Little Wonders
It's May's awe-struck comment that gets to him, as they all look at the exhausted, emotional couple in the next room, holding a tiny bundle of blankets. "She's beautiful."
She. Fitz and Simmons' newborn daughter, whose name makes his insides wrench with grief and longing whenever he thinks of it, because it's her and at the same time a complete stranger. Whose features, though they can still change slightly as she ages, are a perfect mix of Fitz and Simmons, and in the back of his head the comparison has been going since he first laid eyes on the child, because it's so easy to picture the woman she'll become since he knows – knew – her so well.
He hasn't told them that this little girl will be his mother. He's known for almost a year, and keeping silent has almost driven him mad at times, but he's managed it. He doesn't want to risk changing anything in the past, so he's managed. Every day for the past month, as it got closer to the due date, he's almost told them at least once. It's been on his mind so regularly.
But now, looking in at them with May's simple words in his head, there's an odd feeling in his chest that he realizes is the absence of that secret weighing on him. He's suddenly not worried about the fact that he shouldn't be here, in this time. Instead he's looking at that little girl, and the two adoring faces above her, and a rush of that feeling he'd had when he first appeared in this time comes back, lightening his breath and quickening his pulse in joy.
The knowledge that that little girl is him mom isn't weighing on him anymore. It's carrying him forward, giving him something to hope for, but it's not a priority at the moment. Seeing Jemma and Fitz hold their daughter is.
That little girl was only born a few hours before, but she already has more people looking out for her than she needs. As he looks in at her, Deke realizes this must be what all children had before the Blues, ideally at least. Certainly more than he had. He looks at her, at Fitz making a strange face at her and Jemma beaming at her, and realizes how powerful just the sight of this is. That little girl has so much possibility surrounding her, so much promise to be cared for and freedom to live anyway she wants to, and she doesn't even know it.
He thinks no one can love a child as much as this small team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents already loves that little girl.
May watches them through the open doorway as they look at their little girl. She's staying back so she isn't seen, though she knows her looking in won't distract them. That little girl has their complete attention.
She also has May's.
Since Jemma found out she was pregnant May had been making sure she had everything she needed, to keep the baby healthy and safe. That meant limited exposure to stress and danger, which, while unfortunately being large parts of their work, were certainly parts May could pick up some extra weight of. She'd done it silently, without telling the others she was slowly easing Jemma out of fieldwork, so no one was suspicious or, more importantly, concerning themselves with May when they should have been concerning themselves with Jemma. May had made it her goal to do everything in her power to keep Fitz, Jemma, and their unborn child safe, diving into work to make it so. Now that the baby is safely nestled in their arms, though, that drive to take on the world is fading again, replaced by an urge she hasn't felt in a long time.
She remembers how she and Andrew had planned to have a family someday. Bahrain had shown her that she couldn't take it; the possibility of losing it was too much for her to bear. She'd thought she was too broken to bring something into the world. She'd decided it was better to not have it than to risk that feeling again, and she'd regretted it, in fleeting moments over the years.
She may not show it, but she longs to hold a child in her arms like that, to cradle them against her chest and sing them the lullabies she was sung as a baby. She yearns for it more than she'd realized, as she watches the new family from the doorway. She can't wait to hold that little girl herself.
She knows her days at S.H.I.E.L.D. are starting to run low. She doesn't want the warrior's life anymore, though she isn't planning on rushing into retirement either. She'll let things happen naturally, and stay long enough to make sure everyone she cares about is safe – especially that little girl. She may not technically be family, but she's the closest thing Melinda has to that dream of one, and she'll do everything in her power to keep her safe.
She's not going to let anything happen to that little girl.
Daisy leans back against the wall with her arms tight against her sides, looking over May's shoulder to where she can just see Jemma and Fitz with their daughter. She can feel the unshed tears burning in the back of her throat as she watches them, her insides vibrating as if she were using her powers as a mix of emotions boil inside her.
She's so unbelievably happy for those two dorky scientists she's rooted for since meeting them. She's thrilled that they've finally started a family of their own, and bursting with excitement to see their daughter close up. She's also slightly jealous of their happiness, and envious of that little girl who has so many people who care about her. And then, when she realizes what she's thinking, she feels guilty about it.
She didn't expect to feel so many things, just from seeing them. She thinks there's one feeling that dominates, though, over the happiness and excitement and jealousy and envy. She doesn't even know how to describe it really, but she knows what it means: she will never let that little girl be lonely like she was.
She knows the situation is completely different than her own. She couldn't be raised by her parents. This little girl can, and Jemma and Fitz will love their daughter as much as possible. But Daisy promises the little girl that she will love her too.
She's nervous, thinking about when she'll get to actually go see her. She doesn't know if she trusts herself to hold her, she's so small and delicate. She also doesn't know if she can stop herself from holding her at the first opportunity, because she's sure the pull she feels just from watching will magnify once she steps closer, and make it impossible not to. It's instinctive, she realizes. She's never imagined having a family; not like this, at least. Not a family that she creates herself, with someone she loves.
Well, she amends, and a new feeling joins the mix as she closes her eyes for a second, more actively fighting back the tears – she never imagined it for long. She didn't have Lincoln in her life long enough to fully form that picture.
She breathes out and opens her eyes, focusing on the smiling faces in the next room. Maybe she'll have that one day, but regardless, she's going to be a part of this family, now. Fitz-Simmons' daughter already has a lot of people looking out for her, but Daisy is especially adamant in keeping a close eye on her.
If she ever needs a friend, someone to talk to or a pair of shoulders to carry her, Daisy will be there in an instant.
She's always going to be there for that little girl.
Fitz pulls his ears and puffs up his cheeks, shaking his head side to side. His little girl smiles at him from Jemma's arms, and he feels his heartstrings pull a little tighter. She's perfect. He swears she looks just like Jemma, though Jemma says she looks more like him. He takes it to mean that she's a good mix of the two of them.
Love and pride swell within him as he looks at her and then back at Jemma, his daughter and then his wife. He's gotten used to saying 'his wife', but the word 'daughter' is a wonderfully foreign one he's only spoken once, after he'd cleaned her off and handed her to Jemma. He looks forward to saying it for the rest of his life.
The fact that he's finally a parent renders him speechless as he reaches a hand out, placing it over Jemma's on the baby's back. Their baby. Half Jemma, half him.
The fear he's had recently, that the darker parts of his nature would wreak havoc on any family they might have, starts fading as he sees the wonder in that little face. This isn't The Doctor's daughter. It's his and Jemma's.
Yes, he has a dark side. His time in the Framework made that abundantly, painfully clear. But he realizes now that it was a silly fear, thinking that darkness could ever stain a child he and Jemma had. She could inherit some of his weaknesses, but that darkness that still haunts his sleep is a learned behavior, not a genetic trait. There's no science behind the idea that his dark side will affect his daughter that way. And the other fear, that he'll be a bad parent because of the same thing; it's something that will be in the back of his mind from time to time, but it's not an overwhelming fear anymore, as he feels the warmth from her back and Jemma's hand. He will be nothing like his father was for him. His father never loved him. He already loves his daughter more than he thought possible, and he's only known her for a few hours.
She has the potential to be the best of both he and Jemma. Better, actually, because she'll have her own behaviors as well. Her own voice and quirks and talents, partly inspired by he and Jemma but also uniquely hers.
And he can't wait to get to know her.
He tightens his hand over Jemma's, smiling as their baby closes her eyes. He'll be the best man he can be, for them, and give them everything he has.
He knows in that moment he'll never feel anything more than his love for Jemma and their little girl.
Safely nestled in Fitz's and Jemma's arms the smallest Fitz-Simmons sleeps peacefully on, unaware of how many hearts she's already claimed, and how much love surrounds her.