*Spoilers for 4x16, "What If..."*
He remembers her name, but not who she is. All Phil Coulson has left of his life before the Framework are a few disjointed memories and dreams that do not make any sense. And two strangers who refuse to give up on him.
I.
"Daisy…?"
The word tumbled from his lips like a phrase from a foreign language he had long-since forgotten. As soon as he heard himself speak, he wished he could have taken it back. The name was unfamiliar on his tongue and sounded almost obscene in his ears, like he had broken some unspoken rule.
What was he doing, listening to crazy stories from strangers who barged into his classroom and broke into his car?
This was a test. It had to be.
It was Hydra.
After the Inhuman student had been taken from his class, they were systematically searching through the boy's contacts and weeding out anyone who may have harbored him. He was not going to fall into their trap. He was not some upstart, Resistance collaborator. He was loyal to Hydra.
But that other girl knew things…
"It's a magical place."
"Ugh," he moaned, resting his head on the steering wheel.
What was happening to him?
He almost yelped when he felt a hand on his arm. Somehow in the last minute, the girl in the backseat had climbed over the centre console and perched in the passenger's seat of his car.
"It's okay, Coulson," she assured him.
She was looking at him with those earnest, dark eyes again, and he wanted more than anything to believe her.
"Who are you?" He croaked.
"You just said it," she replied. "I'm Daisy. Daisy Johnson. I'm your friend. I know things don't make sense right now, but I promise you, they will."
He closed his eyes and saw the girl named Daisy in his head.
She was younger in this dim memory.
Her face was fuller and there were no hollow circles under her eyes.
But those eyes… her eyes were the same. Dark, sincere and filled with tears, they begged him to come back from wherever he had been. She stood over him, calling his name again and again. When he finally responded, she collapsed onto his chest and pressed her lips to his folded hands.
The memory faded and another took its place.
She stood in front of him in a dimly-lit room, looking stricken, but trying to hold her pain inside.
"You're having one hell of a day," he heard himself say.
Daisy nodded and the dammed tears broke through her barriers. She stepped into his arms and he held her, letting her cry, as he tried to convince her that everything was going to be alright.
He could almost smell the metallic tang of blood in the room juxtaposed with the soft, floral fragrance of her hair.
Then it was gone.
He was in another darkened room in another time.
Daisy was older now. Her hair was shorter. Whatever had happened in those intervening years, the stress had taken its toll. She was dressed in black and the rosy colour had disappeared from her cheeks.
Dancing flecks of firelight reflected in those brown eyes.
"We'll find her. I promise."
Coulson felt a twinge in his gut at those words. He could not remember who "her" was or why it was so important that they find her, but he had to believe that Daisy was right. He watched himself place a hand on her shoulder as they talked out of the room together.
"Coulson?"
He gasped, looking at the occupant of his vehicle with unconcealed awe.
"You're remembering, aren't you?" Daisy asked.
"I don't know," he moaned. "I don't know what this is. Why do I know you? Why can't I remember who you are?"
Daisy gave him a tentative smile.
"I'll tell you everything, I promise," she said. "Do you trust me?"
Coulson appraised her with a side-long glance.
There was no reason why he should. She was probably a Hydra spy, or worse, some subversive trying to recruit him to the Resistance or some other lost cause.
But he did.
Somehow, she knew that he did.
"Okay," Daisy said. "Let's go."
"Go where?" He asked, even though he was already turning the key in the ignition.
"A place where it's safe. For the moment anyway," Daisy qualified. "There's someone else you need to meet."
II.
"Coulson!" The girl with the English accent cried out when they entered the apartment. "Daisy, you did it!"
Coulson found himself nearly strangled by the stranger who had barged into his classroom earlier when she launched herself at him and hugged him around the neck. He patted her on the back uneasily and felt his cheeks flush as she pulled away.
"It's so good to have you back, Sir!"
The girl beamed at him unreservedly and Coulson tried not to squirm at the awkwardness of the situation.
"Simmons," Daisy interrupted them. "He doesn't remember."
Simmons's face fell.
"Oh."
She stepped back and exchanged a sad smile with Daisy.
Why did he feel so terrible? It was like he was letting them down. But he had not done anything wrong!
"You said you would give me answers," he said to Daisy. "What am I doing here?"
Simmons's bit her lower lip.
"There's no easy way to explain that, Sir," she hedged.
"Look, I have been very cooperative with you both so far," he said. "You showed up flashing a SHIELD ID badge in my office today, looking like you have been living under a bridge. You," he continued, turning to Daisy. "Broke into my car—
"Please, it's not like it was Lola," Daisy scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Who the hell is Lola?" Coulson yelled.
"Okay, everyone," Simmons interrupted. "Let's just calm down and take a breath. It's been a very exhausting day for all of us. Why don't we all just sit down? I'll make us some tea and we will discuss our next move."
Daisy and Coulson retired to opposite ends of the couch, each casting furtive glances at the other.
"You seriously don't remember Lola?" Daisy muttered.
Coulson was still glowering at her when Simmons returned and placed a steaming mug on the table beside him.
"One sugar, no milk, just how you like it," she recited.
"Okay, how do you know that?" Coulson demanded.
Simmons shrank back and Daisy propped her leg up on the couch as she turned to face him.
"Coulson," she started, capturing his attention. "Back in the car, you remembered something about me. You knew my name. Has that ever happened to you before?"
He shook his head. He had experienced some weird things in his life, but nothing as incomprehensible as what had happened in the last few hours.
"Sir, earlier, when I asked you if there were certain memories that seemed out-of-place, you knew what I was talking about, didn't you?" Simmons asked.
Coulson hesitated.
Everyone had things in their mind that did not quite make sense.
Nothing had made sense after the attack in Massachusetts. Every day, he, along with the rest of the people of America and the global community, had to rationalize how their world had been infiltrated and turned upside-down by an alien threat. He knew people he had considered friends disappear into Hydra's black bags for conspiracy to commit treason. A math teacher at a rival school blew himself up in a car bomb less than a mile from the Triskelion, apparently his intended target.
Of all of the crazy thoughts that had passed through peoples' brains these days, a few errant memories he could not pin down were by far the most innocuous.
"Do you ever see anything that seems familiar, even though it shouldn't?" Simmons pressed.
He thought back to the tattered folder in his desk, filled with clippings from all of the stories that had seemed too important not to keep. The postcard from Tahiti. The calendar page from the month of May with the cherry red corvette stamped on it.
"What about dreams, Coulson?" Daisy asked. "Do you ever have any dreams that remind you of another time or place?"
Coulson almost snapped at her.
Of course he did!
They were dreams! Everyone had dreams in places that were not real.
He opened his mouth to tell them that this whole thing had been a ridiculous mistake and was met with two pairs of pleading eyes that glued him to his seat.
Who were these women? Why did they seem to care about him so much?
As disconcerting as it was, it was also comforting. Strange and familiar at the same time. How was that possible?
"I have this recurring dream," he muttered reluctantly. "It's not the same every time. But it's in the same place, with the same people."
He tried not to notice the girls exchange a hopeful look as he continued his narration.
"It's a dark maze, some kind of building with exposed brick walls, and lots of glass and steel. I feel like would get lost in it, but I always seem to know where I am going. There is usually someone walking beside me. It's a woman, but I don't know who she is. I can never see her face."
"I always miss her when I wake up," he thought.
"Yeah?" Daisy encouraged. "What else?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know," he admitted. "It's different every time. I feel like I have a purpose there. Like when I teach, but different somehow. There are people there who respect me. People in lab coats or people with uniforms. They are…"
A rush of heat surged from his gut to his brain and left him as quickly as it had come. It left him cold and beads of perspiration broke out all over his body.
"They're you," he whispered. "Both of you."
The woman called Simmons wiped her face and sniffed.
"Yes, Sir," she said. "It's us."
"Jemma," he remembered. "Her name is 'Jemma.'"
"Yes," Jemma agreed through a broken laugh, and he realized he had spoken her name out loud.
Daisy scooted across the couch and pulled him into a half-hug. After a moment's hesitation, Jemma sat on the arm of the couch next to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and planted a kiss on his temple.
Although still somewhat unnerved, Coulson placed an arm around Daisy and found one of Jemma's hands with his own. She squeezed it tight between lithe fingers.
The identity of these women was still a mystery to him, but at least he knew that, whoever they were, they did not mean him any harm.
They might have even loved him.
III.
"Don't get me wrong, I am very happy you're both alive. Truly. And I realize you were trying to save the team. But what you did today? That was not your call. Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again! We would hate to lose you, Jemma."
"You want her, you go through me!"
"I miss her too. I'm having a hard time accepting all of it."
"Daisy, just come home safe."
He heard his own voice in his head. He was talking about the women on either side of him. As they sat there, tangled in silence on a couch in a strange apartment, memories assaulted Coulson in soundbites and snapshots.
Jemma being pulled out of a well in a stone floor, coughing and covered with gravel. Daisy hugging him, while he stood motionless, stunned at the unsolicited outpouring of affection.
Each remembrance was burdened with a sense of fear and dread. Was he always this terrified for their safety? Why? What role had he played in their lives?
If he did not know any better, he would have said they were his.
His children.
But really, did he know better? How the hell could he have forgotten his own kids?
Oh God. Jemma.
He had sold her out!
The minute she had left his office, he had reported her as a subversive.
Coulson felt a sick swell of vomit in the back of his throat.
His own daughter! He had turned in a member of his own family!
"She's fine," he convinced himself. "She's not with Hydra. She's safe."
There was something that did not quite fit with this theory that they were his children. Even though both of the girls certainly seemed like family, there was no escaping the fact that neither of them looked a thing like him. Jemma had a British accent, after all. Even if they had been adopted, it did not explain why they all had different last names.
That fact did not make the guilt of his betrayal weigh on him any less.
Even though he felt like a jackass doing it, he had to ask.
"Um, guys?"
Jemma and Daisy pulled back.
"Sorry, sir," Jemma said, looking abashed.
"It's—it's not that, it's fine, J-Jemma," he stammered. "I just… I can't be your father, can I?"
Jemma smiled, but shook her head. Daisy remained conspicuously silent.
"I'm afraid not," Jemma said. "You're our friend. Our leader."
"You are family, Coulson," Daisy added quietly. "Just not in the way people normally think of."
She met his confused look with a half-smile that did not reach her eyes. Coulson felt like he should have reassured her of something, but he had no idea what that would have been.
"Leader of what?" He asked. "You said earlier that I was the Director of SHIELD. That's just not possible. Every leader of that agency was tried and executed for treason. Was this some sort of resistance movement? Is that why I can't remember anything? Did Hydra capture me and wipe my memories?"
"It's a lot more complicated than that," Daisy said.
"Then explain it!" He snapped.
Both of the girls flinched and he immediately regretted his outburst.
"I'm sorry," he backtracked, running a hand over his forehead. "It's just been a very strange day."
"You want the short version?" Daisy asked rhetorically. "In the real world, you are the leader of SHIELD. You and four members of our team were kidnapped and forced into this virtual reality by a mad scientist and a possessed android. Simmons and I came into rescue you. We showed up in this bizarro world where Ward is somehow still alive, Fitz is playing Kevorkian with Inhumans, and May let that demonic hell-child in Bahrain live, ushering in Hydra as the Fourth Reich."
"No Daisy, don't hold anything back," Simmons quipped. "Wouldn't to ease him into it."
Coulson's head pivoted, looking at each of the women in turn, trying to gauge their expressions. In spite of the deluge of nonsensical bullshit Daisy had just spouted, both of them seemed to be deadly serious.
"Are you both insane?" He asked. "How am I supposed to believe any of that? That this world isn't real? That I am the Director of SHIELD? It doesn't make any sense! SHIELD is the reason that Inhumans are even a threat! I think I'd remember if I were part of that!"
"Really?" Jemma demanded. "Then, tell me, 'Mr. Coulson,' who was the founder of SHIELD?"
"Peggy Carter and Howard Stark," he answered automatically.
"What branch of the government did Peggy Carter work for before SHIELD?" she continued.
"The Strategic Scientific Reserve."
"What was the codename of the SSR hub that Carter converted into the first SHIELD base?"
"That's classified."
Jemma smirked and Coulson's throat went dry.
What was he saying?
"I teach American history!" He protested. "It's my job to know as much as possible about the events that led up to the current… situation."
"Really?" Daisy taunted, from his other side. "Is it your 'job' to keep classified secrets that only SHIELD personnel would know?"
"This is not real," he told himself. "No, it is real. This is reality. You are Philip Coulson. You teach high school. You are loyal to Hydra. You are not, nor have you ever been an Agent of SHIELD."
"Sir?" Jemma said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I know this is a lot to accept. You don't have to understand everything right now. But you know us. You remember us, on some level at least. You know we would never lie to you."
He understood what she was not saying. He could not accept one truth without the other. And there was no way he could forget the things he remembered about them.
For as far back as he could recall, there had been a persistent ache inside of him, a phantom pain in his chest where something was missing. He had learned to ignore it, to push it down, just so he could function and get on with his day. All of his best efforts were not enough to keep the emptiness from gnawing at him. Now, for the first time, the pain was a little more bearable. These two familiar strangers made him more complete.
There would be no going back.
But he had no idea how to move forward.
When his attention returned to the present, Jemma and Daisy were arguing over who would sleep on the couch.
"You said Ward wasn't coming back tonight!" Jemma protested.
"Well, that doesn't mean I want to get in that bed," Daisy replied. "I won't be able to sleep without imaging him creeping up on me."
Coulson realized he was exhausted. He could have fallen over and just collapsed on the floor. He supposed he could have driven home, but looking at the two girls fighting like teenagers, he knew he was not going anywhere.
Whatever was really going on, he needed them as much as they needed him.
"I'll take the bed," he interrupted.
Daisy and Jemma looked over at him, slack-jawed.
"Are you sure?" Jemma asked.
"Sure," he shrugged. "I don't know who 'Ward' is, and any bed has got to be more comfortable than sleeping on the floor."
Jemma cut Daisy off before she had a chance to retort.
"Thank you, Sir."
"For what?"
"For staying," she said. "For trusting us."
"You're welcome, Jemma," he muttered. "I should tell you… earlier today, when you were in my office, I reported you to Hydra. I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"I know."
"You do?"
"It wasn't you, Coulson," she said simply.
He had to look away from those sympathetic eyes.
She was wrong.
It was him.
He knew exactly what he was doing and he had done it anyway. Whoever this person was they were trying to save, he was a better man than he was. Coulson just hoped he was worth all of the trouble they were going through.
In the end, he just nodded and toward the bedroom.
But there was one more thing that was bothering him that he had to know.
"Jemma?" He asked. "If I'm not your father, why do I remember you accusing me of leaving you and your mom in the Cotswolds for a bunch of American prostitutes? Plural?"
From the corner of the living room, Daisy let out a noise that was somewhere between a hiccup and a snort. Jemma's lower-lip started quivering. In a matter of seconds, both women were gasping with laughter, tears pouring down their faces.
Coulson shook his head and left them to their hysterical fit.
Whatever the story was there, it could wait until the morning.