#brotp: a tonne of weird crap

[theclaravoyant]

the fire’s out (but still it burns) - 5x14 coda

AN ~ I wasn’t feel up to it last week, and even now I’m only scratching the surface, but... basically I wanted to give Daisy the chance to react and deal with some of the shock of what just happened and have a good cry... and then Mack feels came along... and now I have this! angsty, slightly hurt-comforty bc we need SOME relief, 5x14 coda. to those who can stomach it... enjoy(?)

CW: there are no graphic flashbacks or anything, but some description of her injuries, and a lot of angsty/complicated feelings about Fitz. If you would like any more detail about what is in this fic before deciding whether to read it, feel free to message or chat with me (off anon for specifics please).

title from Flares by The Script

Rshps: Mack & Daisy, also some Jemma. Discussions of Fitz & Daisy and Mack & Fitz (though Fitz is not present). Rated T for torture & injury mentions and general angst. Set immediately following 5x14.

Read on AO3 (~1300wd)

the fire’s out (but still it burns)

“Mack, can you help?”

He gets up, moves towards the sound before he even really takes in what’s happening. Jemma’s voice is shaking, like a fence about to fall down, and Daisy is shaking just as badly, draped between the Doc and Deke and looking pale as death.

“What the hell happened out there?” Mack wonders, taking Jemma’s place under Daisy’s arm and helping lower her to the bed.

“F-Fitz,” Daisy replies.

Her voice is shaking – with fear, with anger. The air around her shakes too. The tools in the tray Jemma brings. Mack’s heart begins to feel heavier as he takes in the horrendous, bloody bruise to the side of Daisy’s head. The rope-burn on her arms. The bloody gauze that Deke is holding to her neck.

Mack’s stomach twists. He tries to imagine how Fitz could look at this, let alone carry it out, and the image won’t reconcile. A little angry spat, maybe, he could imagine. A slap, a punch, maybe even a black eye – after all, Fitz could be passionate, irrational at times, and Daisy never backed down from a fight. Mack had suspected that, should he snap one day, that might be how it would go. That would have been bad, very bad, terribly bad - but this isn’t just bad, it’s… gut-wrenchingly wrong. It’s hard to tie somebody down and cut them open in a fleeting moment of rage or frustration. This is something else entirely. Something pre-meditated. Something incomprehensible.

“Fitz did this to you?”

Daisy looks like she’s going to be sick. Over the other side of her shoulder, heart heavy and eyes brimming with tears, Jemma nods.

“Damn,” Mack whispers. It’s the only word he can find. The unspeakable, confusing horror of it all is like a nightmare.

A nightmare Daisy has just lived.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Are you going to be okay?”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Daisy hisses, but there are tears in her eyes, and fury competes with fear in her voice. Deke frowns doubtfully at the amount of the blood on the gauze at her neck, and he’s about to interrupt when she waves him off. “I mean it’s… It’ll heal. I’ll be fine.”

“You need stitches, Daisy,” Jemma points out.

The silence is tense as Jemma works. Daisy stares straight ahead at the wall, grinding her teeth, blinking back tears. She clutches Mack’s hand with a bone-crushing desperation, and Mack puts a hand over hers. He hopes it is comforting, despite his own nerves and uncertainty. Questions flood his mind – What happened? How, and why? - but the silence between Jemma and Daisy is too fragile to interrupt.

In the end, it’s Daisy who speaks first.

“It wasn’t really him, right? Jemma? Tell me- tell me it wasn’t him.”

Daisy holds her breath. Mack does too. The only sound is a pained sigh from Jemma, and the soft clink of metal as, task complete, she carefully lowers the tweezers and needle and steadies her hands on the tray.

When at last she replies, it’s like she has to drag the words over glass to make it out of her throat, and Mack’s not surprised. He’s a little impressed actually, by the way she maintains eye contact even though it feels like she’s reaching out and snapping the last strings of hope they have.

“I’m afraid it was,” she clarifies.

Daisy blinks at her. Reluctant. Disbelieving.

Jemma continues, dropping eye contact at last in a battle to find the words and push through to the end of the sentence. “What happened, I think, was called a psychic split. It can happen sometimes when a person with- with schizophrenia under a large amount of pressure develops a- a- an alternate personality, sort of thing-“

“So I’m right then?” Daisy presses. “The Doctor, the alternate personality, it took him over. Right? So then it wasn’t him?”

Jemma shakes her head. Tears are spilling down her cheeks now and the whole tray trembles violently in her hands. “It doesn’t work like that. It’s not like possession. The Doctor may have pushed Fitz to think from a perspective that he wouldn’t ordinarily, but… It was Fitz who made the decisions in the end. It was Fitz who– who-“

She chokes up, and Mack can’t blame her. The world is shifting around them, the whole place uncertain, and with the two people he’d bet good money on being closest to her in the world at the heart of this mess, Mack can’t imagine how twisted Jemma’s universe has become. A bullet in the leg, suddenly, is nothing.

“I got this, Doc,” he insists gently. “Go.”

Nodding frantically, Jemma shoves the tray back onto its cart and bolts from the room before she loses her last semblance of strength. Deke mumbles uncertainly and takes his leave after her, and with a heavy heart, Mack takes her seat by Daisy’s bedside.

Daisy props herself up on her arms, and her fingers clench the bedframe, even as Mack works as gently as he can to clean the wound on her head.

“I knew it,” she growls. “I knew it was him. He didn’t sound insane. He looked like he- he didn’t want to. The Doctor would have liked it. He was- He was crying. He could hear me. He knew what he was doing. He knew.”

Anger cracks and crumbles in the face of fear again. It’s more than fear, it’s horror. It’s heartbreak. It’s violation.

She sobs. Mack starts. He should have seen it coming but it feels like a gut punch out of nowhere. Never had he imagined – it was almost as unspeakable as the laws of the universe – that Fitz could have hurt Daisy so much, willingly or otherwise.

“He knew,” she sobs, tears streaming down her face in a matter of seconds. Her body shakes with them. “He knew what it means to me, what it means to us, and he still- How can I- How can I forgive him when he still-“

Mack puts the tweezers and gauze aside. This truly is a flesh wound; it can wait if it has to. It’s more important in this moment to wrap his arms around his friend. Hold her steady while the fabric of the world not only shifts, but tears beneath her feet. He’s not sure what she’s talking about, he’s not sure what Fitz did – not beyond the obvious anyway – but he’s sure that it must be something, that it must be bad, as Daisy howls and sobs in his embrace. There’s so much pain there, and anger, and grief, he starts to cry just listening to it.

She howls and the windows shake, the wheels of the bed and the med cart squeak, bottles and supplies start to drop to the floor, and Mack feels a knot tighten in his gut. He hadn’t picked up on it before but he sees it now. He pieces it together – the blood on Daisy’s neck, the profound sense of intimate betrayal, and the fact that her quaking is back. Fitz must have removed her inhibitor. Tied her down and took her Inhumanity back by force.

“Ah, Tremors,” he breathes, and it feels a bittersweet choice of nickname now. “Daisy. I got you, okay? You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

He murmurs sweet nothings and rubs her back, and it doesn’t do much to soothe the otherwordly lament of agony that’s pouring out of her, but he figures it can’t hurt either. He stays with her, holds her, until the trials of the day catch up with her and she falls into a restless sort of sleep. Then he quickly, carefully finishes cleaning her head wound and posts himself as watchman over her. He’ll move her bed to be beside Elena’s as soon as he gets the chance, but for now he sits back in the chair and turns it a little more toward the door. He holds the scalpel, lightly, in his fist, just in case they get an unwanted visitor.

He wipes the tears from his cheeks.

Apparently, you really never can tell.

#I PROMISE THE FORMATTING FIXES ITSELF IF YOU CLICK THE READ MORE #aosteam #daisymack #brotp: tremors #aos fic #aosficnet #i'm serious tho stab me #aos s5 #aos 5x14 #clara's fic tag #fitzdaisy #fitzmack #brotp: turbo #brotp: a tonne of weird crap

[theclaravoyant]

"will you sing something for me" + daisyfitz? pretty please :)

AN ~ I was gonna make it all Soft(TM) and comforty but I thought I’d let these nerds have some fun for once :P Of course it still ended up fairly comforty bc that is My Jam and apparently I’ve got roadtrips on the brain but anyway, enjoy!

Rated G. very vaguely set around s2/3

Read on AO3 (~600wd)

-

“You’re a good singer,” Fitz remarked, as Daisy got back into the car and offloaded an armful of mints, snack cakes and other roadtrip goodies into his lap. His comment was out of the blue – he doesn’t speak much at all these days – but that wasn’t why Daisy snorts.

“Am not,” she scoffed, rolling a hard candy between her teeth.

“Are too,” Fitz insisted. “I mean, you’re not… in tune or anything-“

“-thanks-“

“- but it’s good, the singing. I like it.”

A smile touched his lips when Daisy blushed. Sometimes he forgets how unaccustomed she is to praise.

“It’s fun,” he continued. “It really makes the music feel… alive.”

“Well... that’s good,” she agreed, if a little abashedly. “You can join me, you know.”

Fitz shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m not very good at singing, ‘specially not, you know-“

“Never stopped me.” With a grin, Daisy dialed the volume of the music back up and flicked to the next song.

MY ANACONDA DON’T-  

Fitz nearly jumped out of his chair and Daisy cackled with laughter.

“Sorry!” she squeaked. “Still on my workout playlist. But don’t you worry. I have a couple songs I’m sure you’ll know. Henry, play The Fitz Mix.”

Grinning to herself, Daisy started the car. Fitz listened curiously, watching her mischievous expression for clues. A familiar guitar strum came through the speakers and for a second, he couldn’t place it – and then he could, and groaned.

“Daisy, I’m not sing the- the bloody- the Proclaimers,” he griped, jabbing at the car radio with an accusatory finger. Daisy shook her head, primly, exuding confidence.

“You are,” she insisted. “It’s scientifically impossible not to sing to this song.”

“’m not doing it.”

“Sing and I’ll give you a mint?”

“No.”

“Fine. Guess I’ll sing it by myself then.” She cleared her throat, and joined in, and Fitz crossed his arms tantrum-style and scowled as deeply as he could manage while she mangled the Scottish accent with all her might.

“n AH would WALK five hundred mayals anna AH would walk five hundred more –“

Despite his determination to hate Everyone’s Favourite Scottish Song, Fitz couldn’t help a smile creeping onto his face as Daisy glanced at him every couple of words, calculating just how “fun” and “alive” she could make the music sound before he rolled his eyes and caved.

“DA DA DAH!”“DA DA DAH!”

They called and answered, both of them laughing as they rollicked along with it, and Daisy cheered. As the next verse approached Fitz pretended to exercise his jaw, and then launched into it with an atrocious amount of enthusiasm. Daisy laughed so hard she nearly steered them off the road for a second, but Fitz was incapable of distraction. For all the love-hate relationship he had with this song, he’d sung it in every place he’d ever lived, in every state of inebriation, and with all his deepest and dearest friends – and plenty of others besides. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t good at singing anymore, or that he couldn’t remember the words. His body remembered it, like it had once remembered how to use a screwdriver or the order of the alphabet.

They sung – badly, embarrassingly and carefree – as the car sailed down the open road.

#fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #aos fic #aosficnet #aospositivitynet #clara's fic tag #prompt me stuff #buckysbears

[theclaravoyant]

The Bus Kid enthusiast in me is still screaming bc not only was the actual Bus Kids in that ep amazing but also I strongly believe it would have taken Fitz waaaay longer to admit his feelings to Jemma (and he may have even missed the boat) without the influence of Daisy “break the rules, tell the truth, trust your heart” Johnson so … who do we really have to thank

#and let's not forget the influence of 'take risks and believe in love' Daisy on Jemma too #fitzdaisy #bus kids #fitzsimmons #aos s5 #aos spoilers #brotp: a tonne of weird crap

[theclaravoyant]

@agentcalliope got another one for ya:

in Daisy’s best man speech she brings up that one time Fitz had a crush on her 

#and of course she winds it into something sweet but he dies of embarassment for a while there #also also accept it in pep talk/bachelor 'party' talk form #fitzdaisy #bus kids #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #aos s5 #aos spoilers

[theclaravoyant]

Would you write something about Skye comforting Fitz/them conforting each other in the meantime between Simmons jumping out of the plane in FZZT and them founding out she is okay?

AN ~ Yes I most certainly can! Argh I love these two. (brief disclaimer: the science / medicine in this is 90% BS but nvm). Have some S1 Fitz Daisy hurt comfort.

Read on AO3

-

The others leapt into action and Fitz felt like he should be helping only, his body and his mind and his tongue and his hands seemed detached from each other. Over and over he saw her fall – or did she jump? Over and over he heard the scream rip from his throat. Felt the pain all over his body as it physically refused to do what he demanded of it, as Ward pulled the chute away, and Fitz was left drifting.

Vaguely, he became aware that he was no longer vertical. Was he lying? Kneeling? Did it matter? His body was disintegrating, blowing away in the wind like Jemma had. So far out of reach. So impossibly beyond his worst nightmares.

“Fitz?”

A hand squeezed his shoulder, trying to pull him to his feet.

“Fitz, come on, let’s get away from there. Let’s get – “

Skye’s whole body was shaking, even as Fitz staggered after her, away from the door. He could barely put one foot in front of the other and she couldn’t blame him. Her own heart was racing so quickly she could feel it jolting her whole body as if it were trying to gallop out of her ribcage. It was beating so fast she felt sick. The plane was spinning. The sound of the air rushing past outside was dizzying.

Then they stepped into the hallway and the sound almost seemed to disappear.

Just like that?

Was it that easy for Jemma to be – gone?

No, not gone. Ward had jumped after her. She might not be dead.

“The rat’s alive,” Fitz whispered hoarsely. “She was going to be okay. She was going- “

Skye nodded, finding his ramblings oddly comforting as her own mind was starting to spark wildly out of control. She hauled him down to the kitchen as he tried to get a grip on his sentences, and found her breathing start to steady as she felt him cycle back down through the stages of panic, from near-catatonic to merely…

Well, as good as one might expect for someone who’s best friend of nearly ten years just jumped out of an aeroplane believing they were going to die.

“You two okay?”Skye was so startled by May’s question that she simply nodded. They must be real wrecks if May was asking that. But before she could psychoanalyse it too much, May darted off again, a woman on a mission – no doubt working with Coulson to get Jemma back. Because either way, they were going to get her back.

(Skye swallowed hard. She’d never seen a dead body before. She wasn’t keen to start now.)

“Ward can do it,” Fitz stated, nodding and rubbing his knuckles with a little too much frequency to be confident, but Skye would take it. “He’ll catch her. He can do it. He’s got the antidote and he’ll save her. He will.”

“I’m sure he will,” Skye agreed. “And isn’t it an anti-serum?”

Fitz snorted, a smile tugging at his lips.

“What’s the difference?” Skye asked.

“I don’t know. One’s for poison, one’s for viruses. Something like that.” Fitz shook his head. “All I know is, it worked. We did it. And then she -“

He choked up again, unable to wipe the vision from behind his eyes. Skye put a hand on his shoulder and bit her lip, watching tears fall from Fitz’s eyes and desperately trying to control her own. She wanted to get up and go help, but she knew she’d be useless in this state. She wasn’t even sure her legs would still work now that she’d sat down. All she could think was that just a few hours ago she’d been laughing at FitzSimmons’ funny voices as they imitated Ward, and Fitz’s squeamishness, and Jemma’s unflinching curiosity of all things squirm-inducing. She’d been really starting to like it here. Figures.

“Skye?” Fitz asked, still not quite daring to creep louder than a whisper. “Would you like a hug?”

When Skye realised she couldn’t even see Fitz, from how full with tears her eyes had become, she nodded. She took a deep breath and Fitz folded her into his arms as if he could keep her safer than he had kept Jemma. Yet his touch was not possessive. It made her feel warm. She told herself that Jemma would soon be getting the same warm embrace, and it would put colour back in her cheeks, after a cold ocean-air voyage. The universe would not deny them that, surely.

“Look alive, people!” Coulson called, clanking down the steps. “I need all hands on deck. Space blanket. Water bottles. Heat packs. Orange juice. Jellybeans. Go.”

Realising, a little belatedly, that he must be talking to them, Fitz and Skye released each other. Skye wiped her eyes, and tried to smile reassuringly. Action was good; action meant recovery.

“Why the jellybeans?” she prompted, and slowly her realisation began to dawn in Fitz’s eyes too. His mind, jumbled from the shock, was still a few steps behind, and his face still reddened and streaked with tears, but he smiled as he stood. In fact, he beamed.

“Blood sugar,” he whispered. “Come on. She’s alive.”

#fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #aospositivitynet #aosficnet2 #bus kids #clara's fic tag #prompt me stuff #florchis

[theclaravoyant]

Another pride prompt! Daisy is freaking out because she just realized that 1) she has a crush on jemma 2) does that mean she is not straight?? until Fitz figures out what the problem is and is there for her as a supportive friend (Bonus for: "Aren't you worry/mad that I have a crush on your girlfriend?" / "Please, like both of us don't have ginormous crushes on you, Daisy.")

AN ~ I always love some FitzSkimmons but today I was feelin some regular Skimmons so have this brotp: FitzDaisy + romantic Skimmons/Bioquake... in a Coffee Shop AU bc #reasons. Super fluffy. Enjoy!

Read on AO3 (~1200wd)

-

Fitz’s stomach was growling by the time Daisy finally made her way, in drifting and stumbling steps, back to the table where he was waiting. She had her head turned over her shoulder, not watching where she was going, and all but stumbled into the table before she realised where she was. And how long she’d been staring back at the cashier, and the little glint of her silver necklace the way her blonde hair tickled the back of her neck as she made the next coffee and –

“Shit.” Blushing furiously, Daisy pulled her head in. Rampant thoughts scattered through her mind of flowers and kisses and a dog for some reason and a kitchen that was way nicer than hers and bare skin and –

And then Fitz ruined by taking a loud, slurping gulp of his milkshake.

“Took you long enough,” he cursed, but sighed with satisfaction as Daisy finally remembered to unload her cargo, and Fitz got his hands on the ham and cheese toastie he’d ordered nearly fifteen minutes ago. “Are you alright? You look warm. Should we move over to the window?”

“No! Nah. I mean. I’m fine. Just – strong coffee, that’s all.”

Fitz frowned. Daisy was an indiscriminate coffee drinker, just as likely to dump a handful of instant coffee in whatever mug she could find or empty a can of whipped cream into a frappe as she was to order a neat cappuccino with baby marshmallows or biscuits on the side. Strong coffee? Not likely. Nevertheless, no other explanation immediately came to mind so he let the topic go and they moved on to food and movies and video games and the afternoon whiled away.

Unfortunately for Daisy though, her confusing ordeal was not over yet. This was their regular café, and the new girl – so attractive Daisy seemed to forget how to speak around her – seemed to be there every day. Every meal. Every tiny smile as she rung up paninis and muffins and coffee and cola and Daisy really did not have the budget for this, but gradually she realised she was dragging Fitz more and more often to the same table and that maybe she was giving off the impression that this was their table and that they were a they and not that it mattered but it kind of did but why did she care all of a sudden… and it was when she looked down at the coffee she hadn’t ordered – it was the girl, Jemma, she had just known – that Daisy realised what it all meant. The flushed cheeks. The domestic daydreams, and the not so domestic ones. The need for Jemma not to think that she and Fitz were together. To keep the door open. To allow for the possibility…

“Oh… my god,” she whispered.

“What?” Fitz looked up from the design he was doodling on her napkin, and frowned at her unusually pale cheeks. Daisy bit her lip, but there was nothing for it now. She couldn’t talk about it to anyone else. Fitz was the only one who knew her well enough. The only one she felt like trusting. The only one she didn’t feel completely foolish, confessing to about anything… even if it did seem ridiculous… or did it? Or…

“Y’know Jemma?” Daisy began. A smile touched Fitz’s lips.

“Oh yes. Jemma. Jemma Anne Simmons. She’s just moved here from England and she’s on a working visa and she wants to see the Grand Canyon so she’s saving up but it’s hard because rent here is so expensive. That Jemma?”

Daisy blushed. It had been her that had parroted all this to him. Another sign, perhaps, that she was more interested than normal? “Maybe.”

“Then yes, I’m familiar. Go on.”

“Well… I think I might…” Daisy took a deep breath. Here goes. “Like her. Like her like her. You know, like… like her.”

Daisy’s fingers dug into the coffee cup so tensely she might have worried about tearing it, if she’d thought of such a thing. Her eyes searched Fitz’s face for a reaction. He frowned a little at first, but not in disapproval. It was more like… exploration. Reflection. As if realising that this all made sense.

“How do you know?” he wondered.

“I don’t know, haven’t you ever liked someone before? It’s just – it, y’know, you like them. And you want to be with them and hear their voice and learn everything there is about them because they’re pretty and nice and funny and – Jemma’s funny isn’t she? Probably. She’s probably funny.”

“Okay, I think that’s enough coffee for you.” Fitz pried it out of her hands, and Daisy rapped her nails on the table and rocked from foot to foot. She couldn’t help a glance back over her shoulder, at Jemma, and since it was a quiet moment, Jemma smiled and waved. Daisy waved back, and squeaked, and hid again, and when she saw Fitz smirk she glared.

“Shut up, asshole,” she hissed.

“No, it’s not that,” Fitz protested. “Although – for the record, you are adorable – it’s just… I think you have more of a chance than you think.”

“More of a what?”

“Well, first of all, Jemma just tucked her hair behind her ears for the third time in the last two minutes… and second of all…”

Fitz slid the coffee cup back toward Daisy, and turned it around, so that her name, and a phone number faced her. Daisy gaped at it.

“That’s not – that’s not my number.”

“No, it is not,” Fitz agreed, waiting for the implication to settle in. Daisy gaped. Blinked.

“Should I… should I text her? No, right? She’s at work. And I don’t –“ she scoffed dismissively. “I mean, I don’t want to lead her on. I don’t even know what this is, really.”

“Then find out.”

Fitz nodded, but not at Daisy. Daisy frowned, and turned. Was he talking to Jemma? But her brain hardly had time to jump from one thought to next before her phone buzzed. Instinctively, she pulled it out, and read the text in the notification.

I get off at 2.  

Daisy danced before she could think about it. Fitz smiled, and hitched his bag onto his shoulder.

“I’ve got to get back to the grind,” he said. “Tell me where it goes. I mean, not all the way, just – let me know, okay? Good luck.”

“Good luck!” Daisy replied. “I mean. Thanks. Will do.”

She waved, and he waved, and left, and she looked back down at her phone as the clock ticked over from 1:59 to 2:00. She felt a little thrill in her chest. Then she realised there was somebody standing behind her. She turned.

“Hi.” Jemma blushed, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Hi.” Daisy bit her lip for a moment. “So I, uh. I would have brought you to this great coffee place I know but… who wants to go on a date at work, right?”

“Here here.” Jemma pursed her lips. It was true, but it did require more effort be put in, and they were only at the beginning.

“Have you had lunch?” Daisy offered.

“Actually, no,” Jemma confessed.

“Do you like burritos?”

Jemma’s stomach rumbled before she could answer. She laughed, and Daisy grinned at it, before dropping her payment on the table and gesturing to the door that led the way out.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” she agreed proudly. “Don’t worry, I know a place.”

#skimmons #bioquake #aospositivitynet #aosfemslash #aosfic #fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #clara's fic tag #prompt me stuff #florchis

[theclaravoyant]

The team reactions about finding about that Simmons, Fitz and/or Daisy are bi?

AN ~ thanks for the prompt! I went with Fitz for now, although I do have several fics that touch on this, including:

Fitz and Daisy come out to each other (S1)

Daisy comes out to Coulson (S4)

Daisy and Simmons come out to each other

This one involves various moments where Fitz comes out, in varying ways, to his team mates including Simmons, Daisy (references the above), Mack, Coulson, and May. All rshps are canon compatible. Rated light T. Enjoy!

Read on AO3 (~1300wd)

-

Fitz never really admitted it to himself, at first, that there was anything unusual about him. He had blinders on, happily ignorant to his own feelings about sex and dating and attractive people in general. Besides, he was a sixteen year old with a PhD, living off patents in a foreign country and attending one of the most prestigious academic institutions in the world. How it could be both prestigious and largely a secret was a question he never bothered to ask either. It was not as if he had nothing better to do.

Jemma noticed it, because of course she did, but she kept her mouth shut. She was not that good at making friends – not real ones – and this one, she wanted to keep. He was too insecure, she thought, too pressured to conform, and apparently, quite happy not knowing. Not knowing that one of the boys from Aeronautical bought him drinks because he wanted a kiss. Not knowing that the way he lingered by the Ops field some mornings during strength training or as the drills were rehearsed was not something someone merely jealous or inspired would do. So Jemma kept her mouth shut. If he noticed, if he struggled to settle into his identity with the pressures of conformity on his back, she would help him. Until then, she figured, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

If he went on some journey, though, he must have done it alone, because after a while he started noticing. He still wasn’t ready to define it as anything – in fact, the prospect was quite daunting – but one night, he confessed to her:

“I like boys too.”

She held his hand.

“That’s okay,” she said. “Boys are cute. Some of them, anyway.”

He screwed up his nose. That was around the time she’d broken up with Milton, and she’d been all too happy to let him rant, in her defense, about the cabbage-headed oaf she had, until recently, called a boyfriend. They spent the rest of the night talking about boys, and what made a good one, like Ahmed from Analytical Chemistry (or Anal Chem, as it inevitably became known), and what made a bad one, like Troy from… well, from a general rule, apparently, about guys named Troy.

Daisy found out a heavier way. It was after all with Ward had been said and done – or so they’d thought – and the two of them had been sitting by the pool, when the words had spilled from his lips; a confession. He was glad, Fitz had said, that Ward had picked her instead of himself. Not glad for her pain, he’d insisted – of course, not that. But glad for the fact that Ward had chosen someone brave and clever enough to resist him, trap him, and possibly defeat him. She’d confessed in return, with a crush on Jemma no less, and the pair of them had sat and raised a toast, feeling just as strong in solidarity as they did sorry for themselves.

As it turned out, the defeat of Ward had been shortlived, and after that, everything had changed. Fitz was different. Jemma was gone. Everyone else was there but not until this new man came along. Mack, he called himself. He was warm and supportive, and though they had uneasy moments, he didn’t talk down to Fitz or walk on eggshells around him and Fitz found that to be a vote of confidence, refreshing and reassuring in a sea of uncertainty and self doubt. Perhaps it was only natural, then, that Fitz attached himself to this figure of friendship and comfort. Perhaps it was only natural that he began to react to Mack’s strong presence and easygoing smile, and dear Lord the muscles that shone with sweat while he worked. Sometimes Fitz found himself staring a little too long, a little too obviously – and sometimes, Mack noticed.

Mack found him one day, took him aside, and Fitz was already blushing. He knew what this was about, but he couldn’t quite manage an explanation, or an apology, or anything. His brain seemed to want him to say well, you’re hot, but he didn’t. He knew he shouldn’t.

“Hey, Turbo, I, ah-“ Mack didn’t usually get shaken. This wasn’t quite that, Fitz observed, just a little nervous. Awkward. Sort of amusing, because it was so unusual, but Fitz tried not to smile. Mack was clearly trying to be serious.

“I’ve, ah, noticed the way you’ve been looking at me, sometimes,” Mack pointed out, “and I think maybe you might – you might like me. ‘S that true?”

Well, you’re hot.  

Of course I like you, you’re my friend.  

Hot friend.

Fitz bit his tongue, blushing furious red. He wanted to hide. He wanted to dig a hole in the ground and bury himself and never come out. His hands wanted something to do so that he wouldn’t hit himself upside the head for ruining this – this – the only thing he had.

Mack nodded in understanding, and gently passed him an abandoned piece of cable. Fitz stretched and twisted it anxiously.

“Don’t freak out, man, I’m cool with it,” Mack assured him. “I just wanted you to know that I don’t – I don’t swing that way, so, nothing’s going to happen. Just wanted to clear things up, so there’s no misunderstandings, okay?”

Fitz nodded. There was still a sour taste in his mouth and he felt like crying. Everything was so overwhelming these days; he never seemed quite able to get used to it. He twisted the cable.

“Friend?” he mumbled hopefully.

“Of course, man,” Mack promised cheerfully. “Sure, I’m still your friend. Come here.”

With one big, strong arm, Mack pulled Fitz against him. Squashed rather unceremoniously against those muscles he’d admired (and probably would still admire on occasion; he was only a man) Fitz shifted his perspective. They were good for bear hugs too.

The most awkward, really, was Coulson - and even then it wasn’t half bad.

It was during the interviews, trying to dredge up something about Ward. Fitz had confessed then what he had done to Daisy, a long time ago by then, and Coulson had looked up with a frown.

“You mean –“

“Yeah.”

“But Jemma?”

“I know.” Fitz shrugged, but he sat up tighter, feeling his stomach twist. This was why he didn’t like spreading it around. “I like both, I guess.”

“Right.” Coulson had noted it and after a while – perhaps after realising he was still frowning when he probably shouldn’t be – he wiped a smile across his face. “But Jemma the most, right?”

Fitz, glad to relieve the tension, let his shoulders slump again.

“Yeah,” he said, with a slightly dreamy smile. “Always Jemma the most.”

It seemed only fitting, after that, that May find out too. It didn’t happen for some time; a year, perhaps. It was a loud night on base, as the Agents scrambled to celebrate Pride, seizing a rare night off in the face of so much tragedy that they were prepared to just tell their current reality to take a long walk off a short pier. Fitz had never been one for Pride, really, but the atmosphere was infectious, especially as Daisy and Jemma danced around him and draped him in a pink, purple and blue flag, with matching facepaint. They themselves were dressed up in absurd and garish colours, and he’d compromised with a white t-shirt, which they’d agreed to on the condition that they could bring water balloons, so that any colour flying around would stick.

Daisy had asked May to take a photo of the three of them together, and May had just quietly fixed her eyes on him. She must have known about the girls already – they’d never felt the need to be particularly low-key about any of this – and her steady gaze was asking, is this you? and are you this? Protecting him as much from confessing his own insecurity to the girls as from vocally having to confirm or deny the answers to her questions. Fitz smiled a little, and nodded.

In true May fashion, she simply nodded back, and took the shot.

#leo fitz #bi!fitz #fitzsimmons #aosficnet2 #aosteam #fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #fitzmack #brotp: turbo #fitz & coulson #fitz & may #prompt me stuff #happy pride! #clara's fic tag #Anonymous

[theclaravoyant]

Do you think you could please write a continuation of the Fitzsimmons reunion but add bus kids. Thanks!

AN ~ :’) sure! angst/hurt/comfort. title from Flares - The Script

Read on AO3

do you feel the smoke in your eyes?

Daisy held her breath as the Zephyr took off. It was quiet – as quiet as it ever was on this plane with the roar of the engines outside and the occasional blip of machinery within. It was so quiet, that when she heard it, she couldn’t let it go.

Fitz was crying.

A sharp pain splintered through her chest and she gritted her teeth. Of course he was crying; he was lost and confused, and they’d all been ignoring or yelling at him all day, and people had been dying all around him since he’d woken up, and even before that. But Daisy held her breath. The shell that she’d built around the terror and pain since hearing Aida had taken him was beginning to crack, but she was not sure if she was ready to let it go yet. May had always said not to go into a situation without knowing what she was prepared to do. What if it was a trick? Would she be prepared to hurt him? What if it wasn’t a trick at all, but the sight of him blinded her, and she only saw the man who’d had her beaten? What would that do to him, to her, to them?

What was it doing to them now, she wondered; her standing out here speculating on suspicions, while not just one world, but two, crashed down around him?

Daisy let out a sigh, and felt the tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She gathered her strength and crept back toward the pod. Jemma had disappeared. Maybe she was in there. Maybe she could take care of it. Maybe Daisy shouldn’t –

She stopped in the doorway out of shock more than out of conscious decision. Rather than the smooth, cold man who’d wiped her blood off his hands with a handkerchief, she saw him. Her friend. Her protector – or at least, so he had tried to be. Her Fitz, but beaten down in every conceivable way, and shaking, and weeping with overwhelming terror and shame and grief. Jemma, a little hesitantly – still shaken herself – had her arms wrapped around his back, squeezing his shoulder, a tiny smile on her face even as her eyes streamed with tears. It was him, he was here, the real Fitz, and he was safe and she was safe and they had so much to cry for, but at least they could do it together.

Then Jemma saw Daisy in the doorway and couldn’t help but stiffen a little. She’d never been one for public breakdowns. And even though she relaxed once she saw that it was Daisy – that she was not being called upon to stiffen her upper lip once more – she had already alerted Fitz to someone else’s presence. He looked up, and met Daisy’s eyes, and let out a strangled gasp of agony before hiding his head again, cowering under the protection of Jemma’s arms.

Daisy stepped further into the pod, feeling her lips quiver with words and tears even though she didn’t know what to say.

“Fitz,” she murmured eventually. “It’s alright.”

“I hurt you,” he breathed, still unable to look at her. He held his hands out, trembling, as if he could still see the blood on them. “I hurt you and I – I killed so many…”

At last the tears began to slip down Daisy’s cheeks too, as she thought of the Vijay and the Gordon and the Lincoln in the other world. She hadn’t known them, but she had known versions of them. She hadn’t been subjected to what they had, but she shared the reason for their suffering, and the pain of it. Knowing that this Fitz – her Fitz, the one who had held her and helped her find light again - would not only have opposed it, but would have gone to great lengths to stop it had he not been the one twisted into doing it, was a fistful of salt rubbed into the wound as he sat weeping in front of her, and it ripped the fragile shell in Daisy’s chest wide open.

She knelt in front of him, trying to catch his eyes, and settled for taking one of his hands and squeezing it tightly, trying to instil her promise in him.

“It wasn’t you,” she insisted, as much to herself as to Fitz. “I know… I know it wasn’t…”

And it hurt, because while she couldn’t feel the sting of his hand across her cheek anymore like she had feared, he continued to avoid her gaze, and the warmth of his embrace when he’d told her it was going to be okay was just as far from her as the pain. Suddenly, that embrace was all she wanted, but she doubted he’d be leaving the unbreakable shelter of Jemma’s arms any time soon. And he still couldn’t look at her.

(Maybe he couldn’t look at Jemma either – maybe that’s why she’d wrapped herself around him like this instead of tucking herself against his chest and looking into his eyes and drinking in their togetherness. Maybe that was a good thing, because Jemma could comfort him and find comfort in his presence, his return, without being faced quite yet with the possibility that she might not see Fitz’s eyes next time she looked into them. She might see the eyes of the man who’d shot a civilian, or the LMD who’d tried to kill her, and who she’d had to brutally kill instead. Even if it wasn’t his fault, she might see it, she might not ever truly unsee it, and then what? What would she have to be prepared to do?)

So FitzSimmons sat, together but not unbroken, and weeping, and Daisy felt helpless and small and trapped and the unpredictability of the world felt less like an exciting miracle than it ever had, and more like a monster waiting somewhere down the road to recovery, laying traps, laying in wait. Jemma was reaching out and Fitz was spiralling downwards into a pit of doubt, loathing and despair that Daisy herself knew all too well, and Daisy wasn’t sure who she should catch or how.

Daisy sighed, and dropped from kneeling to sitting by Fitz’s leg. She could taste her own tears now, though it didn’t really feel like she was crying, but as she breathed in the salty bitterness she began to realise that she did, after all, feel relief. Of course they did not know what was coming. They never had – except once, and it was not as if that had ended well. And maybe this was a huge mountain to climb and they might be different people all over again by the time they got to the other side, but they were still people. They were still here.

“Hey. Fitz,” Daisy said, her voice croaking with tears. “I’m not leaving you this time. Don’t you leave me either, okay?”

He didn’t answer, but he was still holding her hand and he squeezed it a little, and Jemma sighed with relief and her hand appeared by Daisy’s side, and Daisy took it too, and while the powerful and unpredictable wheels of the world rolled on around them they sat together and relished survival and love and the long slow road out on which they could now begin to walk.

#fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #brotp: bus kids #fitzskimmons #fitzsimmons #prompt me stuff #fitzsimmonsftw #aos s4 #aos spoilers

[theclaravoyant]

FitzDaisy centered about post-framework after what he had done to her in there?

AN ~ What’s that sound? It’s more Fitz Daisy Framework-related hurt/comfort!

For some others see:

platonic, set post-Framework, but written before end of season: x x 

FitzSkimmons set post-Framework, but written before end of season: x

platonic FD + romantic FS (Bus Kid) written & set during 4x21: x

This one focuses much more on what happened to Daisy than the above ones; Fitz approaches her to help them both truly forgive & move on.

(title from Hey Brother - Avicii)

Read on AO3 (~1500wd)

if the sky comes falling down

It was a cold morning on the Space Prison. It was so cold, in fact, that Daisy had given up on sleep and sought out her warmest jacket and a long walk – as long as she could get, in this place. It was early morning, or so she guessed from the dim lighting, since it was always night out here. It was early enough, she knew, that she was surprised to find Fitz awake in one of the hallways, scratching at the wall with what appeared to be a knife. Slowing down, concern clutching at her chest, Daisy tried to catch his eye.

“Hey…Fitz…” she greeted slowly, not sure what state she’d found him in. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he assured her, so calm it was in itself unnerving. He turned to her with a soft smile on his face and she glanced at the wall where he’d been carving; not symbols, but a word. Vijay Nadeer.

“Are you sure?” Daisy checked. “Because this place…”

“I really am okay,” Fitz promised, standing up and looking a little less crazy when the light hit his eyes a different way. They were still haunted and heavy, but no longer seemed so distant. “It’s actually kind of therapeutic up here.”

“Really?” Daisy frowned. “I’m still pretty sure it’s some kind of messed up social experiment.”

“Actually,” he said, “maintenance, life support… it’s very calming.”

Daisy nodded. She was glad he hadn’t said it was what he deserved or some rubbish like that. Although, given the nature of the names he’d been carving – and the fact that he’d been carving them at all – still gave her cause for concern about his guilt levels.

“What’s that about?” she wondered, gesturing toward it.

“It’s a Wall of Valour. Sort of,” Fitz explained, and suddenly it made sense. “I mean usually, the Wall of Valour’s just for certified Agents but… it felt right. It’s helping me feel better.”

“And our beloved overloads haven’t smote you for damaging their property or something?”

“I don’t think our ‘overlords’ care what we do here, Daisy,” he pointed out, laughing a little at the name she’d given their faceless commanders. “We do the work, we get to therapise ourselves on our own terms.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Sure it is. I mean, none of us is ever going to go to a real therapist, are we? So instead, we get months of monotony in Space Prison to sort ourselves out.”

Daisy narrowed her eyes.

“You know prison is… a punishment, right?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Daisy wrapped her arms around her torso as she followed Fitz down the Wall- past Jeffrey Mace and Lincoln Campbell and a few others she didn’t quite catch - to where he must have started. A small bag rested there, leaning against a blank space, and Fitz dug inside it and pulled out a sketchpad. A drink bottle and charcoals threatened to spill out too and Daisy’s frown deepened.

“Where did you get all that?”

“I told you,” Fitz insisted. “They don’t care what we do, as long as we do the work. I told them I needed a sketchbook, they gave me one. I didn’t tell them what for and so far, nobody’s asked.”

Daisy pressed her lips together.

“Well, that’s just a tee-up, isn’t it?” she pointed out.

“I’m glad you asked.” Fitz smiled. It faded quickly, though, as he returned his attention to the content of the book. He paged through it with focus, but not much subtlety, and Daisy caught a few screaming faces, angry scratches, twisted trees. A few kinder things too, though. A stream in a forest. Jemma’s face. Her own.

“Fitz…”

Daisy trailed off as Fitz began to carefully tear a page from the book. It bore a surprisingly realistic likeness of her face, smiling a little, with her nose crinkling not unlike it did as she first took in the image.

“Why are you showing me this?” she wondered.

“Not showing,” Fitz corrected. “I’m giving it to you. It’s… a therapy technique.”

“You went to therapy? I mean. Sorry. But.” Her eyes couldn’t help asking, and Fitz brushed her off.

“I did, for a while after the uh, the Pod, but I picked this up before that. Believe it or not, I used to be quite the problem child. Yeah. I can feel the shock radiating off you.”Daisy smirked. She didn’t know much about Fitz’s background, but somehow, she’d picked up enough not to be surprised. And, she could relate.

“Anyway, it really taught me a lot about handling my emotions and all that. One of the things that stuck was art therapy. Another was – when I’d hurt someone or done wrong by them I’d apologise through action. Through an act of service. Because of what you said before, I didn’t know if you’d accept an actual favour, so I decided to give you the picture instead. Though of course, you’re welcome to the favour as well.”

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” Daisy said, but she kept her eyes on Fitz. He didn’t look like he’d finished what he wanted to say. After a while, she probed him about it and, with an expression very much like he’d been caught out with a troubling secret, he looked up at her and asked quietly:

“Can I show you something else?”

Daisy led the way back to her room, since she assumed he wanted privacy, and Jemma would be in his bunk. Once inside, Fitz let out a deep breath and turned the sketchbook back toward her. On a page separate from the one he’d torn out, there were more pictures of her, most of them more stylized and roughly drawn; all of them, struggling, suffering or in pain. Climbing up a steep cliff, in a pit, tied up, bleeding, calling out for help. Calling out for him. There was a double spread of it, and another double when she turned the page and the only relief was a standing figure with a fist raised to the sky, light shining around her, victorious.

Daisy’s jaw hung open, tears seeping down her cheeks as she felt the visceral pain that Fitz had laid out before her, and in turn was pulled back into her own pain from the Framework. Falling down the stairs. Unable to stand. Bleeding, bloody, dizzy and enraged, and more scared than she had remembered being at the time. Everyone was trying to kill her. Everyone she knew was evil. It hadn’t been real, but it had happened. It had hurt.

She looked up at Fitz with quivering lips, the question hanging in her mind again, why are you showing me this?

“I know I hurt you,” Fitz said. “I know you’ll keep telling me it’s not my fault and eventually I’m going to have to accept that you’re right but the reality is, you got hurt and you wouldn’t have if not for me. So, for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

Daisy pressed her lips together and nodded, blinking back tears.

“It’s worth a lot. So much. Thank you.”

“Thank you for getting me out of there.”

“That was Jemma, and Radcliffe,” Daisy corrected.

“They couldn’t have done it without you. And even though Jemma’s been trying, she couldn’t have meant what you meant when you said that we were going to stick together through all this. I know you’ve been here before and to come back to these feelings again, for me, it’s –“

“It’s what friends are for, Fitz.”

“Sorry I haven’t been a very good one lately. Including the way I treated you when you came back. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for you, and this place, I’d be tempted to run away myself. It’s not as easy as it looks, to stay.”

“That it is not,” Daisy agreed. Her eyes trailed back to the heroic picture in the corner of the horrors, and Fitz noticed.

“That one’s because I was proud of you,” he confessed softly. “I mean, I always am, but in there… Everything and everyone was messed up and trying to kill you and you still wanted peace, you still had hope. You persisted even when you could have died. For real. I thought that was pretty cool. So I drew it as a reminder, to myself. And to you, if you like.”

Daisy smiled, tearing up now beyond sense and vision.

“Come here.” She opened her arms, beckoning, but before he could fall into them she stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around him firmly. “I forgive you. Of course I do. But thanks for apologising anyway.”

“Love you,” Fitz murmured.“Love you too.”

Fitz tightened his return hug and then they stood together for a long while in the silence, warmed by mutual understanding, forgiveness, and love.

#daisy johnson #leo fitz #fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #aospositivitynet #aosficnet #fitz #clara's fic tag #prompt me stuff #Anonymous

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ some Fitz & Daisy Post-Framework hurt/comfort, with a happy ending, because I need more of this in my life. title from song of the same name by Lady Antebellum.

Rated low T, for some mentions of violence & Framework occurrences.

Read on AO3 (~1300wd)

down the road, the sun is shining

Fitz slammed the screwdriver down on the bench and forced his hand to let go of it, raking his fingers through his hair instead and pulling until the pressure stabilised him. He let out a deep breath, and then another, and opened his eyes again with his hand still in his hair. He stared at the screwdriver sitting before him, taunting him, and he felt another wave of rage and hopelessness as the sight of it swept him even further back, past the Framework, into another pit of despair. A pit he’d climbed out of that time, at least.

“You did it before,” he whispered, clinging to that flicker of hope. “Just do it again.”

“Did what?”

Fitz jumped so aggressively he nearly knocked over his own stool, scrabbling for the screwdriver in an instant. He wondered if it was Madame’s face he’d see behind him, and if he’d have the guts to put the screwdriver through her eye.

But it was Daisy.

“Woah, hey, sorry.” She raised her hands, pretending to be off-handedly offended so he couldn’t see that she’d jumped too. Not sure it had worked as planned, she frowned softly and strolled further into the room, approaching slowly and gently.

“What’re you doing?” she asked. Fitz sighed loudly.

“Nothing, apparently,” he snapped. “Can’t touch a thing. Can’t build anything. Not even a toaster. Literally. That’s a toaster right there.”

“Really?” Daisy frowned deeper, leaning over him examining the scattered parts. She couldn’t see it. Then again, she’d never been Fitz.

“Well, it was going to be,” Fitz explained, “but I can’t… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not even the aphasia or my hands or anything. It’s just…”

“Writer’s block?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Fitz sighed again, and pinched his nose, and Daisy rubbed her hand over his nearest shoulder in sympathy.

“Give yourself a break,” she insisted. “You don’t have anything to prove, okay?”

Fitz grimaced. His father’s harsh face was burned into the back of his eyelids. How much of that had been based on real life? Was it even his real face? His real father? The real sting of a belt-strap across his back? How much was Aida’s creation, and how much had he just forgotten?

Daisy leaned further over him and wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but I might have something that can help.”

“Lead the way.”

-

Daisy led him to one of the side rooms she’d coopted as her office space. She had her laptop set up on the desk and plugged into another monitor, and in front of them was a 360-degree projector. As they walked in, the lights turned on, and then lowered as the projector took priority. All around them, all over the walls, was a flow chart with hundreds, maybe thousands of possibilities.

“Daisy?” Fitz wondered, turning slowly as he entered the room, attempting to read the boxes, but there were too many. A few stuck in his mind: The Pod. Father left. But not enough for him to figure it out. “What is this?”

“It’s a map,” Daisy said, “of your choices. Sort of.”

“I don’t understand.”

Joined Shield. Left Shield.  

Stayed in Scotland. Left Scotland.  

Fitz jumped when some of the boxes lit up in red. Taking a step back, he followed their path around the room, climbing upward and upward to ever-smaller boxes as choices split off from choices split off from choices. His eyes followed and the computer zoomed in as it reached its final conclusion:

Fitz is Hydra.

His breath caught. He clenched his fist, and asked tightly:

“Why would you show me that?”

“The red is, from what I can remember, the path that Aida made you take. She set up an algorithm that mapped this out for you, and this was the path she picked. Now, obviously, I don’t know every choice you’ve ever faced or every circumstance you’ve ever been in, so I made some up, and I thought I’d show you…”

Daisy scrolled down, letting the final conclusions of some of the pathways roll past Fitz’s eyes.

Some of them were unpleasant:

Fitz dies. Fitz is trapped in another dimension. Fitz leaves.

Some of them, he just hadn’t seen in himself:

Fitz is a journalist. Fitz is a surgeon. Fitz works in hospice care.

Gradually they start getting more and more like him:

Fitz is a speech therapist. Fitz is a conservationist. Fitz is a teacher. Fitz is a Dad.

And he was smiling by the time he got to

Fitz is Fitz.

It lit up blue.

Daisy touched his shoulder again, drawing his attention so that she could explain, as she put the full flow chart back up. Blue path after blue path lit up, as hundreds of pathways that did not lead to the first conclusion took their course.

“Look,” she said. “I’ll be honest, I think what happened to you in there was brainwashing, but the reality is, greater minds than I have been arguing about what that entails for longer than we’ve both been alive. Either way, it was fucked up. But here’s what I do know.

“You are here. You are you. Whatever choices you made to get here, whatever happened to push you to make those choices, they are all part of you. This you. Real you. You are who you are, not who he is, and I am grateful for that. I love you. You’re my best friend. And –“

Daisy blinked. In hindsight, she should have been expecting to get choked up, but she didn’t think it would be this visceral.

“-And it hurts me, so, so much, that anyone or anything could ever turn you into something so… not what you are. Someone so hateful and…”

She shook her head.

“But you’re not that. You would never choose to be that. Whatever else, you wouldn’t be that. But, uh, going back to the toaster…you don’t always have to be this either.”

Fitz frowned, confused, and Daisy blinked back her tears and brought up some of the final options again. The positive ones. The ones he could be.

“Look. Fitz,” she began again. “When I ran away, after Lincoln, it was because… I needed to remake myself. I needed to decide who I was after that. Even though it wasn’t my fault, it still made me feel like all I did was just… bring death to everyone. That’s why I left. If you need to leave – if you need to run away and save the orang-utans tomorrow or something… I’ll understand. I’ll miss you a hell of a lot and I’ll visit every other day but, like, I’ll get it.”

Her eyes dropped, vulnerable, and Fitz felt a tightness in his chest under the weight of her concern and love.

“Are you saying I should leave Shield?” he wondered.

“No,” Daisy said. “I’m just saying… You shouldn’t stay just because you always have. Maybe Leo Fitz: toymaker just hasn’t had his shot yet, that’s all.”

Fitz snorted, looking up and down the list of Daisy’s ideas.

“You really think I could make toys? For a living?”

“Sure.” Daisy smiled a little. “And if you don’t, you’ve never seen yourself in those kooky watchmaker’s glasses.”

“They’re called loupe,” Fitz pointed out.

“Of course they are.”

Fitz smiled at her, and she smiled back, and he pulled her into a one-armed hug, looking up at the list she had presented with pride and gratitude. Daisy smiled fondly up at it too, proud of the diversity of optimistic options she had presented, and glad to have brought them both some happiness and cleared some of the clouds from her best friend’s mind.

“Thank you, Daisy,” Fitz said, his voice raw with sincerity. She wrapped her arms around his torso in a sideways bear-hug.

“I love you too.”

#fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #leo fitz #daisy johnson #buskidsnet #aosficnet

[theclaravoyant]

I’m ready for on-the-warpath Protective Daisy next week. Like. No frickin way is she letting Aida breathe in Fitz’s general direction. No way is she letting someone who fucked up her friend that badly get away with it. No matter what trauma she may or may not have in relation to Fitz, or if their relationship is struggling somehow (I hope not, but I won’t presume) there is NO WAY she’s going to be anything less than 500% down with kicking Aida’s ass and keeping her family safe.

#daisy johnson #also here for the epic battle of powers that could potentially go down bc frick yes #and i would not be opposed to a 'how dare you stand where he stood' moment bc i love dying and being dead #and ofc hurt/comfort fitzdaisy would be amazing #fitzdaisy #just generally. daisy next ep is gonna be awesome and give me feels and im here for it #aos speculation #aos s4 #aos spoilers #brotp: a tonne of weird crap

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ so I promise I haven’t abandoned people’s prompts, but I wrote some Post-Framework Fitz-Daisy brotp because I have a LOT OF FEELINGS I had to share. I hope you like it, in a bittersweet angst-hurt-comforty way. title is from Satellite Call by Sara Bareilles which is one of my favourite Fitz-Daisy songs.

Contains: 4x16 spoilers, & some discussion of non/dubcon themes but no depiction of this behaviour. Rated T.

Read on AO3 (~1300wd)

this broken earthly life

This morning, the kitchen was quiet.

The whole base was quiet, but especially the kitchen, where Jemma and Daisy made breakfast for the team and did not speak. Eggs crackled in the pan. The kettle whistled. They found themselves not looking forward to real food nearly as much as they had been last night.

“I’m worried about Fitz,” Jemma confessed, as she filled tea and coffee cups to the brim. “He’s barely said a word since we got back. He’s barely even moved. It was a struggle to get him to have a shower and when he did I’m pretty sure he just stood in the water. I’ve tried talking to him about it, but I think he feels guilty about all this. He felt pretty bad before. Now? I can only imagine. But he won’t talk to me about it. I don’t want to push, if struggling with words will make it worse, but…I’m afraid if I leave it he’s going to sink into some sort of depression.”

Daisy shovelled eggs and sausages onto plates.

“Maybe I could talk to him? Let him know I…forgive him, or whatever, for the whole…torture thing.”

Jemma nodded. “I’m sure that would help.”

She pushed two cups of tea toward Daisy, but didn’t suggest that they bring him breakfast. That, Daisy felt, was a bad sign. She felt a sour taste in her mouth as she walked through the corridors with small but purposeful steps, as reluctant as she was eager to see him.

When she finally reached his door, Daisy braced herself for no more than a second, refusing to let herself lose her nerve. She knocked, and only an indistinct mumble came from the other side, so she pushed slowly into the room.

Fitz was in bed, blankets strewn randomly around him like he’d gotten sick of trying to rearrange them. He had his back to the door, and his legs curled up a little as his body wrapped around something – a pillow, Daisy suspected. It didn’t look like he’d moved in a while, and she felt her heart sink.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked, nevertheless.

Silence passed in heartbeats until Fitz decided to answer her.

“Shit,” he croaked. “Many…many layers of shit.”

Daisy nodded. It was a start.

“Wanna sit up?” she offered. “Jemma made you some tea.”

Begrudgingly, he took up the invite and sat on the edge of the bed, pillow in his lap, tea in his hands. He stared at the softly swirling water, but his eyes were grey and heavy and unseeing.

“How’re the others?” he asked eventually.

Daisy sighed, and her eyes dropped to her own cup as she explained.

“Coulson’s pretty good. A bit shaken, but he’s getting over it. May – well, mentally she’s fine. She made a different decision here, so she’s taking comfort from that, I guess. She’s in medical, which she’s not too happy about, but her body was in there for the longest, so she’s got some problems. Mack’s still pretty messed up, though.”

“Mack?“

A surge of inspiration flooded him, bleeding through the grey, and he almost moved for the door. Only, he was not sure what to do. What could he say? He was in no position to reassure someone, especially not about love and children and happy things while all he could think of was cold torture, and hatred, and death.

“He’s not on base right now,” Daisy assured him. “I think him and Elena have gone to church or something, to help him come to terms with it.”

“Okay.” Fitz nodded. His own inability to help his friend piled onto the shit he was feeling but at least help was coming from somewhere. It stung. “Okay. Yeah. Good.”

“He’s going to be okay, Fitz,” Daisy assured him. “As sucky as it is, he’s got through this before. He knows this Hope wasn’t real. He just misses her. He’ll be alright. And it’s not your fault.”

She looked into his eyes, and he felt like curling up again. That’s what they thought he meant, that’s always what they thought he meant, but the guilt, it was different to this – this shit.

Fitz shook his head.

“It’s not that,” he said.

“What is it, then?”

Grey. Rotting. Empty.  

None of those were right, but they were the closest he had. Would she understand?

“I – “

Not this, not more tears, not now.

But it’s too much, it’s all wrong, it’s nothing.  

A whine came out of his throat in place of words, and Daisy’s eyes widened, horrified at the thought that she might have upset him further. She cast aside her own cup of tea, leaving it on the dresser, and moved to sit beside Fitz.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “You can tell me. No judgments. I won’t tell anyone, not even Jemma if you don’t want me to.”

“It’s not- I can’t – I feel –“

Aida, Aida, Aida.  

The thought of her, of it, drowned out all the words. Even the greyness turned into twisted, visceral darkness, and he could no longer tell what he felt or what he wanted.

Daisy offered him her shoulder, and wound the fingers of one of her hands up with his. It seemed to steady him a little, but she wondered: was this a breakthrough, or was he starting to spiral? He had, after all, just woken up from a horrific life. A life where everyone who had loved him was a stranger. A life where he had tortured and killed for a living. As horrific as that had been to see, she could hardly imagine what it must have been like to live it.

“It’s okay,” she insisted. “You don’t have to find another word. I can work with shit. If I’d just come back from being a Nazi I’d feel pretty shit about it too. But that wasn’t you, you know that, right? That was Aida. Not you.”

“Aida,” Fitz repeated. “Yes.”

He sounded…relieved. Like she’d finally understood something that he had been struggling to communicate. But what? Daisy didn’t feel like she understood a thing about what he’d gone through... Then again, maybe she did. Maybe she was thinking too much with her head, trying to figure out his words, when she should have been focused on the feeling.

Not guilt, they’d already covered that.

Not sorrow, or mourning; he’d been all but weeping with relief when they’d pulled him out.

No.

Violation.  

They’d all thought he was feeling bad about what he thought he’d done to them, but no – or at least, not only that. He felt shit because he knew that his mind had been invaded; all his thoughts and desires and dreams had been warped and replaced; his body had been assaulted; and all the things he loved most had been taken or corrupted or both. Everything he was had been hollowed out and twisted and he could remember every second of it. And maybe he couldn’t describe it with any other word, but when Ward had revealed himself to be Hydra after all the things she’d wanted to do with him, and when Hive had drugged her and replaced all her loves and loyalties with himself, Daisy wouldn’t have been able to come up with another word for it either.

Instead, she wrapped Fitz tighter in her arms until she was giving him a proper, solid embrace.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she murmured. “You are a good person and we love you, and she cannot take that away. You are still whole. No matter what she did to you or made you do.”

Fitz hugged her back with equal ferocity, internalising her assurances as best he could, and relishing the feeling that someone knew, someone understood. It didn’t quite get rid of the shit, but it was like a ray of sunshine, warm on his skin.

“I missed you,” he whispered. Daisy smiled.

“I missed you, too.”

#aospositivitynet #buskidsnet #aosficnet #fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #aos s4 #aos spoilers #the framework

[theclaravoyant]

tfw you pretend you’re just remembering that Fave Character A is highly likely about to hurt/torture Fave Character B when in reality you’ve been thinking about it literally all week

#i s2g aos if you do this u better do it right #my childrennnnnnn #about me #life of a fangirl #fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #aos speculation #aos s4 #aos spoilers

[theclaravoyant]

I'm rlly sad with the lack of Fitz and Daisy in this episode 😧

SAME

I mean, there was a LOT about that ep that I LOVED don’t get me wrong

and they will pretty much NEVER satisfy my Fitz&Daisy cravings

but would it have killed them to maybe throw in a sympathetic glance or two, and/or a ‘where’s Fitz?’ and/or just have Daisy stop for a second in the doorway of the Pod at the end? Like, even if she didn’t know what to say? Like, for three seconds??

ah, the struggles of loving brotps. this show is usually good to us but it giveth and it taketh away... still, there’s hope for next week I think!

#fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #aos s4 #aos spoilers #ask me stuff #Anonymous

[theclaravoyant]

me: the Framework could use some more Fitz Daisy

aos: *RIPS MY FUCKING HEART OUT*

#oh he is not coming back from that shit #ooooooh this is baaaaaaad #fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #aos s4 #aos spoilers

[theclaravoyant]

Daisy finding out that Fitz shot someone maliciously/in cold blood/to hurt another person and literally sinking to the floor

#same #but oh my god the pain #daisy johnson #fitz #fitzdaisy #brotp: a tonne of weird crap #aos s4 #aos spoilers #aos lb