Oh my god I am so sorry that it took this long to get up but here is that static quake secret Santa gift I was supposed to put up on Christmas. Whoops. I hope you all enjoy it! I think it's a little different, as it is an AU. I don't own Agents of SHIELD. Please read and review!
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The letter comes on a Friday evening.
It's November, and the first snowfall of the year is beginning to dust the streets surrounding the small cottage, streetlights illuminating two figures through the bay window. Lincoln is there, he's always there, but this time he's twirling about the kitchen, pushing his famous chicken potpie into the oven as Daisy sips from her tiny of glass of red wine.
It's one of their better holiday seasons; he finally got off work long enough for a family dinner and her father and mother Phil and Melinda were on their way. The little townhouse was bustling with holly as the snow began to fall harder.
Ever so often he would catch her smiling at the young children throwing snowballs at each other in the street, and he would look away, guilt coloring his eyes. She wanted kids, and he did too, but with their demanding schedules (he: an ER doctor and she: working at the NSA) the idea wasn't plausible. Not to mention, the brutal war that was taking place just four hundred miles south of them.
The war started four years ago, and Lincoln, working at one of the most prestigious hospitals in DC, was on call around the clock, trying to save any important figures that had been flown in from the battlefields. The war had begun due to several attacks in Florida, terrorists attempting to crawl their way up the east coast and take the capital for themselves. The draft had returned two years in, when volunteers were running low. Many wealthier families fled to Canada, or printed death certificates for their children.
People were afraid to even have children.
He pushed the thoughts out of his mind, smiling at his wife. She was clad in an oversized sweater and leggings, and her bob framed her face perfectly. To him, she was the most beautiful creature on the planet.
He sometimes is still confused as to how he managed to captivate her in the way she captivated him. The only reason they met was because she had broken her arm, and he happened to be on duty at the time. They had hit it off immediately, tying the knot with a whirlwind wedding a year and a half later.
The doorbell brought him from his musings, and he hummed in response as he made his way to the front door.
He opened it to find the mailman perched on the front step.
"A letter for Mrs. Daisy Campbell," the mailman said, handing him an official looking white letter before sauntering off into the darkness.
"Daisy!" Lincoln called in response, turning to look over his shoulder as he shut the door, brisk air beginning to take over the foyer.
"Yeah?" she replied, getting up from the bench at the kitchen table to meet him halfway in the living room, positioning herself on top of the armrest of his favorite chair.
"You've got a letter."
Her eyes widened in excitement and she beamed.
"I never get letters!" she exclaimed, patting the cushion beside her as she smiled at him.
She bounced in excitement as she tore the letter open, eyes gazing over the words. As quickly as the excitement came, it vanished.
"What's wrong?" he asked, noticing his wife's abnormal ridged posture.
"It's the draft Lincoln," she said, her vibrant eyes filling with terror. "They've recruited me."
He cupped her face, pressing his forehead to hers.
"Okay, we're going to put this on a shelf and save it for later," he said, rubbing his thumb against her cheek. "We're not going to let this ruin the night."
In truth, he was terrified of what was about to happen, but he believed that he had to be strong for her, so he swallowed the lump in his throat and grabbed her hand, leading her to the kitchen to suck on a candy cane.
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They live in denial for the rest of the week, and she is excluded from training camp due to her status in the NSA.
The goodbye is bittersweet; a passionate kiss and lingering hands leaving searing marks on skin.
"I'll see you soon, yeah?" he says once they pull away, the countdown to boarding a heavy weight in the background.
She nods, leaning in to capture his lips once more, before turning around to board.
"Not if I see you first!" she calls over her shoulder, attempting to keep her tears at bay as she looks him in the eye for what could be the last time.
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Lincoln,
God, it's horrible down here. I thought I'd seen a lot at work, but that was nothing compared to this. I now realize how lucky we were to even have those few years before the war claimed one of us; many of my comrades lost their spouses in the early years of the war. It sucks, I have things to say but I can't tell you because of classified information, and on top of it they read all mail that comes in and out. Nothing is private anymore I guess. I hope you don't worry about me too much, I love you and I know how you get if you don't take your meds. So don't forget them, okay? Just because I'm not there to remind you doesn't mean that you receive a get out of jail free card. I want to make this longer, but there's not much to talk about yet. Tell me about work, I always loved hearing about work.
Love,
Daisy
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Dearest Daisy,
Your letter was much needed. In all honesty I did forget to take my meds, and my co-workers thank you for reminding me. They said that I'm not as uptight as I was. I feel oddly cliché, writing these letters to you. I feel like we're straight out of a world war two novel. As for work, we've gotten a lot of badly wounded officers. As you probably know, the front lines are getting closer and closer to DC, and the president is making evacuation plans. In order to keep light of the situation at work, Leo started a prank war between him and Jemma, and I think that the romantic tension between the two is actually helping the rest of us focus on something besides the war. I talked to your dad yesterday, he's thinking about moving to Canada with your mom. Personally, I think it's a brilliant idea. Many refugees have fled to Canada, and since we have hardly ever been in conflict with them, the Canadians have welcomed us with open arms. I've been watering the flowers in the kitchen like you wanted me to. I can't wait for Christmas.
I love you,
Lincoln.
~(~
Lincoln,
Well when you start a letter with "Dearest Daisy," it's going to help contribute to your cliché. Oh my god can we just take a moment to talk about Leo and Jemma? I always knew that they were going to get together, remember when I first met them at that conference. I fucking called it. (we're not supposed to use strong language but it's whatever) I'm glad that my parents are thinking about leaving, they deserve it. You better help them move even if my mom tries to kick your ass. (this one's not even bad? I think it's because they might want to put these in a museum one day. Oh my god imagine are useless conversations under a piece of glass, immortalized. I feel like I'd have to say something better.) And I'm glad you've been watering the flowers! If they're not alive when I get back I will be furious. So there's this new couple in my squadron, bless their souls they always tell each other not to die out there and it's honestly the cutest thing. Anyway, the next time I'll see you will be in a couple days. Actually, you probably will receive this letter the day I come back. I'm so excited Lincoln! I've been promoted as well! (well, the general died so I was actually the next in line but let's not talk about that!) Get me some nice champagne! I love you!
Daisy
~(~
Lincoln smiled to himself, as he read her letter, not even bothering to cover up his laughter at her carefree attitude.
He prayed that the war wouldn't change that.
The phone rang, reviving him from his treacherous thoughts.
"Dr. Lincoln Campbell," he said whilst rubbing his eyes.
"Dr. Campbell!" a chirpy British voice responded, and he nearly groaned at the enthusiasm.
"We've got quite a few officers arriving in an hour, I'm afraid we're going to need you to come back on."
"See you in thirty, Dr. Simmons," he replied, snatching his lab coat from the hooks by the door.
He wasn't sure what to expect when he arrived, but he was definitely sure it was not a frazzled Jemma Simmons.
"Dr. Simmons?" he questioned, attempting to move past her as she blocked the doorway.
She blushed furiously, inhaling deeply and pushing a piece of her short burnette hair behind her ear.
"I'm sorry Dr. Campbell, I really am," she said, eyes adverting his gaze.
"Jemma what the hell are you talking about?" he asked, forgoing formalities.
Jemma plastered a brave face on, something he had seen her do multiple times to families in need, and he suddenly found himself dreading the words that were about to flow out of her mouth.
"She was brought in a little under three minutes ago, two bullet wounds to the stomach, she's on the operating table now, but it's still uncertain how she's doing."
His face fell.
"Oh, god."
She blinked back the tears in her eyes, gesturing to a nearby chair.
"I'm sorry Dr. Campbell but I'm afraid that you will have to take off the rest of the evening."
This was not how he wanted his Christmas Eve to go.
This was not how anyone's Christmas Eve should go.
For the next few hours, he completely ignored the flurries that began to fall from the sky, and the weeping of mothers surrounding him as their sons and daughters were lost to the noble cause his wife had fought for.
"Dr. Campbell?" Dr. Simmons asked, and he searched her face for any sort of mask.
He was relieved to find that there was none.
"She pulled through, she was just transferred to another room, would you like me to take you there?"
He nodded, desperately trying to avoid thinking about the hateful stares that bore into the back of his head from the grieving families around him.
He followed Dr. Simmons through the maze of rooms; if he had been about his wits he would have noticed where he was going, but he honestly couldn't even tell if he was walking straight.
Dr. Simmons seemed to notice that.
"I made sure to get her a single room," she said, tilting her head to the side. "It was insanely difficult, but it worked out in the end. After all you do for this place, I think you deserve it."
He didn't say anything in fear of crying.
They entered the room silently, and she pulled a chair next to the bed.
She was so pale. Her body was connected to a life support machine, and he immediately dropped his head to lie next to hers.
She didn't deserve to be alone.
"Well," Dr. Simmons said, soothing her wrinkled lab coat. "I'll be off then. If you need anything – well, you know what to do."
He smiled at her gratefully, exhaling in relief as she left the room.
He nodded off for a bit, and he almost didn't realize that she had awoken until he felt a gush of warm air against his neck.
"Lincoln?" she whimpered, reaching out to grasp his hand as she began to panic.
He shot awake, throwing his head back, and running a hand through her hair.
"Daisy, you're awake," he exclaimed, blinking back tears as she attempted to smile back at him.
"Here's a tip, don't get shot in the stomach," she said, wincing as she adjusted her position on top of the bed. "It fucking hurts."
He chuckled slightly, shaking his head as he rubbed his thumb against her jawline.
"I thought they told you not to cuss," he said, remembering the letter he had only just read.
She scoffed.
"I'm going to take advantage of that rule until they drag me back into that hell hole."
She yawned, and he noticed that her eyelids began to droop.
"Sleep," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead.
She complied, closing her eyes to his soothing tone.
"What time is it," she muttered, her words slurring as the medicine kicked in.
He reached in his pocket to check his phone.
"12:11," he said, shaking his head at the damned thing.
"Merry Christmas Lincoln," she said, drifting off at the last word.
"Merry Christmas Daisy."