[ Fun fact: the Quake suit was not designed to withstand a New York monsoon in winter. The ice cold rain soaks into the fabric created to help keep her bones from breaking, her blonde hair plastered to her head before the battle's even begun. And by the end of it...
Well, by the end of it, Daisy Johnson is nothing short of miserable. She runs unnaturally cold all the time anyway thanks to her temporary frozen death in space a few years earlier, so being absolutely drenched isn't helping. Her boots squish all the way through HQ after she wraps up the parts of the debrief that can't wait until tomorrow, lower-level agents scurrying out of the way at the glare she gives everyone she encounters.
No, she doesn't want commentary or sympathy, she wants to get back to her SHIELD-owned apartment building and get changed. And since that will involve going back out into the rain, she's just going to be that random superhero wading through the shallow street rivers, doing her best to avoid the paparazzi who seem to be around every other corner, waiting at the ready to snap some photos of her for social media. Hard pass.
She's ducking down another alley to avoid one such photographer when she spots him. A swiftly moving blur of red and blue up above, swinging onto a rooftop on the next street over. It's him — the other one.
It isn't unusual for SHIELD to keep an eye on the active superheroes in major cities around the world. They tend to be more concerned with the powered individuals causing problems, but they also know the two groups tend to gravitate toward each other, so one will inevitably lead to the other. Add in the chaos that happened in NYC just a few weeks ago... That's how they first noticed the discrepancy. Spider-Man wasn't unknown to them, of course; the neighborhood hero had joined the Avengers more than once and made the news often enough to ping their alerts. Even an uptick in those pings wasn't all that concerning in itself — the world is still in a state of chaos from the aftermath of half the population returning. But upon closer examination and a more finely tuned search algorithm, the problem because pretty clear.
Two Spider-Men. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there were two people swinging through the city in red and blue costumes that were nearly but not quite identical. The agency hadn't yet decided what to do about the doubled spiderhero population yet, since both of them seem to still be about the Good Guy lifestyle, but as she stands there shivering in the steady downpour, Daisy figures why not, an introduction can't hurt. So up she goes, dropping onto the roof with mild shaking and a high-pitched tone heralding her arrival. ]
[ Yeah, the weather's been pretty awful lately — and webslinging through wet sleet and globules of not-quite-frozen snow pelting him in the face isn't exactly a superhero's dream come true either.
Eugh.
It's hard not to feel like New York City is trying to wash the spiders out (he still hates that song), especially when he's still stranded in this universe, just an extra friendly neighbourhood spider-hero this world probably doesn't need. (They've got one, he's cool, real young but about the same age as he was when he first started.) But it's hard to imagine doing anything else while he bides the time until Strange comes back from wherever he's gone, with a spell that can send him back to his own timeline and universe. He takes shifts with the other Peter Parker in their respective spider-suits, saving the city from small crimes and other helpful pursuits, but it won't be hard to tell them apart once the Bugle really puts their nose to the photographs. (He's still trying to get a gig with the Bugle to get a better handle on what comes in and what goes out.)
He's got no real idea anyone is tailing him, not until a subtle tingling crawls its way up the length of his spine, which precedes the rumbling of the air around him, and the high-pitched tone to follow. Great, he thinks. What other sorry schmuck would choose to be out in this monsoon aside from him? Looks like he's about to find out.
Rooftops are nice as far as vantage points go, and Spider-Man adheres himself to the highest point of this roof, perching over the edge of the elevator headhouse to look down on his guest. ]
— if you're looking for a late-night hotdog, I can recommend some real great carts by Central Park.
need a place to hide, but i can't find one near (♫)
The thing about running from your problems is that they always catch up to you eventually, whether you're ready for them or not. Daisy Johnson's learned that the hard way over the course of her life, though she still keeps trying. Somehow, it always seems better than just facing them head-on.
But now, here she is, facing the biggest problem of them all: an entire universe reeling from the deranged decision of one single individual who they'd been powerless to stop. Maybe if she'd been on Earth at the time, if she hadn't run from Coulson's death and disappeared into the stars, maybe she could have helped turn the fight. But she'll never know, will she? She'll just have to carry that guilt with her, the same way she had through that year searching for Fitz and the weeks after of chasing the Chronicoms through time.
Except it's worse now, when everything reminds her of her own failures. Everywhere she turns, there are memories of life as it had been and all they've lost, with people grieving on every corner or just trying to stumble through the day in whatever way they can. The world is too quiet, NYC too empty and desolate. She misses the hum of the Zephyr, the comforting vibrations of the people she trusts to have her back. Only she still has them, they're still out there even if they're not with her right now, unlike—
The guilt is a vicious cycle that eats away at her. It'll consume her, if she lets it, and then she'll be of no use to anyone. Those are the moments that drive her to walk the streets, day and night, whenever the loneliness digs its claws into her and she feels close to slipping. She'll walk for hours with no particular destination in mind and no fear of where she'll end up.
That's how she finds herself staring at a poster for a meeting. So many support groups have popped up in the last year as everyone came to realization that their situation was permanent. Daisy's never been one for therapy, there were too many mandated sessions during her childhood that left a bad taste in her mouth (plus, who could possibly understand her life as an adult?), but she watches a handful of people silently file past her into the building and...
Well, she doesn't go inside but she doesn't leave either. That's something, isn't it?
Steve's been doing the group therapy sessions for a bit, because it helps him, because he needs to know sometimes that he's still doing good. Because the people don't judge him for failing, because they see that it hurts him as much as it hurts them. They understand that he tried his best, and that's all anyone else could do, too, try their best and move forward as best they can.
Sometimes, people stop coming to the meetings, and Steve always wonders why that is. He worries about these people, worries if he never got through to them. But on the other hand, he hopes maybe it's just that they got better, that they don't need to talk about it anymore, that they've decided to live out what rest of their lives they can have.
His heart breaks a little bit for every single person who sits down and explains their grief and loss, but he feels more suited to counseling everyone on the subject simply because he's the expert, because he's lived with loss longer than anyone else has, because there aren't a lot of hundred-year-olds left and most of them have already made their peace with the end days of their lives.
"Hi," he says, to a woman who's looking at the poster for a group he's about to lead in a few minutes. "You could just go in for the donuts, if you want," he suggests. Sometimes people can feel uncomfortable sharing their grief, and just want to sit around and process how this whole thing goes. That's okay, too. "The coffee's not great, but it's free."
He likes to lead these things, because he needs to feel like he's still making a positive difference. Sometimes he's not so sure, but he just picks himself up the next day and keeps going.
Daisy would like to say her jaw doesn't drop at the sight of the man who speaks to her but it probably does, even if for only a moment. Never in her wildest dreams or most vicious nightmares would she have thought she'd run into him today. Captain America. Steve Rogers.
She'd always wanted to meet him, to truly understand the man Coulson so idolized... Just not like this. Of all the ways to meet a hero, in the ashes of their greatest failures falls pretty low on the list. But how could she run away now and miss out on an opportunity like this? If Coulson found out, he'd never let her hear the end of it.
So she nods, adjusting her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, and offers one of the world's greatest heroes the best smile she can manage. "You know, I could go for some bad coffee. Thanks."
Thank you for trying to save us. Thank you for still trying.
Ashes on a greatest failure is exactly how Steve feels about this whole situation. The guilt really eats at him, and helping people is how he eases it. That said, he knows it's difficult because he can't divorce Cap from himself, and he knows that he's very well-known, particularly around these parts, but during these meetings he's just Steve. In fact, most of the time now he's just Steve.
At least she's being polite to him, which is more than he ask for some days. "Great," he says. "You won't be disappointed, it's pretty bad." Somehow it's burnt and bitter but there's also a slightly oiliness from whatever happened with the roast or the grind or something. Either way, the donuts really save it.
He holds the door open for her as he walks in, and it seems like everyone else is waiting for them, because they're all situated with their refreshments, and look up when Steve walks in the room. There's still a few minutes so he quietly announces that he's just going to give everyone else a couple minutes to get in.
If they hadn't already had an audience when they walked in, Daisy might have spilled all her secrets right then and there, both out of awkward nervousness and a need to level the field between them. But there are all these people here and she's suddenly too much of a coward to face their potential wrath for her own failure in all this. It eats at her as she makes her way to the table with the coffee and donut spread, the feeling of all those people pressing against her senses, and she nearly turns tail and runs right back out the door.
Penance. The term flickers through her mind with shadowy memories she's tried to repress since she left Saint Agnes at age sixteen. The nuns had been very strict about the importance of penance, repentance, and atonement, and while Daisy never bought into much of anything to do with religion, looking back down... Maybe those things have always stuck with her. Didn't she spend most of a year after Lincoln's death punishing herself for the part she'd played in it and everything else she'd done while under Hive's sway? Maybe this is how she starts paying for her sins now: by listening to these people speak.
Deep breath, Johnson. Her hands are steady as she pours herself a cup of burnt-smelling coffee from the dispenser, though a shiver works its way up her back. The room isn't cold but she's suddenly freezing. She wraps her ice-like hands around the styrofoam cup, forgoing the donuts that really do look delicious, and turns back to the room. Running isn't an option, so she quietly moves over to Steve, the only person she knows in probably the entire building.
"Does everyone have to talk?" she asks him softly, trying to keep her expression neutral instead of showing just how anxious she is. A few of the others look her way and try to offer her a welcoming smile even through their own apparent sadness; the sight of it tries to break her.
Steve's also getting himself a cup of coffee - the effects of caffeine do nothing for him so he just drinks it for the taste. It's awkward to have water while everyone else is drinking coffee, and it's definitely weird to bring juice for just himself and not everyone else.
Then the woman next to him asks a question, and it's one he gets a lot. "No," he answers, resolutely. "No one's required to talk, and mostly people listen for a few sessions before they feel comfortable enough opening up. That's okay too." He can hear the unease in her voice and honestly that's now a familiar-enough thing. Seems like that's everyone's default now.
It crushes his spirit some days, that everyone is like this, like the whole world is awash in a film of gray. He knows it's been hard, not just for him or the Avengers or Earth, but the whole entire universe to wake up every morning and realize they're in this nightmare still. And Steve, he understands it. He just wants to give everyone just a little bit of comfort while he can.
"There's already enough going on outside of here, so we encourage everyone to go at their own pace, and also to be non-judgmental. We're all in the same boat." Then he takes a seat and starts up the meeting, and it looks like Daisy's safe from having to say much of anything since a handful of people are ready to talk today.
i've been tested like the ends of a weathered flag that's by the sea (♫)
[ Every time some terrifying new monster or an insane supervillain rampages through the city, Daisy is struck by the thought that it is really surprising anyone wants to live in NYC anymore. No other city in the world seems to get hit quite as much as they do, and yet still people stay, going through their lives like it's no big deal. Sorry I'm late to work today something ate the tracks and there was an alien up a tree. The sky opened up and for a good twenty minutes, it seemed like the world might actually end, but hey, want to catch a movie on Friday if the theater's still standing?
At least, it keeps things interesting with work. Now that she's back planetside for a while, it's nice to keep busy with things other than paperwork — but the entire New York office would really appreciate it if these heroes would start cleaning up after themselves. She'd gotten her first taste of the cleanup life back in the aftermath of Thor's battle in London and it's followed her all through the rest of her career. (She's had to clean up some of her own messes, as well, so she knows how not fun that part is.)
It's the latest big event that has led her to Greenwich Village, following the map to 177A Bleecker Street. The building is... a bit imposing, actually, but that kind of fits the whole sorcerer vibe. A magical base would be a weird fit for a high-rise apartment building. With a deep breath, she tucks her phone into a pocket and walks up to the front doors to ring the bell. ]
[In the aftermath of all of the multiverse shenanigans, Stephen Strange is trying to heed the lessons learned in the glimpses he's caught of his other selves; he's trying to learn to let go of the knife, to learn that he doesn't always need to be the one holding it.
He finds that, actually, Wong becoming Sorcerer Supreme is a blessing in more ways than one; he has more responsibility than Stephen really wants, and, above everything else, he really is the best person most suited for the job.
Stephen, these days, is focusing on caring for the Sanctum, when he isn't visiting Karmar-Taj and observing the sorcerers at work. He's trying to prove the opposite of all the worst parts of himself.
He both doesn't expect visitors and is surprised he hasn't had more in the wake of everything with Wanda. When he hears the bell to the Sanctum ring, the sound catches him off-guard.
Shrugging, Stephen summons his cloak around him and floats down to the front door, fully dressed in his sorcerer's robes. It's better to be prepared, these days.
He opens the door to someone he's never met. He tilts his head.] Can I help you?
[ The man who opens the door looks exactly like every photo and video she's seen, from the perfectly groomed facial hair to the robes to the... cape. Yep, he's got a cape, and it doesn't look nearly as cool as Thor's. She's seen worse costumes, though, so she'll try not to judge too much.
Forcing a cordial smile, Daisy reaches into an inner jacket pocket and pulls out a bifold wallet. In a practiced motion, she flips it open and holds it up to display her badge — it seems best to establish things from the get-go. ]
My name's Daisy Johnson. I'm with SHIELD and I'm here to talk with you about a giant eyeball monster.
[ It really says something about her life that she's able to say that with a straight face. ]
[Stephen finds himself tensing up immediately, just from the sight of that cordial smile. She seems...official, even before she brings out her badge declaring herself as a SHIELD agent.
Well, he thinks to himself, it really was only a matter of time before SHIELD got involved, all things considered. He would be lying to say that he wasn't expecting this, and yet, her appearance still very much catches Stephen off-guard.
He manages to crack a grin, arching an eyebrow in the process.]
Oh, is that all?
[He moves aside to invite her inside; this isn't exactly the kind of conversation to have on the Sanctum's front steps.]
[ Is that all? says a whole lot about his life, too. She's not paying attention to his heartbeat (this isn't that kind of visit) so she can't say for sure whether finding her on his doorstep has surprised him, but she'd bet good money on it anyway. Advanced notice isn't really something SHIELD does — they like having the element of surprise on their side. ]
Daily. And I'd love some.
[ She replies as she steps past him, moving into the entry of the Sanctum that is... even more imposing than the outside. Wow. Okay. Now she's the one who's surprised, though she does her best to not show too much of it. So the wizards have a cool base, big deal.
Turning back to him, she gestures at the room around them. ]
[Stephen asks, conjuring a kettle of hot water, one of the nicer cups he owns without a pithy saying of some kind, and a whole host of jars of tea leaves and tea bags in just about every flavor of tea once could think of. Maybe he's showing off a little in addition to his attempt at not putting his foot in it, so to speak, at the same time.
He grins as he takes in her reaction to the Sanctum; he would be lying if he said that he didn't find enjoyment in the reactions of people entering said Sanctum for the first time.
The Cloak, naturally, preens.]
Thank you. I can't say I can take credit for it; the Sanctum's been here as long as anyone can remember, and the artifacts collection seemingly just as old.
[ A blind date. Daisy isn't exactly sure how it came to be that she was sitting in a bar waiting for her date to arrive, but somehow along the way Jemma had convinced her to agree to this crazy idea. Apparently, her best friend had made the acquaintance of someone who knew a guy who they swore wasn't some sort of psycho serial killer, which Jemma had of course done the background check to confirm, then one thing led to another and now here she sits. Waiting. Trying to resist the urge to run right out that door and never look back.
It's only the fact that she is a grown woman with freaking superpowers that keeps her from running like a scared little girl; it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that her best friend will never stop guilting her about it if she doesn't at least have one drink with this guy. And it says a hell of a lot that Jemma was even willing to set her up like this when she knows exactly what Daisy has been through.
Daisy Johnson has never in her life been on a blind date and, as she fidgets at the table, she suddenly remembers why. It's awkward and uncomfortable and ridiculously nerve-wracking. Sure, people had tried to set her up over the years, but she'd always escaped the clutches of the dreaded blind date with one excuse or the other. Back in her old life, she'd just left town for some mysterious hacker meeting or other, and these days she could usually count on a SHIELD mission keeping her occupied. But not tonight.
Maybe it won't be so bad. She'll have a drink, they'll make small talk, and then she can escape with her usual work excuse. Hell, maybe she'll get lucky and she really will get called in. All she can do is hope...
(Where's a good supervillain when you need one?) ]
[ Peter had been dodging Hesam for weeks on any sort of after-work activity. It wasn't until the guy actually sat him down and went into how worried he was about Peter that anything changed. It wasn't that Peter wanted to upset anyone. It was more that, since coming back from the White House, he hadn't felt like he was doing enough. His family had so much power, and what were they using it for? He'd at least try to save who he could.
But even he could realize that there was an air of desperation to the way he approached his job. So when Hesam begged him to take a break, finally he agreed. And then Hesam promptly set him up on a date.
He felt a little tricked, but he went along with it. It's still getting out, and maybe he'll remember a little of the college kid he used to be- the one who used to do stuff like this. He steps into the bar and looks around for a moment, before walking towards someone who fits the description Hesam gave him. ]
Hey. Are you Daisy?
[ He doesn't seem nervous, himself. He does seem a little tired, but that's pretty normal for him lately. ]
[ Daisy is in the middle of rethinking her escape route options when he arrives, this guy whose picture she's seen and name she knows without any other context. It had been tempting to do her own deep dive on him, dig up every digital trace of him she could, but after Jemma's reassurances, she'd decided to have a little more faith in humanity. How is she supposed to make friends outside the office if she never gives anyone a chance?
Trust is a hard thing to earn, though. As soon as he's close enough, she reaches out with her senses to feel his heartbeat, 'listening' for signs of nerves or anticipation — he seems steady, though, and that steadies her in turn. Maybe he's stuck in the same situation she is. ]
Yeah, and you must be Peter. [ She gestures to the seat across from her at the small table and offers him a slightly awkward smile. ] You like nice.
[ And then she cringes internally. He does look nice whereas she probably looks like she put in absolutely no effort (because she didn't), but did she really have to draw attention to that fact? ]
[ Whatever she's worried about, he hasn't noticed. The compliment just makes him smile, which pulls away some of the 'tired' look to him. ]
Thanks. You do, too. I like that jacket.
[ Since this is the right person, he goes ahead and sits down across from her. ]
So I apologize if you got dragged into this date. I've been... [ He searches for the right word. ] -a little too focused on my work lately, and my friend's trying to make sure I don't become a total hermit.
And okay- [ He rolls his eyes in a rather good-natured way. ] Maybe he's got a point and I could stand to relax. Can I get you a drink?
[ She recognizes that tiredness and practically feels it in the depths of her soul. She's been tired for years, physically and emotionally, and rather than being tired of it, she's just sort of accepted it as her state of being. Maybe she shouldn't, but old habits die hard.
Hearing him talk about his friend's good intentions, she can't help but smile knowingly. This is starting to make sense now, which lets her relax even further. ]
I think our friends think alike. I don't have much of a life outside of work myself. [ Shaking her head at their shared predicament of having well-meaning slightly meddlesome friends, she glances toward the bar. ] A beer would be great. I'm not picky.
[ Every time some terrifying new monster or an insane supervillain rampages through the city, Daisy Johnson is struck by the thought that it is really surprising anyone wants to live in NYC anymore. No other city in the world seems to get hit quite as much as they do, yet still, people stay, going through their lives like it's no big deal. Sorry I'm late to work today, something ate the tracks and there was an alien up a tree. The sky opened up and for a good twenty minutes, it seemed like the world might actually end, but hey, want to catch a movie on Friday if the theater's still standing?
So given that all the weirdness in the world seems to focus mainly on New York, she'd felt pretty confident that an actual vacation might be possible. She would visit FitzSimmons in their cute country cottage, followed by some "light" sightseeing in London. Simmons had given her an entire list of places to visit with strict instructions to send photos (to prove she'd actually been since her best friend was rightfully skeptical of Daisy's ability to actually vacation during her vacation). She was on the third museum and halfway bored to tears when work came to the rescue.
Sometimes, being a senior agent and the former partner of the director had its benefits.
Unfortunately, the job sends her to a fourth museum. Investigations into the strange sky phenomena in Egypt haven't panned out as Mack hoped, so now they're expanding their range to any other Weird Stuff happening around the same time, regardless of location. Her own algorithm caught the security footage from the museum — they hadn't reported it to the authorities but one of the employees had shared it with a friend and once something is in the digital world, it's hard to erase it. Not impossible, but definitely beyond the skill of that particular security guard.
It was probably nothing, just some guy having a Very Bad Day. But the people she'd spoken to at the museum had made it seem like it was extremely out of character for Steven Grant to Hulk out like that. Add in that it was an Egyptian museum and the footage from the bus, and well, it wasn't something she could just brush off without due diligence.
Which is how she comes to be wandering through the streets of London, cursing her phone's GPS for deciding to crap out on her now. Trying hard not to seem like a dumb American tourist, Daisy finally turns to the next person she passes, still staring at her phone screen because she knows she's close. ]
Sorry, I'm a bit lost. Could you point me toward this address?
[ That incident, along the path of the many misadventures of finding out that he's been—in no particular order—a superhero of sorts, the patsy of an ancient Egyptian bird god and, most importantly, the protector of an American mercenary who needed him very, very badly when he made him up wholecloth, is one that sits with a heavy twist of remorse in Steven's stomach whenever he thinks about it. A museum. He vandalized a museum, which is almost as bad as vandalizing old Alexander's tomb. Yeah, it was only the loo, and it wasn't exactly his fault, but still.
Getting away with only getting fired seems terribly lucky, and for a few weeks after they come home from Cairo Steven still worries that every knock on the door is going to be the authorities. Really, there could be any myriad of reasons for them to show up. He and Marc are living the quiet life now, free of superpowers and loud voices demanding blood and vengeance and murder, and Steven just hopes he can keep his past crimes off his resume and out of his life long enough to find another job.
He doesn't expect to find anyone looking into them while wandering around Mayfair, and the person's accent is innocuous enough that Steven does indeed immediately assume she's an American tourist. Nothing beyond that, though: GPS craps out on everyone now and again. ]
Yeah, sure, let's have a look. [ Steven obligingly bend his head over her phone, with a quick can I? before he zooms in on her walking directions. ] Right, you're on the wrong side of the Thames. You want to jump on the Victoria line, that's just over at Oxford Circus. It's six stops to Brixton, and then you'll...erm...
[ He trails off lamely, seeing where exactly the blue destination dot is located on the map. ]
[ As Daisy looks up at the helpful Englishman and takes in his very familiar appearance, she can't help but feel that something in the universe must be screwing with her right now. It can't be a coincidence. There's no way she ended up on the wrong side of a damn river and still managed to find the person she was looking for. Things like that don't just happen, especially in her life.
And then, there it is. She watches him as he studies the map and falters in his directions, backtracking and saying the wrong thing, just giving himself away. But he's not running yet, so that's a potentially good sign? ]
You said six, actually. [ Daisy smiles and puts on her least threatening, totally innocent expression, tilting her head like she's just realized something. ] Hey, are you Steven Grant? The one who used to work at that Egyptian museum?
[ She really hopes he doesn't make a break for it. Chasing people through crowded streets really isn't as thrilling as the movies make it seem. ]
[ Oh my God. Oh my God. Steven tries very hard not panic right now, wishing very much he wasn't so bad at fibbing. The American catches him out right away, her innocent smile doing absolutely nothing to help him feel better. Didn't that fake policewoman put on just such a smile? Well, hers was toothier, admittedly, but the whole conversation is definitely ringing similar alarm bells, loud and clear. Which means she could be the authorities, or she could very well be one of Harrow's old cultists out for revenge, or—
Here his imagination fails him, which is probably a good thing.
Steven's not running yet, true, but he is beginning to back away. Swiftly. ] Nope. Never heard of him. Wrong bloke, sorry. Good luck with your—your sightseeing, yeah?
[ Oh no. Daisy can practically see the wheels turning in Steven's head, that panic radiating off him in waves. It's subtle, though, he's definitely trying to keep hold of himself, but unless you live this life, it's hard not to give into flight instead of fight.
She takes her own steps forward as he moves back, raising her hands in that universal gesture of meaning no harm. The way he's almost tripping over his protestations reminds her so much of Fitz when they'd first met that makes her heart ache, and instead of a stern SHIELD agent, she reverts back to her usual self. She projects concern and kindness toward this person who feels innocent despite the evidence pointing to the contrary, keeping her voice steady and even like one would when trying to calm a scared kid. ]
Hey, Steven, it's okay. I'm not here to— Whatever it is you think I'm here to do. I just want to talk.
no one around me knows who i am, what i'm on, who i've hurt and where they've gone (♫)
[ Natasha Romanoff. For all the things Daisy's heard from Coulson over the years, seeing the legend in the flesh is still... Well, it's a lot. If circumstances were different, she'd probably be fangirling right now. Now's not really the time for that, though, and with the state of the world being perpetually fucked, her fangirl days are few and far between now.
Still, it's really freaking cool. No wonder Coulson encouraged her to agree to this assignment. Not that he'd had to twist her arm or anything. The Sokovia Accords are screwing everyone over and Romanoff deserves to know that SHIELD will have her back if it comes to it. They're on the government's shit list every other month anyway, so might as well just throw their whole lot in with the people who deserve it most.
Daisy enters the park as a rumble sounds in the distance, a line of dark clouds slowly approaching. Probably not the best day for a getting-to-know-you meeting between spies, but she hadn't picked the place or the time. A little rain won't kill them, though — it takes a whole lot more than that to even come close. She settles on a bench overlooking a little lake, sipping her coffee while people walk the nearby path and speak in a European language she doesn't understand. (Languages are the one area in which she fails epically as a spy, though she still argues that coding languages should count for something.)
The storm rolls ever closer while she waits, wondering if her contact will show or if the other woman will decide it's not worth the risk after all. ]
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put me back together again — for spideys
no subject
Eugh.
It's hard not to feel like New York City is trying to wash the spiders out (he still hates that song), especially when he's still stranded in this universe, just an extra friendly neighbourhood spider-hero this world probably doesn't need. (They've got one, he's cool, real young but about the same age as he was when he first started.) But it's hard to imagine doing anything else while he bides the time until Strange comes back from wherever he's gone, with a spell that can send him back to his own timeline and universe. He takes shifts with the other Peter Parker in their respective spider-suits, saving the city from small crimes and other helpful pursuits, but it won't be hard to tell them apart once the Bugle really puts their nose to the photographs. (He's still trying to get a gig with the Bugle to get a better handle on what comes in and what goes out.)
He's got no real idea anyone is tailing him, not until a subtle tingling crawls its way up the length of his spine, which precedes the rumbling of the air around him, and the high-pitched tone to follow. Great, he thinks. What other sorry schmuck would choose to be out in this monsoon aside from him? Looks like he's about to find out.
Rooftops are nice as far as vantage points go, and Spider-Man adheres himself to the highest point of this roof, perching over the edge of the elevator headhouse to look down on his guest. ]
— if you're looking for a late-night hotdog, I can recommend some real great carts by Central Park.
welcome home — for pursuitofcappiness
no subject
Sometimes, people stop coming to the meetings, and Steve always wonders why that is. He worries about these people, worries if he never got through to them. But on the other hand, he hopes maybe it's just that they got better, that they don't need to talk about it anymore, that they've decided to live out what rest of their lives they can have.
His heart breaks a little bit for every single person who sits down and explains their grief and loss, but he feels more suited to counseling everyone on the subject simply because he's the expert, because he's lived with loss longer than anyone else has, because there aren't a lot of hundred-year-olds left and most of them have already made their peace with the end days of their lives.
"Hi," he says, to a woman who's looking at the poster for a group he's about to lead in a few minutes. "You could just go in for the donuts, if you want," he suggests. Sometimes people can feel uncomfortable sharing their grief, and just want to sit around and process how this whole thing goes. That's okay, too. "The coffee's not great, but it's free."
He likes to lead these things, because he needs to feel like he's still making a positive difference. Sometimes he's not so sure, but he just picks himself up the next day and keeps going.
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She'd always wanted to meet him, to truly understand the man Coulson so idolized... Just not like this. Of all the ways to meet a hero, in the ashes of their greatest failures falls pretty low on the list. But how could she run away now and miss out on an opportunity like this? If Coulson found out, he'd never let her hear the end of it.
So she nods, adjusting her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, and offers one of the world's greatest heroes the best smile she can manage. "You know, I could go for some bad coffee. Thanks."
Thank you for trying to save us. Thank you for still trying.
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At least she's being polite to him, which is more than he ask for some days. "Great," he says. "You won't be disappointed, it's pretty bad." Somehow it's burnt and bitter but there's also a slightly oiliness from whatever happened with the roast or the grind or something. Either way, the donuts really save it.
He holds the door open for her as he walks in, and it seems like everyone else is waiting for them, because they're all situated with their refreshments, and look up when Steve walks in the room. There's still a few minutes so he quietly announces that he's just going to give everyone else a couple minutes to get in.
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Penance. The term flickers through her mind with shadowy memories she's tried to repress since she left Saint Agnes at age sixteen. The nuns had been very strict about the importance of penance, repentance, and atonement, and while Daisy never bought into much of anything to do with religion, looking back down... Maybe those things have always stuck with her. Didn't she spend most of a year after Lincoln's death punishing herself for the part she'd played in it and everything else she'd done while under Hive's sway? Maybe this is how she starts paying for her sins now: by listening to these people speak.
Deep breath, Johnson. Her hands are steady as she pours herself a cup of burnt-smelling coffee from the dispenser, though a shiver works its way up her back. The room isn't cold but she's suddenly freezing. She wraps her ice-like hands around the styrofoam cup, forgoing the donuts that really do look delicious, and turns back to the room. Running isn't an option, so she quietly moves over to Steve, the only person she knows in probably the entire building.
"Does everyone have to talk?" she asks him softly, trying to keep her expression neutral instead of showing just how anxious she is. A few of the others look her way and try to offer her a welcoming smile even through their own apparent sadness; the sight of it tries to break her.
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Then the woman next to him asks a question, and it's one he gets a lot. "No," he answers, resolutely. "No one's required to talk, and mostly people listen for a few sessions before they feel comfortable enough opening up. That's okay too." He can hear the unease in her voice and honestly that's now a familiar-enough thing. Seems like that's everyone's default now.
It crushes his spirit some days, that everyone is like this, like the whole world is awash in a film of gray. He knows it's been hard, not just for him or the Avengers or Earth, but the whole entire universe to wake up every morning and realize they're in this nightmare still. And Steve, he understands it. He just wants to give everyone just a little bit of comfort while he can.
"There's already enough going on outside of here, so we encourage everyone to go at their own pace, and also to be non-judgmental. We're all in the same boat." Then he takes a seat and starts up the meeting, and it looks like Daisy's safe from having to say much of anything since a handful of people are ready to talk today.
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a strange meeting — for buriedworse
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He finds that, actually, Wong becoming Sorcerer Supreme is a blessing in more ways than one; he has more responsibility than Stephen really wants, and, above everything else, he really is the best person most suited for the job.
Stephen, these days, is focusing on caring for the Sanctum, when he isn't visiting Karmar-Taj and observing the sorcerers at work. He's trying to prove the opposite of all the worst parts of himself.
He both doesn't expect visitors and is surprised he hasn't had more in the wake of everything with Wanda. When he hears the bell to the Sanctum ring, the sound catches him off-guard.
Shrugging, Stephen summons his cloak around him and floats down to the front door, fully dressed in his sorcerer's robes. It's better to be prepared, these days.
He opens the door to someone he's never met. He tilts his head.] Can I help you?
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Forcing a cordial smile, Daisy reaches into an inner jacket pocket and pulls out a bifold wallet. In a practiced motion, she flips it open and holds it up to display her badge — it seems best to establish things from the get-go. ]
My name's Daisy Johnson. I'm with SHIELD and I'm here to talk with you about a giant eyeball monster.
[ It really says something about her life that she's able to say that with a straight face. ]
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Well, he thinks to himself, it really was only a matter of time before SHIELD got involved, all things considered. He would be lying to say that he wasn't expecting this, and yet, her appearance still very much catches Stephen off-guard.
He manages to crack a grin, arching an eyebrow in the process.]
Oh, is that all?
[He moves aside to invite her inside; this isn't exactly the kind of conversation to have on the Sanctum's front steps.]
Do you drink tea, Ms. Johnson?
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Daily. And I'd love some.
[ She replies as she steps past him, moving into the entry of the Sanctum that is... even more imposing than the outside. Wow. Okay. Now she's the one who's surprised, though she does her best to not show too much of it. So the wizards have a cool base, big deal.
Turning back to him, she gestures at the room around them. ]
This is very impressive, by the way.
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[Stephen asks, conjuring a kettle of hot water, one of the nicer cups he owns without a pithy saying of some kind, and a whole host of jars of tea leaves and tea bags in just about every flavor of tea once could think of. Maybe he's showing off a little in addition to his attempt at not putting his foot in it, so to speak, at the same time.
He grins as he takes in her reaction to the Sanctum; he would be lying if he said that he didn't find enjoyment in the reactions of people entering said Sanctum for the first time.
The Cloak, naturally, preens.]
Thank you. I can't say I can take credit for it; the Sanctum's been here as long as anyone can remember, and the artifacts collection seemingly just as old.
[He turns to face her, studying her curiously.]
I assume you have questions?
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that's how a superhero — for myowndestiny
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But even he could realize that there was an air of desperation to the way he approached his job. So when Hesam begged him to take a break, finally he agreed. And then Hesam promptly set him up on a date.
He felt a little tricked, but he went along with it. It's still getting out, and maybe he'll remember a little of the college kid he used to be- the one who used to do stuff like this. He steps into the bar and looks around for a moment, before walking towards someone who fits the description Hesam gave him. ]
Hey. Are you Daisy?
[ He doesn't seem nervous, himself. He does seem a little tired, but that's pretty normal for him lately. ]
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Trust is a hard thing to earn, though. As soon as he's close enough, she reaches out with her senses to feel his heartbeat, 'listening' for signs of nerves or anticipation — he seems steady, though, and that steadies her in turn. Maybe he's stuck in the same situation she is. ]
Yeah, and you must be Peter. [ She gestures to the seat across from her at the small table and offers him a slightly awkward smile. ] You like nice.
[ And then she cringes internally. He does look nice whereas she probably looks like she put in absolutely no effort (because she didn't), but did she really have to draw attention to that fact? ]
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Thanks. You do, too. I like that jacket.
[ Since this is the right person, he goes ahead and sits down across from her. ]
So I apologize if you got dragged into this date. I've been... [ He searches for the right word. ] -a little too focused on my work lately, and my friend's trying to make sure I don't become a total hermit.
And okay- [ He rolls his eyes in a rather good-natured way. ] Maybe he's got a point and I could stand to relax. Can I get you a drink?
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Hearing him talk about his friend's good intentions, she can't help but smile knowingly. This is starting to make sense now, which lets her relax even further. ]
I think our friends think alike. I don't have much of a life outside of work myself. [ Shaking her head at their shared predicament of having well-meaning slightly meddlesome friends, she glances toward the bar. ] A beer would be great. I'm not picky.
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a record of the wreckage — for mknight
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Getting away with only getting fired seems terribly lucky, and for a few weeks after they come home from Cairo Steven still worries that every knock on the door is going to be the authorities. Really, there could be any myriad of reasons for them to show up. He and Marc are living the quiet life now, free of superpowers and loud voices demanding blood and vengeance and murder, and Steven just hopes he can keep his past crimes off his resume and out of his life long enough to find another job.
He doesn't expect to find anyone looking into them while wandering around Mayfair, and the person's accent is innocuous enough that Steven does indeed immediately assume she's an American tourist. Nothing beyond that, though: GPS craps out on everyone now and again. ]
Yeah, sure, let's have a look. [ Steven obligingly bend his head over her phone, with a quick can I? before he zooms in on her walking directions. ] Right, you're on the wrong side of the Thames. You want to jump on the Victoria line, that's just over at Oxford Circus. It's six stops to Brixton, and then you'll...erm...
[ He trails off lamely, seeing where exactly the blue destination dot is located on the map. ]
Yeah, so...seven stops. I said seven, right?
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And then, there it is. She watches him as he studies the map and falters in his directions, backtracking and saying the wrong thing, just giving himself away. But he's not running yet, so that's a potentially good sign? ]
You said six, actually. [ Daisy smiles and puts on her least threatening, totally innocent expression, tilting her head like she's just realized something. ] Hey, are you Steven Grant? The one who used to work at that Egyptian museum?
[ She really hopes he doesn't make a break for it. Chasing people through crowded streets really isn't as thrilling as the movies make it seem. ]
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Here his imagination fails him, which is probably a good thing.
Steven's not running yet, true, but he is beginning to back away. Swiftly. ] Nope. Never heard of him. Wrong bloke, sorry. Good luck with your—your sightseeing, yeah?
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She takes her own steps forward as he moves back, raising her hands in that universal gesture of meaning no harm. The way he's almost tripping over his protestations reminds her so much of Fitz when they'd first met that makes her heart ache, and instead of a stern SHIELD agent, she reverts back to her usual self. She projects concern and kindness toward this person who feels innocent despite the evidence pointing to the contrary, keeping her voice steady and even like one would when trying to calm a scared kid. ]
Hey, Steven, it's okay. I'm not here to— Whatever it is you think I'm here to do. I just want to talk.
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but i'm tryna make it right — for runwithit