(we argue in the kitchen about whether to have children)
They’ve been back on Earth a month when the dream shatters. Daisy is sat with her feet up on the table, laptop resting on her knees, trying to find a classified document for May. It's not strictly legal but, really, when has anything she’s done been. Daniel had arrived back at their apartment - it’s hers really, but he didn’t really have anywhere else to go - from a meeting at headquarters, about an hour ago. He’s got the TV on, but Daisy can feel his eyes trained on her. Something deep in her bones begins to itch.
“I met this kid at work today,” he says suddenly, “you'd've liked her I think,”
Daisy lifts her head to meet his gaze and there's something in it that she can’t quite figure out, so she simply hums in response. It occurs to her then that, in their line of work, meeting a child isn’t always so good.
“Is this a sad story? Are you okay? Sorry I didn’t even-”
He cuts her off quickly, a slight chuckle to his voice,
“No no, she’s fine - amazing actually - led us straight to the guy we wanted.”
“Oh. Good.”
Silence fills the room and she’s about to start typing again but he’s still looking at her and she doesn’t know what he wants until -
“Do you ever think about that?” Daniel says, quieter now. Daisy can feel something breaking in the air, like a vase is falling and she knows she can’t get there in time and he isn’t seeing it; he's just sitting there, calm in his chair.
“About what?”
Daniel just smiles at her, like it's endearing that she hasn’t figured it out.
“Having a kid.”
The vase shatters.
He’s looking at her like she could be the answer to everything and Daisy just feels so very far away. Pulling out a chair beside her, he places the laptop on the table and grasps her hands. Something screams at her not to let this conversation happen.
“Obviously it’s a no pressure thing, and I don’t mean now but, I can see this for us, you know?” he says gently, but no she doesn’t, and she can’t breathe and he’s still going, “Me and you, a quiet little wedding, a couple of kids. Have a well-earned rest.”
(I am no mother, I am no bride)
There is a stone lodged in her throat as she replies slowly, “That’s - it’s not really something I had envisioned for myself.”
She won’t look at him now, but she knows he’s searching her face for some kind of clue. He isn’t going to let this go, she can feel it. She knows what that means.
“What do you mean? Like having a baby?”
“Yeah but also, you know,” Daisy continues as she watches Daniel take a deep breath in, “marriage too. The whole thing really.”
He stares at her in disbelief for a second and then down at the floor. She wonders if he can see the jagged pieces of vase now.
When he finally speaks, it isn’t what she expects, “Okay this - this is important to me so let’s just - let’s just go to bed and we’ll take a day and then talk about this. Yeah?”
He’s being nice about it and Daisy hasn’t got it in her to destroy that tonight, so she just nods. There are tears on her cheeks when he turns around on his way out of the kitchen and says softly,
“We’ll be okay though, right Daisy?”
The name feels foreign on his lips.
Her reply is barely a whisper, “Yeah.”
(What strange claws are these scratching at my skin?)
Daisy wishes she had a mission today; something to sink her teeth into and get this buzzing out from under her skin. Instead she sits and works on May’s file in the kitchen and thinks about how she doesn’t want children and how Daniel does and how this is the end of everything good in her life. She always thought that when this thing with Daniel ended, because it was always inevitable really, it would be because of their jobs, something dangerous, a threat. How strange that something so mundane would be the killer; like they were any ordinary couple.
Daniel arrives home with a bag of shopping and glances at her like she’s a topic he’d rather avoid. Her hackles are up before he’s even said anything. This is so personal, so close to her chest, that she knows she’s going to get angry. Daisy will defend herself on this even if she is bleeding out on the ground. He makes her dinner while she sits there silently and then sets two glasses of wine down in front of them.
He has this look in his eyes like he knows it's already over.
Voice firm, Daisy starts, “I’ll go first, if you don’t mind.”
He gestures for her to go ahead - everything feels stilted.
“Having children, a kid, is not something I am going to change my mind on. Ever. Maybe it's a fear thing, it’s hard enough loving other people in this profession, I don’t know how I could forgive myself for bringing a child into that. But even regardless of that, it just isn’t something I want to do. It isn’t about my childhood, it isn’t really about my job or any sort of - any sort of trauma that's happened - it’s just me. I don’t want them, that’s it. And for me marriage is an irrelevance; I don’t need a piece of paper to prove my love for anybody. I don’t want to be tied to someone like that, not ever, I am my own individual and I can still love people within that.”
(I never knew my killer would be coming from within.)
There’s a pause where Daniel watches her for a second, takes a sip of wine, and then replies, “For me, this is where it's all been leading for me, you know? I have had so much fun with you guys and I am so glad you saved me but, you have to understand, in that timeline I was absolutely ready for a family. To find myself a nice girl, retire from the field, get a cushy office job. Have children with her. I am still that person, Daisy.” he laughs breathily, “Yeah, I’m much more aware of space and what's out there now, but I am still the same person at the end of it. I want that life.”
Daisy looks down at her fingers, twists them together.
“You can still have that life. Just not with me.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” desperation cracks through his voice, “I want that life with you.”
(I need my golden crown of sorrow)
“I’m not a nice girl.”
“That's not - that’s not my point Daisy! We are in love, yes? And I want to marry you. Tell me, scratch the kids problem for a second, tell me what is so wrong about marrying me?”
His chest is heaving with emotion, seething with a frustration at Daisy that she feels is undeserved.
She slams her palms down on the table, “I don’t want to get married - to you, to anyone - it’s not a negotiation! You can’t just talk me into changing my mind.” There’s a madness to her anger; he’s pushing at a wound she doesn’t know how to explain and she just wants him to stop but-
“Come on, you’re telling me you don’t look at Fitzsimmons and little Alya and feel just a little bit jealous? You don’t want that?”
It’s like ice has been poured down her spine.
When she replies, her voice is sharp with the shards, “Of course I’m not fucking jealous of them, they’re my best friends. I’m happy for them.”
Scepticism slips into his gaze and, god, she feels the anger pulsing through her veins, piping hot. Quickly, she pushes out of her chair, walking away from him so he can’t see her face.
His glass clinks tauntingly when he finally says gently, “You’re allowed to be jealous of them, Daisy. You’re allowed to be jealous and still love them.”
(my bloody sword to swing,)
She whirls around, erratic, voice raised, “I know I’m allowed! Stop treating me like a fucking child who doesn’t know how to handle herself!” she should stop now, she knows it, but a dam has been opened and the flood keeps pouring out, “What is there to possibly be jealous of? Huh?”
“Daisy-”
“No - tell me. The probability that Alya will end up an orphan? The fact that neither of them know what the hell to do with themselves now they aren’t working? The fact that they will always be slightly bitter that they’ve trapped themselves in the same life forever?”
“They love each other! That’s what you should be jealous of!”
(my empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology)
Nothing is ever going to be the same. Daisy can’t breathe. She can’t stop talking either.
Her voice is low and dangerous, “You don’t need to remind me - of all people - that they love each other. I have had to watch it every day since they took me from my goddamn van. If you think for one second I am unaware of how sickeningly in love Jemma Simmons is, you are a madman.”
Absolute silence.
Daniel is looking at her with resigned realisation. Daisy has never felt this raw.
“You love her.” Daniel’s voice filters through the ringing in her ears.
Daisy shrugs, “It doesn’t matter.”
“This - us - it isn’t going to work.”
“I know.”
She doesn’t look at him.
“I’ve tried really hard Daisy.”
She can’t bring herself to respond.
(I was never as good as I always thought I was)
It takes Daniel an hour to gather his stuff and make his way back to the front door. Daisy hasn’t moved. She doesn’t feel real.
A clearing of a throat behind her announces his presence and then his hands are draped over her shoulders reassuringly as he says softly, “You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going like this. With work, your emotions,” he pauses, “Jemma.”
Daisy inhales sharply.
He continues, “Take a break. Have a holiday. They can’t make you fight forever.”
With a conscious effort, Daisy rediscovers her vocal cords where she left them an hour ago, “This is my whole life Daniel. I’d be restless without it.”
The door shuts behind him as he sighs, “Yeah, okay Daisy.”
(but I knew how to dress it up good)
Mack stops her on the way to the quinjet the next day, asking if she’s in the right headspace for a mission. Daniel got to him first then. She dismisses his concerns easily; it's not a hard one, just a failed super-serum experiment to shut down. Daisy steps off the plane and lets the vibrations run freely through her fingertips, breathing a sigh of relief. The walls crumble to her power and she is finally home.
(I am no mother,
I am no bride,
I am King.)