The thing about Skye
She doesn't talk about it
Daisy talks a lot. About inane things, things in general- anything to fill the silence or keep her mind occupied as her thoughts jump from one thing to the next. Daisy is good at talking- good at distracting (herself, friends, enemies), and it's also what got her in trouble most for when she was younger.
Good girls are quiet. Good girls are polite.
They don't spout off the first thing that comes to mind, and they don't interrupt, and they don't argue.
Daisy got fairly good at following these rules (there were always slips), until the time came when she needed to talk- to distract- to redirect- to convince her teachers she was fine (she just bruises easily, which is unfortunate considering how clumsy she is).
But there are things, no matter how her thoughts skip around, Daisy doesn't talk about. Thoughts that screech and freeze, and her tongue becomes cement on, and she has to reset her brain to get any work done.
Daisy doesn't talk about her past. Doesn't talk about the nuns, or the foster homes, or her feelings (stop crying, you whiny little bitch- no one wants to hear it), or things that make her anxious and uncomfortable, or why.
Daisy doesn't talk about it, but she suspects that her team might, when she's not in ear shot. Because she stands off to the side, enveloped in shadow, and she watches them laugh and smile and joke.
She watches the alcohol get passed around and the pizza boxes open and close and slowly disappear. There is jubilation in their interactions that she can only guess stems from inebriation.
Daisy doesn't begrudge them their drink. She excused herself a while ago, and the alcohol didn't come out until then. They are always so careful, she honestly forgot that people- these people- drank alcohol.
She doesn't talk about it, but they each must have figured it out. Or, maybe, FitzSimmons warned them. That sounds like it may be the good intentioned thing they'd do, but the thought only embarrasses Daisy. That they would go out of their way to not do things they'd normally not even be concerned about.
Daisy watches from the doorway, feeling distant and not all the way present.
They all look… happy. A strange, warped, happiness that doesn't include Daisy and her baggage that she never talks about but everyone seems to sense about her because there is something inherently, unfailingly, wrong about her.
But as unfathomably bad Daisy is, her team is infallibly good. Because they didn't try to change her, they changed themselves without even a word or complaint to Daisy- Daisy who didn't even realize- didn't even notice.
Daisy feels the heat of a gaze, and her eyes immediately snap to the side of the room to see May looking at her. Her face is inscrutable, but there is an undeniable laxness to it that there normally isn't.
Her eyes, though, are as dark and heavy as ever.
Daisy watches as those eyes flick away, and May casually leans over to whisper something to Coulson. And Coulson, the good, well meaning, man that he is, immediately starts collecting bottles and glasses in such a casual manner that it looks natural- that this was the plan all along and it's his choreographed job to carry it out.
There are no shouts of complaint, no downturned moods or bursts of anger as the alcohol is quickly swept away until there is no evidence of it ever being there except for the flush on cheeks and lingering joy of inebriation.
And she doesn't know what she expected, but… she finds herself not surprised. Jemma and Fitz crow a happy greeting when they notice her, eagerly making room between them on the couch for her to join, and the happy air doesn't drop at all when faced with Daisy's presence.
It grows and catches, and she finds that she doesn't mind stepping into the room full of inebriated people. She knows them. Alcohol doesn't change people. It enhances them. And they are good.
Without any more hesitation, Daisy's body carries her into the room and she delicately perches on the edge of the cushions between her two best friends.
Jemma immediately sags against her, and a waft of alcoholic scent follows, making Daisy grimace, but she doesn't want to leave. Doesn't want to ruin this or the good mood. Jemma rubs her cheek against Daisy's shoulder, and Daisy flushes in embarrassment.
"Mmm, love you, Dais," the biochemist hums.
"I-" Daisy's throat catches, pleasure and warmth coursing through her veins, but her vocals don't work.
"S'okay. You don't have to say it back. I know."
Jemma knows, they all seem to know, that Daisy doesn't talk about it- can't- but she doesn't have to.
(She never really finds out, doesn't ask, but they do talk about it. They trade observances and stories, and they piece things together on their own and between each other. Daisy doesn't talk about it, but they do. And if she won't take the hand in front of her face, they will brace against her and hold her up from behind.)
A/N: Please review!
~Silver~