Chapter Text
It’s not until after Lincoln is gone that she figures it out. At first she thinks the sickness and bloating and appetite changes must be grief, must be guilt, must be a result of the thousands of micro-emotions that pass through her every day. But it’s not. It’s more than emotions it’s – well, something. A person. A tiny little person.
It’s too much, is what it is, and Daisy has to run.
Is she trying to keep the child safe? Escape pity? Avoid memories? Even she’s not sure. She’s not sure of anything these days. Even sitting in the waiting room of the health clinic she’s not sure what she wants to ask for. She ends up with pregnancy health, counseling services, and birthing class.
“Is there anyone with you?” they ask. She thinks of everyone underground, living and dead, all too far away for her to reach even if she wants to, and smiles sadly.
“No,” she says. “Just me.”
She takes the pamphlets and leaves.
But it was never just her. From that moment forward it is her and her child, and maybe it’s the tenuous nature of family in her life to date, or maybe it’s hormones, or maybe it’s both, but she walks out of the clinic like she’s never been more confident with a decision in her life. She is never going to let this child go, or let it get hurt, or let the cruel and nasty side of the world bare its teeth. Even if it is just the two of them, even if that’s the way it has to be, she’ll hold her head high. She’s ready.
Her confidence, of course, wavers erratically from that moment forward.
She bleeds one night and almost has a panic attack, and wishes for Coulson to tell her it’s all going to be okay, or Jemma to start spouting enthusiastic science babble to explain all the things it could be that are not a miscarriage. One of them would have been right, and in the end everything is fine, but still, she wishes she could have heard them say it.
Watching the blurry image on the ultrasound screen, and hearing her baby’s thrumming heartbeat, she remembers how she’d once brought Lincoln back to life. She feels the tears in her eyes and wonders if, somewhere, he can see this or feel it in the electricity that runs through the whole world. There’s still a piece of him here and she can’t believe it. She wonders what the baby will look like. The staff don’t ask about her tears.
Lying in the bed with her feet in the stirrups, she screams and screams to vent the pain, because otherwise she’s going to bring the whole place quaking down around them. She wishes May were here to hold her hand, or Fitz, to be dramatic and queasy and make her feel like more of a badass and less of a mess. When it’s over and her limbs feel like they’re about to detach from her aching torso, and she holds her daughter in her arms at last, she asks one of the nurses to take a photo. Who is she going to show it to? She doesn’t really know, but it feels right. It satisfies the purring dragon within her that says, look at this, it’s mine, I made it.
Over the years her daughter gets blonder and blonder, her hair rough and sun-bleached like her father’s. She’s an inventive kid with a rough-and-tumble streak, unfazed by the fact that Daisy can’t give her a luxurious life; she provides and tries to teach her right and so far, that’s been enough. She hasn’t displayed signs of a gift yet, of course, but Daisy keeps an eye out for signals of that infamous Inhuman emptiness. (Puberty, she jokes to no-one, is going to be a bitch).
They’re at the park when Daisy spots a familiar face, in the distance, at a magazine stand across the road. She think she must be seeing things, at first, but the wind carries the woman’s voice over to her and it fills her whole body with longing and nostalgia. It can’t be her. It can’t be.
She’s sure that’s what Jemma’s thinking too, when her eyes lock on Daisy’s and can’t help but widen in shock. Jemma abandons the magazine and waves off the vendor, making a bee-line for Daisy so intent that she almost forgets to check for cars before she crosses the road. She walks straight up to Daisy and embraces her firmly, as if making up for three years worth of casual hugs. When she finally lets go, there are tears in both their eyes – and a curious little girl at their feet.
The girl tugs at the hem of Daisy’s shirt until she looks away from Jemma.
“Mummy, who’s that?” the girl asks, and from Jemma’s expression, she’s about to ask the same thing.
“This is Aunty Jemma,” Daisy explains. “She’s an old friend of mine.”
Jemma smiles. Three years feels like a lifetime.
“There’s a whole lot more old friends waiting to see you,” she offers. “We’re on a stakeout but it can wait.”
“Are you sure?” Daisy can’t stop the hope in her voice, springing forth like water from a well after all these years.
“Of course!” Jemma assures her. “But not here.”
She beckons for Daisy to follow her, and Daisy hoists her daughter onto her hip and obeys, curious and excited and her heart swollen with love and excitement. Who’s available? What’s happened for all of them in the time that’s passed? What’s it going to be like, to see them again?
“All units to my location,” Jemma says, into a tiny microphone. “Non-combat situation. Prepare for some…emotions.”
She drags Daisy to a coffee shop across the road, where Daisy’s eyes instantly narrow in on May, reading a book in the corner booth. She has a cappuccino in front of her, but it sits untouched, and Daisy manages to sneak up on her almost close enough to grab it.
“Mind if I have some?” she asks, and May looks up. She doesn’t flinch, barely blinks – and Daisy expects nothing less – but she gestures for Jemma and Daisy to take a seat, and the coffee, and her eyes fall to the face of the little girl in her arms.
“Is that my grandma?” the girl asks. “She looks like you.”
Daisy shares a significant gaze with May. It’s obvious the child is Lincoln’s, and the realisation settles over May’s heart with bittersweet wings, but she smiles and offers her hand out to the child.
“You can call me Grandma if you like,” she offers. “My name is May.”
The café doorbell tinkles, announcing new arrivals, and Daisy twists to see them. Her face lights up when she sees Elena, and she almost blurts out you stayed? Except her tongue isn’t working, because of the face she sees next. Her heart almost stops working. She presses a hand to her chest, hardly able to believe what she’s seeing, except the firm sensation tells her this is real.
“Holy shit,” she murmurs.
“Holy shit yourself,” Bobbi returns, and then, seeing Daisy’s daughter, covers her mouth. “Sorry!”
Daisy snaps out of her shock.
“Oh! Sorry sweetie.”
The girl frowns up at Bobbi, confused.
“Is she my Aunty too?”
“Yes she most certainly is,” Daisy agrees, “and guess what? Her name is Bobbi too.”
Bobbi slips into the seat next to May, gaping in wordless shock.
“You named your kid after me?”
“I didn’t think I was going to see you again! And technically, she’s named after you and Trip. Barbara Ann.”
Elena snorts. “Hunter’s going to love that.”
“Hunter’s back? Is Mack still there? I mean, all of you are – and are you and Mack still a thing? And Fitz, what’s he- ?” Daisy twists in her seat, trying to see them all at once and take in all their news. Jemma flashes a sparkling ring at her and Daisy squeals with delight and gives her the best hug she can manage with a toddler jammed between them.
“Ah. A-Ah.” Daisy stares at the table, gathering herself for a moment before she looks around at all their faces again. “This is amazing, you guys. I love you all so much. I really, really miss you.”
“Come back with us!” Elena insists. “Mack is dying to see you. I’m sure the others are too. And there are more Inhumans there too, they’d love to meet you?”
“I’m tempted, really, but I can’t…”
“Just for the day?” Jemma pleads. “Just to see everyone?”
“Everyone?” Little Bobbi interrupts, her eyes wide. “There are more Aunties?”
“Uncles, too,” May explains. “And Grandpa Phil. I bet he’d absolutely love to see you.”
“I have a grandpa?” Little Bobbi gasps.
“Yes! Your mother’s family is quite large.” May meets Daisy’s eyes when she says it, and Daisy blushes.
“Alright. We’ll come visit. But we’re not sleeping on base. And I’m not touching a gun. And nobody’s allowed to swear. Alright. Maybe a little swearing but no guns. And no getting excited about killer virus or robots. And-“
Jemma passes Daisy her phone.
“Just write us a complete list and I’ll mail it out.”