Stupid, stupid, stupid, thought Daisy, as the blows continued.
She had gotten herself into this mess.
She thought she was prepared for this.
Fitz and Simmons had spent months obsessing over how to kill Ward (No, Maveth or Death or WHATEVER it called itself.) and had finally, after combing over all the little data they had (and the data that was collected from his new victims), they discovered that the answer was her.
Of course it was.
“I can do it” she had assured Coulson before she boarded Bus II.
“I am” is what she told Mack when he asked if she was ready.
“I’ll see you soon” she promised Lincoln.
She couldn’t do it.
She wasn’t ready.
She wouldn’t see Lincoln soon.
All because the moment she saw him she hesitated.
Now the pain in her abdomen was like fire.
She thought back to the files and files of violent deaths. Seventeen sloppy beheadings. Fourteen extensive stabbings with whatever semi sharp object had been nearby.
She was about to become the eighth victim beaten to death.
But then, and she’s not sure why, a tempting thought comes to her.
Say something.
Why? There was no one but Death that would hear. Her comm had been left behind so that It couldn’t detect her. The remaining non-Hydra ATCU agents learned that the hard way.
Say something.
Her arm throbbed. She thought back her first night in the orphanage, after her sixth foster family attempt ended bad. She’d had a nightmare where her most recent foster father had beaten her to death.
Say something
Death punched her in the stomach. She remembered the night she had dinner with her parents. How she thought everything was going to be okay. When she realized it wasn’t, it hurt the same way the punch did.
Say something.
“He really did love you” Death taunted.
SAY IT!
“I loved him too”
It stopped.
It tried to move, but didn’t.
Death stares at her and It’s eyes changed for a moment.
“Do what you gotta do rookie” said a whisper that came out of Death’s lips.
She does.
She returns to the base.
Simmons wants to treat her wounds right away, but Daisy gently pushes her away. There will be time to heal later.
She ignores the soft pats on the back and the praises for ‘A job well done.’
She walks into Lincoln’s open arms and cries.