in the morning. You’ll never have to see me again. I’ll leave you alone. Just, please, don’t call them. You don’t have to call them.”
But he shakes his head. “Yes, I do,” he replies quietly.
“Why, Fitz? Why?” she exclaims.
And then she notices an angry fire in his eyes that is so unlike the man she’d known ten years ago. He takes a step closer to her, shaking off Jemma’s hands that had still been resting on his arm.
“What if it had been Jemma instead of me?” he yells, gesturing at his wife, before staring back at Daisy. “Huh? What if you had just thrown my three-months-pregnant wife against the wall?”
His words hit her like daggers. Her gaze falls to Jemma, the small bump beneath her t-shirt that his wife is caressing with her hands, cradling protectively.
“You need help!” Fitz shouts, drawing Daisy’s attention back to him. “I know you! I’ve seen you when you have nightmares, when you’ve been drinking, remember? You were like my sister,” he exclaims, gesturing at himself. “And you didn’t let us help you then. You ran when you thought you were getting too close to us because you thought you’d get hurt again.”
He throws one hand in the air. “Don’t you think we knew that?”
All she can do is stare at him. She has no comeback. She has no words.
Fitz leans closer to her. “Mum wanted to adopt you, did you know that? Of course not,” he adds, straightening back up. “Because you were too bloody afraid to even consider the possibility that someone actually cared about you.”
He runs his hand through his hair, looking at the ceiling, before facing her again. “And mum said we had to let you go. That there was no way to follow you if you didn’t want to be found and that you were old enough now.” Daisy sees that he’s fighting back tears, as she tries in vain to stop her lips from trembling.
“But dammit, Daisy!” Fitz exclaims. “What if you had let us help you back then? What if you let your friends help you now? Let me help you now! Us!” He gestures at himself and Jemma.
Daisy closes her eyes, and drops her head. The impact of his words is more painful than her physical injuries. Too much to bear.
“I—” she tries to say, barely lifting her head, but her voice cuts out.
Fitz shakes his head and turns around, heading out of the room.
“Fitz?” Jemma says calmly, placing her hand on his arm to stop him.
“I can’t,” he whispers, gently brushing away Jemma’s hand. “Not right now.”
Jemma watches her husband leave, before turning around to face Daisy.
Daisy feels frozen, in a daze. Unsure what to say. What to do. Left alone with a woman who had been nothing but kind to her without even knowing her.
“He’s right,” Jemma says calmly, a compassionate smile playing on her lips. “He should call them. They didn’t exactly sound like they were after you. Like they were the ones who did this to you.”
“No,” Daisy admits, shaking her head, pressing the heel of her hand into her eye sockets, to force away her tears. “They’re… they’re just trying to help me.”
“But you won’t let them?” Jemma asks, without judgment, just honest curiosity.
“I… I need to keep my distance,” Daisy replies, staring at nothing in particular, Jemma’s figure blurry in the background. “I don’t want to hurt them… I… I don’t want to get hurt.”
Jemma looks at her and Daisy feels as if she’s seeing everything Daisy cannot. “Seems to me like staying away has accomplished the opposite.”
Daisy doesn’t reply. Just stares at the woman in front of her. Someone she had only known from a handful of photographs but seems to know Daisy as well as Daisy knows herself.
Jemma sighs. “He will call your friends,” she says, her voice still calm and soothing. “And he’s not doing it because you threw him against a wall, or because he’s scared that you could have hurt me,” she adds, smiling at Daisy. “He’s doing it for you. He wants to help.”
Jemma takes a deep breath. “He will call them. But I have a feeling that he won’t stop you from leaving.” She shrugs her shoulders. “It’ll be your choice. Keep running. Keep hiding. Or let your friends help you. Whatever you choose. Know that it will not influence how much he loves you. It won’t change that you’re family to him. And I have a feeling the same holds true for the people that came here the other day.”
Daisy nods quietly. She forces the corners of her mouth into a weak smile. “I’m glad he found you,” she says truthfully.
Jemma smiles widely. “I’m glad he found me, too.”
Daisy chuckles briefly.
“I’ll check on him,” Jemma says, gesturing towards the door with her head. “You… you’re gonna have to make up your mind.”
Her room is empty, her bed is made when Fitz peeks in in the morning. He feels Jemma’s hand on his shoulder and intuitively reaches for it, holding it steady, savoring the comforting gesture.
“I’m sorry, Fitz,” his wife whispers.
“I’m not surprised,” he replies quietly. “Just. Part of me was hoping that maybe—”
“I know,” Jemma says, squeezing his shoulder.
He turns around, wrapping his arms around her waist, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. “Thank you for everything you did last night.”
“Of course,” she says, stroking his cheek.
They both get startled, when they hear a noise from downstairs. Carefully they walk down and stop in their tracks when they see Daisy in the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Daisy mumbles, a griddle in her hand. “I tried to be quiet, but that thing was wedged in the cabinet, and I can really only use one of my hands.” She lifts her bandaged arm, turning it from side to side.
They look at her wide-eyed.
“Your kitchen is amazing, but I can’t find shit,” Daisy rambles on. “Took me like ten minutes to find flour.”
They stare at her in silence.
“I’m making pancakes,” Daisy states matter-of-factly.
Still no word from them.
“I called Coulson to see when they’d be here. We have some time to kill. Thought I’d make breakfast. Hoping to do a little catch-up before I head… home.”
Jemma is the first to laugh. She gently slaps Fitz on the back, and then walks enthusiastically over to where Daisy is standing.
“There’s no way I’m letting you make pancakes with your injuries,” she says sternly. “I’ll make the pancakes.” She stares at Daisy when Daisy doesn’t move. “Shoo. Shoo. Go! Doctor’s orders,” she adds, gesturing at Daisy to leave.
Daisy chuckles and walks over to Fitz, who’s still standing quietly, but a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
She takes a deep breath. “I like her,” she confesses, gesturing at Jemma.
“Yeah, well, she’s taken,” Fitz adds dryly.
“What? No sharing between brother and sister?” Daisy teases him, nudging him gently with her elbow.
Fitz squints his eyes. “Yeah, that’s weird so I’m going to ignore that.”
Daisy snickers.
She looks up and down the man standing next to her. So familiar and yet strangely different.
“You certainly grew into your scrawny little ass,” she remarks jokingly. “And that thing can almost call itself a beard,” she adds, reaching over to tickle his stubble.
Fitz laughs, moving his head, and trying to push her hand away, putting an end to her taunting.
“You’re still an annoying little brat,” he counters, wide-eyed, a smile playing on his lips.
“It’s what sisters are for though, right?” Daisy asks quietly, with a sense of hopefulness, looking at him sideways.
One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah, it is,” he replies softly.
Daisy falls silent, her gaze wandering to the ground.
“Thanks,” she whispers, and through the corners of her eyes, she sees him smile.