A/N: Okay, so actually, this little fic doesn't just exist on its own, but is a part of a bigger AU continuity I have been working on – but one that is painfully far from being published, knowing myself. But it works if you simply imagine that Ward never was HYDRA, or that he was, but was redeemed before Skye's father came into the picture, knows nothing about the guy, and his relationship with Skye is established. The Doctor's brush with S.H.I.E.L.D. happens (er… implied to happen) differently than in the show, but all the backstory we learned so far is in play. I know maybe I should have waited with this story, but this scene just wouldn't leave me alone, I desperately needed some fluff, and the whole Daisy stuff was just too good for me to pass on. With these things said, I hope you'll enjoy this little story.
Rating: K+
Word Count: 1023
Disclaimer: [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]
When her father is finally captured and securely locked up in the basement of the Playground, Skye asks to talk to him, alone. Ward is not sure what drives her exactly: the need to understand, the need to get closure, or simple curiosity. But he doesn't question her – that man is, after all, her father, even if the only thing that connects them is their DNA –, just simply escorts her to the door of the vault when Coulson okays the visit, kisses the top of her head, trying to give her a little strength that way, then watches her as she descends the stairs.
And then leaves, giving her the space she needs right now.
He gives her an hour before he starts looking for her, first checking into the video feed of the vault to see if she's still there, then, when he sees that she has left, taking a look at the places he knows she likes to hide when she wants to be left alone: the old command center on the Bus, one of the older SUV in the garage, the little alcove just off the main corridor that everybody seems to miss when walking by, and, finally, the roof.
That's where he finds her.
She is sitting near the ledge with her back to him, her legs extended in front of her, her knees slightly bent, her small body only protected from the November chill by a jacket he recognizes as his. He approaches her, mindful not to be completely silent, to let her know that he is there, but even if she notices him, she doesn't let him know, at least not at first, but when he sits down next to her, she, almost instinctively, leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He embraces her with one arm, and waits for her to speak, if she wants to. If she doesn't, well, then he is content just to sit there with her for a little while.
"He is crazy," she says after a few beats of silence, her voice barely above whisper. "Batshit crazy, full-on psycho, and I…" Her voice cracks and she shivers, either from the cold or from the memory of her talk with her father. "He kept on talking about how I look like my mom and that this was not how he wanted our reunion to go, and then switched to how he'll take revenge and started ranting about how mom was special, and that I am special too, and that I have to fulfill my destiny or whatever, and… I lost it. I lost it and simply left." She hides her face in the crook of his neck, grips his sweater and starts crying, letting it all out, her body rocking with her sobs.
He can't do much, he knows. He just holds her close, pulling her into his lap, and caresses her hair, letting her know that he is there with her, that he always will be.
After a while her sobs quieten, turning into soft hiccups.
"He called me Daisy, said that is my name," she says scoffing, almost as if it was a joke, but her voice is tiny, almost afraid. "Daisy, what a stupid name. I mean it's…" She sniffs. "It's like a little girl's name with blonde locks in pigtails. It's just so not me. It's stupid," she repeats, as if it would make her point stronger.
He still doesn't say a word, only shifts her body a little – she lets him, and it is a little bit scary, because it almost feels like he was embracing a ragdoll – so he can rest his chin on the top of her head, almost every inch of their bodies touching.
"It's not that bad," he says softly into her ear after a while. "You know, in Hungarian, they call daisies százszorszép." Her body jerks a little as the foreign word rolls of his tongue, almost as if she was about to chuckle at the ridiculousness, the randomness of it.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asks, mumbling into his sweater. "To show off your language skills?"
"No, I just find it interesting, because do you know how its Hungarian name translates back into English?" When she shakes no, he continues, "Beautiful a hundred times. I think it fits you just right," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair, while feeling her tear-tainted smile against his neck.
"You are corny. And biased. I think I might have broken you."
"You might have, but do you know what? I don't mind, not anymore. And I might be biased, but it doesn't change the fact that I am right."
He feels her chuckle as she playfully punches his chest, then she encircles his neck, and pulls herself even closer to him, taking comfort in the warmth of his body, in his presence. He lets her, all the while gently caressing her arms, her back, until she starts shivering, this time from the cold and from exhaustion.
"I think we've been out long enough," he says, standing up, pulling her with him and helping her to her feet. "Let's get you back inside."
She nods in agreement as she brushes a stray tear off her face, then leans into him and lets him lead her to the stairway door.
"Do you think we will eventually get through this? This whole craziness?" she asks quietly about halfway through the roof. He sighs.
"Maybe," he says truthfully; there's no point in lying to her. "Eventually."
"Eventually…" she echoes weakly.
"But hey," she turns her towards himself. "I'll be with you all along the way, okay?" She nods. He leans down and kisses her softly on the lips. "But at first, let's focus small steps," he continues as he nudges her towards the door once again. "Like how you need a hot shower and a good night's sleep first."
"And a mug of hot chocolate."
"And a mug of hot chocolate," he agrees with a hint of a smile on his face as he closes the door of the stairway behind them.
A/N: This fic goes with saying that I sincerely doubt that Ward would speak Hungarian. First of all, why would he, it's a pretty unimportant country, even though it seems like S.H.I.E.L.D. operates here (by the way: I am Hungarian, and I live in Budapest. You can geek out). Secondly, it's a crazy language to learn. Not joking, its difficulty level is "low international organized crime because the bad guys can't learn the language" – it's not kidding, either, we actually had an FBI agent stationed here in Hungary giving a lecture at my university a couple of weeks ago, and he said this.