[Pulling out of the time loop seemed to have consequences. The timeline shifted and ground against itself, a car with a blown tire hurtling down an expressway. Whatever immunity the team had enjoyed before is stripped away, and Daisy will find herself in a darkened, smoking control room. She's alone -- but hadn't there been someone else with her a moment ago?
There's a creak, and then the banging of a body against metal. It takes a few tries, but Fitz shoulders open a door that wouldn't have enough power to let her leave normally. He's disheveled, his face drawn and paler than usual, his hair sticking out at odd angles. It implies that he hasn't had much chance for selfcare. He doesn't stop to explain why he's here, nor why Jemma isn't.]
Sorry about the rough landing. I had to pull you back early. Something's come up.
[ The time loops had been a special kind of hell that Daisy is more than glad to have sorted. They may still be hurtling through time chasing space robots, but at least she doesn't have to keep watching her friends die, or dying herself and having to do the whole thing over again from scratch. Fifteen plus deaths had really been a great way to spend a day—
And it just keeps getting better. Fitz showing up out of nowhere is simply the cherry on top of the wild ride that has become her life and all she can do is stare at him with her jaw dropped and a look of incomprehension on her face. Her brain grinding against itself just like the timeline and when it finally starts moving again: ]
The year is 2022. [He proceeds to rattle off facts rather than engage with either of her questions. It would be redundant to confirm that he wasn't in fact kidding her.] A little over four years ago there was another alien invasion. It didn't work out as well as the last one. [As if the Battle of New York could be considered to have gone well.]
And I was really hoping that your trip through time would have exempted you lot from what happened.
[ Of course, he ignores her incredibly important question. And of course, he just launches right into things that, despite the last few weeks, leave her head spinning. 2022? Another invasion? ]
What do you mean, it didn't work out as well? [ Context, please. Are they at Destroyer of Worlds level panic here or just another decimated city? ] And where is everyone? Why are you suddenly here?
[ Apparently, once the questions start coming, they just won't stop. ]
[ The Avengers had been imprisoned. Well, not all of them. Officially, they were the ones who opposed the Sokovia Accords and helped Steve Rogers aid an international fugitive. They'd been captured and taken to the Raft, which had been some of the most appalling news the team had heard in a long while. Coulson had insisted that the Avengers were the good guys, they didn't deserve to be treated like this, and not a single person had argued with him.
So, they'd decided to do something about it. After days of planning, they made their move. The team was small, only those closest to Coulson, and they only used resources that couldn't be traced back to SHIELD. Forged identities, stolen transport, unregistered and experimental tech — there were a million things that could have gone wrong. They might have ended up in the cells next to those famed superheroes... but they hadn't. The extraction had gone as smoothly as they could have hoped and everyone had been moved to another of Fury's off-the-books SHIELD bases, one of the last few they hadn't needed to dust off in recent years. Everyone had been settled with a bunk and a change of clothes and told that next steps would be discussed in a few hours; for now, get some rest.
It was easier said than done, of course. After checking in with Coulson, who was expertly covering up his team's disappearance from certain government officials who were having a real hissy fit about their prized prisoners going missing, Daisy just can't manage to settle. She keeps seeing them in those cells, these heroes who would have laid down their lives to protect others, and she's furious all over again. The Sokovia Accords are a mistake, registration is a mistake—
Abandoning all hope of sleep, she grabs her laptop and goes for a walk, looping her way through the base with a vague notion to set up shop in the kitchen. If she can't sleep, she can at least get some work done. So she sets up shop at one of the metal tables, shifting around in the chair to try and get comfortable. Her injuries don't help; she'd had to refrain from using her powers so she wouldn't be recognized, and a few of the guards had managed to get in some good hits before she'd taken them down. The bruises aren't quite as bad as when she used her powers without her gauntlets, but her left arm and side are already starting to turn a nice shade of purple. It was worth it, though. It will always be worth it to do the right thing. ]
[ wanda had given up on help coming for them when they'd slipped the collar around her throat. even if it had come for the others, she knows how people view her, why she'd been locked away on the compound while the accords were debated by rogers, stark, and the others. wherever her loyalties align now, she'd once been considered an enemy. she'd once been an enemy. and whether or not people consider her one, she knows she's still dangerous.
help does end up coming, from a team she's unfamiliar with, but that turns out to be for the best. the extraction goes smoothly and one of the first things they do is take the collar off of her, and she breathes easier than she's been able to since things had gone wrong in lagos. when they get to the base, she showers, changes, and tries to sleep, as instructed, but everyone's minds and her own nightmares are too loud for her to get any rest. eventually she heads into the kitchen instead, feeling too confined by the bunk.
she's not expecting anybody else to be there, but can sense the other woman before she even steps into the kitchen. she's as angry as she is, wanda can sense that without even making the effort. it's oddly a little comforting. ]
Should I leave? [ the woman doesn't appear to be doing anything wanda would interrupt just by being there and making tea, but maybe she'd prefer to be completely undisturbed. ]
[ Daisy's not surprised to feel the movement of someone else coming closer, though she's too distracted by her screen to look up until the person enters. Wanda, the one who had been experimented on by Hydra. The one who had been restrained with a collar like some kind of animal— It takes a great deal of effort to force her anger down enough that she won't accidentally quake the kitchen; Wanda doesn't need the stress of an unexpected earthquake on top of everything else she's been through, and Daisy doesn't need the extra stress on her injuries. ]
No, of course not. [ Tilting her laptop's screen down so it's not quite visible, she gestures vaguely at the room around them. ] It's a free kitchen, chock full of... Well, not a ton of fresh stuff because we only brought the basics with us, but there's enough canned goods and packaged stuff to last at least a quarter of an apocalypse.
[ The opened bag of Oreos on the table beside the laptop gives away that she'd already raided the pantry herself. She realizes she's rambling and grimaces slightly, folding her arms on the tabletop. ] Sorry. You probably don't need me going on about canned goods after the week you've had.
[ she can sense the anger and...something else, something stronger. it's not enough for wanda to discern what it is exactly, but there's a definite power there, something almost physical. she hadn't been able to sense it before; first inhibited by the collar, then by the distraction of the rescue, but there's no mistaking it now. ]
No, it's fine. [ the distraction is actually welcome, in spite of the mundanity. wanda nods to the package of cookies set out on the counter. ] Mind sharing some of those?
[ who knows how well they'll go with tea, but she's starting to get hungry enough to not care. ]
[ It's been a few weeks since the world tried to end. A few weeks longer since the world was fixed. Somehow in all their jumping, their team had managed to come out the other side of 'the Blip' in one piece, missing the years of mourning and devastation while they were off trying to stop yet another threat to humanity's continued existence. In the time since their return, they'd helped to pick up the pieces as best they could, reconnecting with SHIELD and figuring out where to go from here.
The team had already started going their separate ways, but SHIELD was Daisy's life. Her purpose for being. So, when she'd gotten the call in the middle of the night asking if she'd mind checking out a report they'd gotten, she didn't hesitate to take the assignment. Sleep had been a fickle companion of late anyway, and the hotel where she'd been staying while helping set up one of the old SHIELD bases wasn't too far from the reported sighting.
A woman with green skin and possible anger issues. Her first thought is another Inhuman, but with recent events, there's really no telling. Still, she goes in civilian gear, black jeans and a leather jacket over her grey t-shirt, leaving her gauntlets in the car and hoping she won't regret the decision later. She's got her gun and an I.C.E.R. — if that's not enough to take down a potential threat, then they've got a bigger problem on their hands.
Emerging onto the nearly empty street, it's impossible to miss the green woman with red hair that seems like unearthly fire in the glow of the streetlamps. It's also impossible to miss the knife in her hands. Keeping her hands at her sides, ready to go for a weapon at a moment's notice, Daisy approaches slowly and calls out in a steady tone. ]
Hey, how about you put the knife away, okay? It's really not necessary right now.
[ Green lips pull back in a slight snarl, annoyance at herself rearing its head more than anything. Gamora has been careful, so very careful, in her hunt for something to get off world with, while trying to dodge her sister, the boy Quill and all the people who were at the battle.
Thanos is dead, and she's haunted by him and a shadow of herself. She's lived, in this time. She's died, in this time. And Gamora understands people enough to know that they will choke the life out of her with looks meant for someone she never grew up to be.
She flexes her fingers on the knife, blood crusted knuckles pulling unpleasantly. She's hungry, her eyes are itching from wanting to claim her for sleep she's been denying herself. On the run from her own shadow.
Not many people with green skin on Terra. Not easy to blend in. Not easy to stay hidden. Not easy to get off world - what a backwarter planet, that has so few vessels available that they must be concealed by the very people she's on the run from.
Gamora's lips pull back, not quite in a smile, as she looks the woman up and down. She is right - the knife isn't strictly necessary. There are dozens upon other ways Gamora knows how to eliminate a threat and kill a person. Still. ]
[ It's been a while since Daisy Johnson did proper undercover work. Slipping into the uniform of the day— a perfectly tailored black suit and heels, she feels a thrill at the prospect of what lay ahead. Which was good; there's a lot riding on the days ahead, for everyone involved, but that doesn't mean she can't enjoy the work itself.
Her path to Hell's Kitchen is a winding one through cabs, the subway, and more than one stop in a coffee shop, all purposefully meant to be confusing for anyone who might try to track her movements. Her hair and makeup are styled in a very un-Daisylike manner, very proper and controlled, to hopefully avert any bystander's recognition along the way — being recognized as Quake while undercover would put a swift end to everything she has planned. But finally she arrives, hefting the leather workbag a little higher on her shoulder as she enters the building and makes her way the office of one Matthew Murdock. She's calm when she knocks on the door and enters, not the least bit nervous or apprehensive about her mission, years of training to control her heartrate and emotional responses hard at work. There's a confidence in her step and voice as she introduces herself and that thrill is finally tempered by realistic caution. It's time to get to work. ]
[ Matt hears when she arrives and double checks the arrangement of his desk in case he missed a stray paper from the last client he had spoken with. He gets up from his seat to offer her a polite handshake. She must have gone to a coffee shop before coming, the scent follows her into the office. ]
Ms. Johnson, nice to meet you finally. Please, have a seat.
[ He gestures toward the seat across the desk from his own. ]
The timeline was screwed and there was no fixing it. They'd managed to save the future, but going to the past had caused problems. Unintended ripples that had impacted things they never would have expected — like Daisy's very existence. They'd returned to a present that wasn't their own, where the events they all remembered hadn't transpired in the same way; those ripples were wider and more broadly felt, and in a strange way it was illuminating to see the impact her life had on the world. There were other unforeseen consequences that her teammates had to deal with, such as not arriving back at the right time as when they'd left, but in the end, she made a choice.
It was a choice that led her many places, using her shadow existence to help her move across the world without detection. HYDRA had been exposed within SHIELD just like in her timeline, and they had fallen here as well, but she knew better than anyone how many remnants still remained. If she could find them and stop them, or even simply undo even a small fraction of the harm they'd caused, then it would be worth a few years alone. It would only be a few minutes for her team, her family, but she would spend her years making this world a better place for them all.
With SHIELD's files being exposed to the public, it wasn't hard to choose her targets. She spent months tracking down high-level operatives, stopping their plans and delivering them to authorities, but all the while she worked on another search, one she wasn't sure would pan out. Yet, here she is, back in the DC area, comparing photos on her tablet before stuffing the device back into her backpack. The city was fairly removed from the metro area and the neighborhood was... not great, to say the least. The world had forgotten it and left it to rot, along with everyone who stilled called it something like home.
Pulling her leather jacket closer around herself, she enters the apartment building, the crumbling walls and long broken front door giving her a real sense of homey welcome as she took the stairs up to the fourth floor. The hall is drab and dirty, half the lightbulbs broken or flickering, and she can hear a few televisions through the thin walls along with voices and shouting. Signs of life in an otherwise dying place. She glances at one door in particular as she walks past it, her boots making soft thuds on the linoleum floor, but she doesn't stop until she reaches the one beside it — the one she knows is empty. The lock is quickly picked and she slips inside, every sound she makes almost echoing in the empty apartment.
It's the furthest thing from 'home' she's seen in a long time, and it's a struggle to not let herself think she's made a mistake. This can't be a mistake.
He's been here over a month, now. Here being this particular apartment. He... he's not sure how long he's been out. Time is still strange in his head, rushing past and crawling by simultaneously. He's going to need to find another bolt-hole soon, but this is the best he's found so far; no one cares about the long-haired, defensive man who barely speaks and glares at anyone who gets too close - no one gets too close around here, anyway. He's not the only person armed in this neighborhood, and possibly not even the most heavily armed.
He can hear everything through the thin tenement walls, laughing and crying and shrieks and yells - both happy and scared - all manner of noises. But he... likes? He... wants? The words, the feelings they come attached with, are still a little foreign to him.
The point is: the noise reminds him that he's out in the world, not in another holding cell or cryo chamber. He needs that, if nothing else fits. He needs the constant reminder that he's not The Asset anymore. He's...
He's...
He's a person. Not a tool. Not a weapon.
He's possibly a person named Bucky, although that's still... It's all jumbled in his head. That's what the Captain called him though, and he remembers...
He remembers too much, but not nearly enough. Snatches of words, conversations, images, but with no context to them. He knows the Captain-- no, he knows Steve. He knows he knows him, but the things he remembers can't be right, because no way that muscle-bound all-American hero is the same as the Steve his brain automatically conjures up, shorter than him and so thin a heavy wind would blow right through him. But it's all he's got. Steve. And Captain America. An endless expanse of white. Pain. And Hydra.
He shivers, pulling the topmost layer of his stolen clothes around himself, even though it doesn't have much to do with the ambient temperature in the apartment. He's in the furthest room back, sat with his knees drawn up and back shoved into the corner. He doesn't need a lot of sleep, but what he does get ends up with nightmares 89% of the time, and then he has to regroup. He wishes he could tell himself they weren't real.
He needs to regroup. Pull himself together before he can go out. He's got food stashed around the apartment - along with more weapons, just in case, because he knows the protocol for if he goes missing on assignment, and he's not going back - but he's going to need supplies again soon.
But for now he sits, listening to all the life in the building, the footsteps walking in the hall.
In the hall just outside his door. And not moving further.
The shivering stops, he holds his breath, waiting... and hears the snick of the lock. His eyes are wide, but it's not the ordinary panic, or fight-or-flight reaction. It's never fight or flight anymore. It's fight then flight. Because anybody who comes after him, he's taking down, so they can never come after him again.
What he hears isn't the ominous shuffle of tactical gear, of a group of soldiers trying to move silently but unable to quite mask their presence. Just one. One person, and... they don't really seem to be trying to be quiet?
He thinks woman, and then he thinks Red Room and that phrase doesn't mean much to his thinking-brain, but some part of him knows that it's bad. That it means things have escalated. He's on his guard, leaning away from the wall before pushing up silently. A knife appears in his hand, and he moves over to behind the door to the bedroom. And waits.
There is a part of him - something he thinks might be the Bucky-part - that is telling him it could be someone innocent. The apartment is supposed to be empty, but he crashed here. What if it's someone else doing the same thing? Don't kill without making sure.
He's got the choice now. Nobody is telling him to kill anymore. And while he has no problem killing anyone who gets in his way, he's finding himself reluctant to do it unless necessary. And necessary is becoming a smaller and smaller margin lately.
Well, she's not dead yet, so that's a good sign. Of what, she's still not entirely sure...
Stepping more fully into the main room, she debates yet again what to do. She could lie, slip into an undercover persona and feign innocence. Pulling on her dark, angry at the world past, she could easily try to earn a place in his good graces. It would give her a chance to observe him, to try to understand where he was mentally and emotionally... But she'd be lying, and hasn't he had enough of that? Layers of lies built up to wash away the truth of who and what he is. No one deserves that. No one.
So, Option B it is.
"I'm pretty sure you're here," she says in a low voice, knowing that he'll hear it but hoping it won't carry far to the other units. There's caution in her tone, but also sincerity and a hint of worry. She lifts her hands at her sides, not knowing if he can see her but wanting him to know she's unarmed. "My name's Daisy. I'm here to help."
He tenses at the sound of her voice. Talking... He hates talking. He hates it when other people try to talk to him, because it just confuses him. Sometimes they know that, and try to use it to their advantage. Make him think things he's trying to push away, make him think he's The Asset again.
But she's not doing that. Not yet. Despite his heartrate increasing due to adrenaline, his breathing grows slower. He's ready, squeezing the handle of the knife in his hand for reassurance. His left arm whirs almost silently as it recalibrates, a reassuring sound of its own.
Staying silent isn't really an option, unfortunately. If he doesn't respond, he's almost positive she'll continue searching the apartment, and ultimately find him. She might continue talking the whole time, which will increase her chances of confusing him with words.
[ May knows what it means to have close calls. She's had more than a few over the years, and some of them were almost too close for comfort. But the thing is, every time she had one, she was too stubborn to just lie down and die. She still is that stubborn, and if death comes calling for her, she knows she'll fight tooth and nail before giving up and going off into whatever comes after death.
Now, though, things have changed. Coulson's gone, but there's still his Life Model Decoy, but to May, it's not the same. How could it be, after she was there with him in his last days? She woke up one morning to find him gone, and however real that LMD appears, it's not him. It's not the same.
So, when she lay on the ground with Daisy next to her, she couldn't help but think that she would be seeing him again soon. Except life and fate or whatever had different plans for her, and with Simmons' help and the help of a healing pod, she's still alive and kicking.
But being alive doesn't fix everything; she thought for awhile that she was going to die, and so did the team. She's glad she's alive, but what she's not glad for is the pointed looks she gets whenever she walks into a room, or passes someone in a hallway. She's fine; she's alive and uninjured, but they all keep looking at her as if she's crazy for walking around. Truthfully, if she has to stay one more minute in that pod, she really will go crazy.
Today, though, she has a purpose and a point to her walking. There's someone she has to see, someone she has to talk to. But thus far, that someone has been a hard person to pin down. If May didn't know better, she'd guess that that person has been avoiding her, but that can't possibly be it, can it? She has her suspicions, but the only way to confirm them is to find that person and make sure she can't get away.
It's still early yet, and the team is still in varying stages of getting ready for the day, which means that Daisy must still be in her quarters. That's where May goes, and once there, she knocks on the door. ]
[ The saying is that time flies when you're having fun, but no one ever made a saying about how slowly time can pass when you're sitting beside someone, waiting for some sign or indication that they're still alive. Logically, Daniel knew that Daisy was alive and fighting when they left the barn, but there's no reasoning with his fears and his worries.
Simmons reassured him that the healing pod worked, and that Daisy would be ultimately fine. It would just take some time for her blood and other vital fluids to be replenished and for her injuries to heal.
It's unfamiliar to him, this business of healing pods. He knows about doctors and stitches and antiseptic, but this is so far removed from all that. It's a science he doesn't understand, despite his best efforts to wrap his mind around it. Of course, he has no reason to doubt Simmons' word, but he can't help but worry and fret while he sits back in that chair and waits.
Everyone told him he might wind up waiting a long time, but he told them in return that he'd wait as long as he had to. He didn't carry Daisy out of that barn just to retreat to his quarters that don't feel like his just yet. Yes, he barely knows her; he barely knows any of them, but he does know one thing: he saw how hard she fought, and someone who went through that much of a hell deserved to have someone waiting for her when she came out on the other side.
So, he waits. Sometimes he has a book that he's barely paying attention to. Other times, he nods off for the briefest of naps. But all of it is short-lived, and soon enough, he's sitting up, just watching and waiting. If he has to do this for a week, two weeks, or even half a month or more, it'll be worth it. ]
[ It's strange how little you remember of the time that passes when you're injured or gravely ill. Hours can stretch between waking and seem like mere seconds, or they can feel like years in a state of being half-aware of one's surroundings.
For Daisy, it's a bit of both. She doesn't remember leaving the barn, though clearly she must have because the next thing she knows, a very fuzzy Simmons is standing over her, wrapping a bandage around her left hand. It was only a fleeting moment, a brief flicker that could have easily been a dream, but the reassurance of being back on the Zephyr is enough to let her ease back into unconsciousness. She doesn't dream.
She wakes again many hours later to the light slowly pulsing above her under the dome of the healing pod, which she's never had the pleasure of being in until now. It catches her off-guard and there's a moment of panic as she turns her head one way and then another, searching for—
Sousa. Something loosens in her chest and she lets out a sigh. He's safe, he'd made it out of the barn too. Thank goodness. ]
[ Maybe when they both look back on this, his response will be to tell her that he remembers the progression of events enough for both of them. And truthfully, he wishes he could forget. Better yet, he wishes he could undo it all and make it so it never happened to her. But he doesn't have the ability to do that, so he's just resolved to do the next best thing: be there for her.
At the moment, though, he's nodded off, allowing himself the briefest of naps, but it's the kind of nap that's easily woken up from. If she wakes up, he wants to be present and responsive, not zoned out asleep. But it seems as though he underestimated how tired he was as well, and at least for the moment, he remains asleep for a few minutes more.
Something goes off in his mind, however, and about two or three minutes later, his eyes pop open, he looks around, and he realizes she's awake. He quickly forces himself up into a proper sitting position, and he zeroes in on her. ]
Daisy, you're awake! How- How are you? Do you need anything?
[ Those few minutes of him sleeping are a blessing. She's had little opportunity to see him like this, without a frown in place or confusion marring his expression. Like this, he's peaceful, and she can't help but notice again how handsome he is. Her pulse quickens slightly as he wakes and she's so grateful that he can't feel her heartbeat the way she can his.
Or... the way she could. Before. Now she can hardly feel anything, the buzzing in her bones little more than a quiet hum. It leaves her unsettled and anxious, shifting her position and wincing as absolutely everything aches. ]
Wa— [ Her voice is slightly raspy, the chamber having focused on more important things than her strained vocal cords. ] Water, please?
[ Her hand is already searching for the button to open the pod from the inside, eager to not feel quite so trapped beneath the glass shield. ]
[ Time has a strange way of speeding up when danger is all around, and right now is no exception. They're on a dangerous op, and everyone is armed to the teeth and wearing tactical gear. The only one who isn't armed is Daisy, because she doesn't need a gun or other weapons to wreak havoc.
The op is simple, really; get in, recover the target (an 0-8-4, what else?), and get back out. But nothing is really simple in life, is it? At least, Daniel believes that to be true.
If anyone were to ask him about the progression of events years later, he'd say it was all a bit foggy. All he knows is that, one second, Daisy's standing next to him getting ready to rock some enemies around, and the next, one of said enemies is pointing his weapon at her. During the pre-op debriefing, they were all told that the weapons carried by the enemy were far more than a standard-issue gun or knife. They packed a mean punch and could pierce right through armor, so that meant they all had to be on their guard at all times.
Yes, Daniel knows Daisy is tough, but even with her Inhuman abilities, she can still die like a human. All he knows is that she's right in harm's way, and there's no way in hell he can let something bad happen. His legs (prosthetic and all) seem to move on their own, and he's stepping right in front of Daisy, just as the person they're staring down suddenly and without warning fires a shot.
That's when time stops having meaning, and all Daniel can hear is muffled shouts and yelling breaking out all around him, and a low grunt that he realizes belatedly came from his own mouth as he hits the ground. But all he can do is try to locate Daisy in the chaos and make sure that she's okay, that she didn't get hit as well.
That's all that matters right now. She's been through hell already, and if he can save her from having to go through even more pain and trouble, then that's exactly what he'll do, whatever the cost. ]
[ Time is a fluid thing. It ebbs and flows, the human mind comprehending it in strange ways when under extreme stress. In the moments before a mission, every minute felt like an hour, seconds crawling by before they suddenly spend up as everyone sprang into action. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, every move Daisy makes is calculated by instinct. But time slows when someone she loves is in danger, each second becoming a century, and now is no different.
She hears the shot but it doesn't register as anything out of the ordinary for a mission like this. They'd been expecting powerful firearms to be on the scene. What she hadn't expected was to hear the shot and then see Daniel in front of her, his body falling before she can even think to grab hold of him.
Down, without moving to get back up. A combination of instinct, anger, and panic brings her arms up, the vibrations letting loose from her without restraint. The assailants she hits cry out in agony as their bones are crushed by the force of her quake, including the man who shot Daniel, but she finds no comfort in that.
Only mere seconds have passed when she drops to her knees, one hand cupping the back of his head while the other presses against his wound. ] Sousa!
[ There are still gunshots rining around them, though far fewer now, but all she can hear is the thudding of his heartbeat beneath her hands — it's the only thing keeping her from completely giving in to the panic gripping her chest. ]
[ Even as he's falling, knowing he just took a bullet to the gut, he's looking for her to make sure she's all right. There's other men still around, and they're just as armed as the one who shot him is. But he knows he doesn't have to worry, because she can still quake them all, and of course, she doesn't disappoint. As the men fall, he knows they won't be getting back up again anytime soon. It gives him a strange sense of comfort as he sinks to the ground, relieved that she's uninjured.
His wound is bleeding faster than he thought it would, and it's making his vision swim and his head feel fuzzy, making him want to close his eyes for a little while. But next thing he knows, he feels someone's arms around him, and a hand going to the back of his head. He never really noticed if Daisy wore perfume or not, but right now, with her so close to him, he can detect a scent that's just her. It's not flowers or fruit or whatever other scents women like to wear, but it's unmistakably her. ]
Hey.
[ He forces himself to look up at her. ] You all right?
[ And then he realizes her hand is pressed to where he was shot, and he frowns. ] You're going to get blood on yourself.
[ She might just be wearing her typical gear for a mission like this, but he doesn't want her getting his blood all over everything. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
/slides over here
There's a creak, and then the banging of a body against metal. It takes a few tries, but Fitz shoulders open a door that wouldn't have enough power to let her leave normally. He's disheveled, his face drawn and paler than usual, his hair sticking out at odd angles. It implies that he hasn't had much chance for selfcare. He doesn't stop to explain why he's here, nor why Jemma isn't.]
Sorry about the rough landing. I had to pull you back early. Something's come up.
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And it just keeps getting better. Fitz showing up out of nowhere is simply the cherry on top of the wild ride that has become her life and all she can do is stare at him with her jaw dropped and a look of incomprehension on her face. Her brain grinding against itself just like the timeline and when it finally starts moving again: ]
Are you kidding me? What the hell, Fitz!
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And I was really hoping that your trip through time would have exempted you lot from what happened.
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What do you mean, it didn't work out as well? [ Context, please. Are they at Destroyer of Worlds level panic here or just another decimated city? ] And where is everyone? Why are you suddenly here?
[ Apparently, once the questions start coming, they just won't stop. ]
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for wanda maximoff;
So, they'd decided to do something about it. After days of planning, they made their move. The team was small, only those closest to Coulson, and they only used resources that couldn't be traced back to SHIELD. Forged identities, stolen transport, unregistered and experimental tech — there were a million things that could have gone wrong. They might have ended up in the cells next to those famed superheroes... but they hadn't. The extraction had gone as smoothly as they could have hoped and everyone had been moved to another of Fury's off-the-books SHIELD bases, one of the last few they hadn't needed to dust off in recent years. Everyone had been settled with a bunk and a change of clothes and told that next steps would be discussed in a few hours; for now, get some rest.
It was easier said than done, of course. After checking in with Coulson, who was expertly covering up his team's disappearance from certain government officials who were having a real hissy fit about their prized prisoners going missing, Daisy just can't manage to settle. She keeps seeing them in those cells, these heroes who would have laid down their lives to protect others, and she's furious all over again. The Sokovia Accords are a mistake, registration is a mistake—
Abandoning all hope of sleep, she grabs her laptop and goes for a walk, looping her way through the base with a vague notion to set up shop in the kitchen. If she can't sleep, she can at least get some work done. So she sets up shop at one of the metal tables, shifting around in the chair to try and get comfortable. Her injuries don't help; she'd had to refrain from using her powers so she wouldn't be recognized, and a few of the guards had managed to get in some good hits before she'd taken them down. The bruises aren't quite as bad as when she used her powers without her gauntlets, but her left arm and side are already starting to turn a nice shade of purple. It was worth it, though. It will always be worth it to do the right thing. ]
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help does end up coming, from a team she's unfamiliar with, but that turns out to be for the best. the extraction goes smoothly and one of the first things they do is take the collar off of her, and she breathes easier than she's been able to since things had gone wrong in lagos. when they get to the base, she showers, changes, and tries to sleep, as instructed, but everyone's minds and her own nightmares are too loud for her to get any rest. eventually she heads into the kitchen instead, feeling too confined by the bunk.
she's not expecting anybody else to be there, but can sense the other woman before she even steps into the kitchen. she's as angry as she is, wanda can sense that without even making the effort. it's oddly a little comforting. ]
Should I leave? [ the woman doesn't appear to be doing anything wanda would interrupt just by being there and making tea, but maybe she'd prefer to be completely undisturbed. ]
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No, of course not. [ Tilting her laptop's screen down so it's not quite visible, she gestures vaguely at the room around them. ] It's a free kitchen, chock full of... Well, not a ton of fresh stuff because we only brought the basics with us, but there's enough canned goods and packaged stuff to last at least a quarter of an apocalypse.
[ The opened bag of Oreos on the table beside the laptop gives away that she'd already raided the pantry herself. She realizes she's rambling and grimaces slightly, folding her arms on the tabletop. ] Sorry. You probably don't need me going on about canned goods after the week you've had.
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No, it's fine. [ the distraction is actually welcome, in spite of the mundanity. wanda nods to the package of cookies set out on the counter. ] Mind sharing some of those?
[ who knows how well they'll go with tea, but she's starting to get hungry enough to not care. ]
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The team had already started going their separate ways, but SHIELD was Daisy's life. Her purpose for being. So, when she'd gotten the call in the middle of the night asking if she'd mind checking out a report they'd gotten, she didn't hesitate to take the assignment. Sleep had been a fickle companion of late anyway, and the hotel where she'd been staying while helping set up one of the old SHIELD bases wasn't too far from the reported sighting.
A woman with green skin and possible anger issues. Her first thought is another Inhuman, but with recent events, there's really no telling. Still, she goes in civilian gear, black jeans and a leather jacket over her grey t-shirt, leaving her gauntlets in the car and hoping she won't regret the decision later. She's got her gun and an I.C.E.R. — if that's not enough to take down a potential threat, then they've got a bigger problem on their hands.
Emerging onto the nearly empty street, it's impossible to miss the green woman with red hair that seems like unearthly fire in the glow of the streetlamps. It's also impossible to miss the knife in her hands. Keeping her hands at her sides, ready to go for a weapon at a moment's notice, Daisy approaches slowly and calls out in a steady tone. ]
Hey, how about you put the knife away, okay? It's really not necessary right now.
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Thanos is dead, and she's haunted by him and a shadow of herself. She's lived, in this time. She's died, in this time. And Gamora understands people enough to know that they will choke the life out of her with looks meant for someone she never grew up to be.
She flexes her fingers on the knife, blood crusted knuckles pulling unpleasantly. She's hungry, her eyes are itching from wanting to claim her for sleep she's been denying herself. On the run from her own shadow.
Not many people with green skin on Terra. Not easy to blend in. Not easy to stay hidden. Not easy to get off world - what a backwarter planet, that has so few vessels available that they must be concealed by the very people she's on the run from.
Gamora's lips pull back, not quite in a smile, as she looks the woman up and down. She is right - the knife isn't strictly necessary. There are dozens upon other ways Gamora knows how to eliminate a threat and kill a person. Still. ]
How about you walk away?
for matt murdock;
Her path to Hell's Kitchen is a winding one through cabs, the subway, and more than one stop in a coffee shop, all purposefully meant to be confusing for anyone who might try to track her movements. Her hair and makeup are styled in a very un-Daisylike manner, very proper and controlled, to hopefully avert any bystander's recognition along the way — being recognized as Quake while undercover would put a swift end to everything she has planned. But finally she arrives, hefting the leather workbag a little higher on her shoulder as she enters the building and makes her way the office of one Matthew Murdock. She's calm when she knocks on the door and enters, not the least bit nervous or apprehensive about her mission, years of training to control her heartrate and emotional responses hard at work. There's a confidence in her step and voice as she introduces herself and that thrill is finally tempered by realistic caution. It's time to get to work. ]
Skye Johnson, here to see Mr. Murdock.
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Ms. Johnson, nice to meet you finally. Please, have a seat.
[ He gestures toward the seat across the desk from his own. ]
for bucky barnes;
It was a choice that led her many places, using her shadow existence to help her move across the world without detection. HYDRA had been exposed within SHIELD just like in her timeline, and they had fallen here as well, but she knew better than anyone how many remnants still remained. If she could find them and stop them, or even simply undo even a small fraction of the harm they'd caused, then it would be worth a few years alone. It would only be a few minutes for her team, her family, but she would spend her years making this world a better place for them all.
With SHIELD's files being exposed to the public, it wasn't hard to choose her targets. She spent months tracking down high-level operatives, stopping their plans and delivering them to authorities, but all the while she worked on another search, one she wasn't sure would pan out. Yet, here she is, back in the DC area, comparing photos on her tablet before stuffing the device back into her backpack. The city was fairly removed from the metro area and the neighborhood was... not great, to say the least. The world had forgotten it and left it to rot, along with everyone who stilled called it something like home.
Pulling her leather jacket closer around herself, she enters the apartment building, the crumbling walls and long broken front door giving her a real sense of homey welcome as she took the stairs up to the fourth floor. The hall is drab and dirty, half the lightbulbs broken or flickering, and she can hear a few televisions through the thin walls along with voices and shouting. Signs of life in an otherwise dying place. She glances at one door in particular as she walks past it, her boots making soft thuds on the linoleum floor, but she doesn't stop until she reaches the one beside it — the one she knows is empty. The lock is quickly picked and she slips inside, every sound she makes almost echoing in the empty apartment.
It's the furthest thing from 'home' she's seen in a long time, and it's a struggle to not let herself think she's made a mistake. This can't be a mistake.
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He can hear everything through the thin tenement walls, laughing and crying and shrieks and yells - both happy and scared - all manner of noises. But he... likes? He... wants? The words, the feelings they come attached with, are still a little foreign to him.
The point is: the noise reminds him that he's out in the world, not in another holding cell or cryo chamber. He needs that, if nothing else fits. He needs the constant reminder that he's not The Asset anymore. He's...
He's...
He's a person. Not a tool. Not a weapon.
He's possibly a person named Bucky, although that's still... It's all jumbled in his head. That's what the Captain called him though, and he remembers...
He remembers too much, but not nearly enough. Snatches of words, conversations, images, but with no context to them. He knows the Captain-- no, he knows Steve. He knows he knows him, but the things he remembers can't be right, because no way that muscle-bound all-American hero is the same as the Steve his brain automatically conjures up, shorter than him and so thin a heavy wind would blow right through him. But it's all he's got. Steve. And Captain America. An endless expanse of white. Pain. And Hydra.
He shivers, pulling the topmost layer of his stolen clothes around himself, even though it doesn't have much to do with the ambient temperature in the apartment. He's in the furthest room back, sat with his knees drawn up and back shoved into the corner. He doesn't need a lot of sleep, but what he does get ends up with nightmares 89% of the time, and then he has to regroup. He wishes he could tell himself they weren't real.
He needs to regroup. Pull himself together before he can go out. He's got food stashed around the apartment - along with more weapons, just in case, because he knows the protocol for if he goes missing on assignment, and he's not going back - but he's going to need supplies again soon.
But for now he sits, listening to all the life in the building, the footsteps walking in the hall.
In the hall just outside his door. And not moving further.
The shivering stops, he holds his breath, waiting... and hears the snick of the lock. His eyes are wide, but it's not the ordinary panic, or fight-or-flight reaction. It's never fight or flight anymore. It's fight then flight. Because anybody who comes after him, he's taking down, so they can never come after him again.
What he hears isn't the ominous shuffle of tactical gear, of a group of soldiers trying to move silently but unable to quite mask their presence. Just one. One person, and... they don't really seem to be trying to be quiet?
He thinks woman, and then he thinks Red Room and that phrase doesn't mean much to his thinking-brain, but some part of him knows that it's bad. That it means things have escalated. He's on his guard, leaning away from the wall before pushing up silently. A knife appears in his hand, and he moves over to behind the door to the bedroom. And waits.
There is a part of him - something he thinks might be the Bucky-part - that is telling him it could be someone innocent. The apartment is supposed to be empty, but he crashed here. What if it's someone else doing the same thing? Don't kill without making sure.
He's got the choice now. Nobody is telling him to kill anymore. And while he has no problem killing anyone who gets in his way, he's finding himself reluctant to do it unless necessary. And necessary is becoming a smaller and smaller margin lately.
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Stepping more fully into the main room, she debates yet again what to do. She could lie, slip into an undercover persona and feign innocence. Pulling on her dark, angry at the world past, she could easily try to earn a place in his good graces. It would give her a chance to observe him, to try to understand where he was mentally and emotionally... But she'd be lying, and hasn't he had enough of that? Layers of lies built up to wash away the truth of who and what he is. No one deserves that. No one.
So, Option B it is.
"I'm pretty sure you're here," she says in a low voice, knowing that he'll hear it but hoping it won't carry far to the other units. There's caution in her tone, but also sincerity and a hint of worry. She lifts her hands at her sides, not knowing if he can see her but wanting him to know she's unarmed. "My name's Daisy. I'm here to help."
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But she's not doing that. Not yet. Despite his heartrate increasing due to adrenaline, his breathing grows slower. He's ready, squeezing the handle of the knife in his hand for reassurance. His left arm whirs almost silently as it recalibrates, a reassuring sound of its own.
Staying silent isn't really an option, unfortunately. If he doesn't respond, he's almost positive she'll continue searching the apartment, and ultimately find him. She might continue talking the whole time, which will increase her chances of confusing him with words.
"I don't need your help. I'm not going back."
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Now, though, things have changed. Coulson's gone, but there's still his Life Model Decoy, but to May, it's not the same. How could it be, after she was there with him in his last days? She woke up one morning to find him gone, and however real that LMD appears, it's not him. It's not the same.
So, when she lay on the ground with Daisy next to her, she couldn't help but think that she would be seeing him again soon. Except life and fate or whatever had different plans for her, and with Simmons' help and the help of a healing pod, she's still alive and kicking.
But being alive doesn't fix everything; she thought for awhile that she was going to die, and so did the team. She's glad she's alive, but what she's not glad for is the pointed looks she gets whenever she walks into a room, or passes someone in a hallway. She's fine; she's alive and uninjured, but they all keep looking at her as if she's crazy for walking around. Truthfully, if she has to stay one more minute in that pod, she really will go crazy.
Today, though, she has a purpose and a point to her walking. There's someone she has to see, someone she has to talk to. But thus far, that someone has been a hard person to pin down. If May didn't know better, she'd guess that that person has been avoiding her, but that can't possibly be it, can it? She has her suspicions, but the only way to confirm them is to find that person and make sure she can't get away.
It's still early yet, and the team is still in varying stages of getting ready for the day, which means that Daisy must still be in her quarters. That's where May goes, and once there, she knocks on the door. ]
flip a coin? nah.
Simmons reassured him that the healing pod worked, and that Daisy would be ultimately fine. It would just take some time for her blood and other vital fluids to be replenished and for her injuries to heal.
It's unfamiliar to him, this business of healing pods. He knows about doctors and stitches and antiseptic, but this is so far removed from all that. It's a science he doesn't understand, despite his best efforts to wrap his mind around it. Of course, he has no reason to doubt Simmons' word, but he can't help but worry and fret while he sits back in that chair and waits.
Everyone told him he might wind up waiting a long time, but he told them in return that he'd wait as long as he had to. He didn't carry Daisy out of that barn just to retreat to his quarters that don't feel like his just yet. Yes, he barely knows her; he barely knows any of them, but he does know one thing: he saw how hard she fought, and someone who went through that much of a hell deserved to have someone waiting for her when she came out on the other side.
So, he waits. Sometimes he has a book that he's barely paying attention to. Other times, he nods off for the briefest of naps. But all of it is short-lived, and soon enough, he's sitting up, just watching and waiting. If he has to do this for a week, two weeks, or even half a month or more, it'll be worth it. ]
this is why i adore you
For Daisy, it's a bit of both. She doesn't remember leaving the barn, though clearly she must have because the next thing she knows, a very fuzzy Simmons is standing over her, wrapping a bandage around her left hand. It was only a fleeting moment, a brief flicker that could have easily been a dream, but the reassurance of being back on the Zephyr is enough to let her ease back into unconsciousness. She doesn't dream.
She wakes again many hours later to the light slowly pulsing above her under the dome of the healing pod, which she's never had the pleasure of being in until now. It catches her off-guard and there's a moment of panic as she turns her head one way and then another, searching for—
Sousa. Something loosens in her chest and she lets out a sigh. He's safe, he'd made it out of the barn too. Thank goodness. ]
no, I adore you
At the moment, though, he's nodded off, allowing himself the briefest of naps, but it's the kind of nap that's easily woken up from. If she wakes up, he wants to be present and responsive, not zoned out asleep. But it seems as though he underestimated how tired he was as well, and at least for the moment, he remains asleep for a few minutes more.
Something goes off in his mind, however, and about two or three minutes later, his eyes pop open, he looks around, and he realizes she's awake. He quickly forces himself up into a proper sitting position, and he zeroes in on her. ]
Daisy, you're awake! How- How are you? Do you need anything?
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Or... the way she could. Before. Now she can hardly feel anything, the buzzing in her bones little more than a quiet hum. It leaves her unsettled and anxious, shifting her position and wincing as absolutely everything aches. ]
Wa— [ Her voice is slightly raspy, the chamber having focused on more important things than her strained vocal cords. ] Water, please?
[ Her hand is already searching for the button to open the pod from the inside, eager to not feel quite so trapped beneath the glass shield. ]
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why bother when you can just do both?
The op is simple, really; get in, recover the target (an 0-8-4, what else?), and get back out. But nothing is really simple in life, is it? At least, Daniel believes that to be true.
If anyone were to ask him about the progression of events years later, he'd say it was all a bit foggy. All he knows is that, one second, Daisy's standing next to him getting ready to rock some enemies around, and the next, one of said enemies is pointing his weapon at her. During the pre-op debriefing, they were all told that the weapons carried by the enemy were far more than a standard-issue gun or knife. They packed a mean punch and could pierce right through armor, so that meant they all had to be on their guard at all times.
Yes, Daniel knows Daisy is tough, but even with her Inhuman abilities, she can still die like a human. All he knows is that she's right in harm's way, and there's no way in hell he can let something bad happen. His legs (prosthetic and all) seem to move on their own, and he's stepping right in front of Daisy, just as the person they're staring down suddenly and without warning fires a shot.
That's when time stops having meaning, and all Daniel can hear is muffled shouts and yelling breaking out all around him, and a low grunt that he realizes belatedly came from his own mouth as he hits the ground. But all he can do is try to locate Daisy in the chaos and make sure that she's okay, that she didn't get hit as well.
That's all that matters right now. She's been through hell already, and if he can save her from having to go through even more pain and trouble, then that's exactly what he'll do, whatever the cost. ]
both is best
She hears the shot but it doesn't register as anything out of the ordinary for a mission like this. They'd been expecting powerful firearms to be on the scene. What she hadn't expected was to hear the shot and then see Daniel in front of her, his body falling before she can even think to grab hold of him.
Down, without moving to get back up. A combination of instinct, anger, and panic brings her arms up, the vibrations letting loose from her without restraint. The assailants she hits cry out in agony as their bones are crushed by the force of her quake, including the man who shot Daniel, but she finds no comfort in that.
Only mere seconds have passed when she drops to her knees, one hand cupping the back of his head while the other presses against his wound. ] Sousa!
[ There are still gunshots rining around them, though far fewer now, but all she can hear is the thudding of his heartbeat beneath her hands — it's the only thing keeping her from completely giving in to the panic gripping her chest. ]
always
His wound is bleeding faster than he thought it would, and it's making his vision swim and his head feel fuzzy, making him want to close his eyes for a little while. But next thing he knows, he feels someone's arms around him, and a hand going to the back of his head. He never really noticed if Daisy wore perfume or not, but right now, with her so close to him, he can detect a scent that's just her. It's not flowers or fruit or whatever other scents women like to wear, but it's unmistakably her. ]
Hey.
[ He forces himself to look up at her. ] You all right?
[ And then he realizes her hand is pressed to where he was shot, and he frowns. ] You're going to get blood on yourself.
[ She might just be wearing her typical gear for a mission like this, but he doesn't want her getting his blood all over everything. ]