The thing about Skye

Extension off of: She has scars

Daniel struggles to catch his breath a bit. His body has that lethargic, contented weight to it, but his heart still feels like it's on the surface of his skin as it struggles to calm.

He watches Daisy as she seems to recover so much quicker than himself. It causes a flicker of self-consciousness before he impatiently brushes it away.

And then Daisy abruptly stiffens and sits up. She starts crawling out of bed.

Daniel reaches out and captures the trailing tips of her fingers. "Hey, where are you going? What's wrong?"

She hesitates, not meeting his eyes, and the lingering feelings of contentment rush away in the wake of worried uncertainty. Then she bites her lip and glances up from her lashes.

"We should probably get dressed. Just in case there's an emergency. There's always an emergency."

Daniel softens again. "Sometimes it feels that way." He sinks back against the pillows, letting his hand fall away to splay back over the warm sheets Daisy vacated. "Come back to bed. Please? Just for a little bit."

Daisy hesitates before slowly sliding back into the bed, belly first, and arms outstretched under the pillow. Daniel slowly slides closer until he's half-draped over her damp back. As he brushes his fingers through her hair, he can feel her relax slightly, but there is still a worrying tension throughout her body.

He presses a kiss to her shoulder. "You okay?" he checks.

Daisy lets out a gusty sigh that stirs the hair draping over her face. "Yeah." She closes her eyes. She goes through a visible manual effort of trying to relax her muscles. "This is fine."

Daniel plucks at the wild strands, tucking it behind an ear and then further brushing it from her neck.

A flaw distracts him- an angry splash of color against raised skin- and he sits up in slight alarm. He's never seen this scar before. He doesn't think Daisy's ever worn her hair up, allowing him the chance to see it.

Daniel's eyes trace it. It's not very old. No more than two years at the oldest.

"Hey, what's this from?" he asks softly. His fingers have a mind of their own as they stretch out to gently feel the grotesque mark.

As his fingers come into contact, though, Daisy's entire body goes rigid and still as her toes shoot toward the foot of the bed, and hands fist in sheets.

"Sorry," he quickly apologizes, shifting his fingers away. Daisy doesn't react. "Hey, I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it." She doesn't move. Daniel sits up fully. "Daisy?"

Shit.

Catching sight of her face, he quickly scrambles out of the bed, staggering again, at first, as he always does no matter how long he's had this new prosthetic. He doesn't pause to take in and marvel at the feel of the ground under his false foot, or take in the textures and weight and nerves that are almost more real then the phantom pains he used to sometimes get.

He hurries around the side of the bed and falls to his knees in front of his girlfriend, who still isn't responding, and whose jaw is locked tight in sharp angles, and whose pupils are dilated in fear, and whose chest is rising in short, rapid, hitching movements.

"Daisy, breathe," he commands quietly. "Can you hear me? Can you tell me what you need?"

Daniel has only witnessed two episodes with Daisy, and both were vastly different from each other. One was quiet and terrifying in the almost vague nothingness in her responslessness, and the other was the inverse. The second one was more what he was used to handling with soldiers after the war- with disorganized thoughts, confusion, fear, and flashbacks.

He made the mistake, though, of wordlessly trying to offer comfort the same way she asked for the first time. She didn't react well.

This time seems to be a mix between the two that has him uncertain to act one way or the other for fear of causing her more undue distress.

Sometimes he just has to act, though, and figure it out as he goes. Especially if Daisy isn't able to tell him what she needs.

He touches her clenched hand lightly with his fingers. His water glass on the bedside table shatters- the lamp next to it rattles harshly before tipping onto the floor. The entire ship gives a shuttering groan that has terror spike inside him.

His first instinct is to rip his hand away, especially when the gentle tickling of fly wings he sometimes feels when they touch, feels more like stinging, angry wasps. Instead, he clamps his hand more firmly around hers. He ducks closer.

"Daisy? Breathe. You're not in danger, okay? But we are on the ship, so you need to get control. Just breathe."

Her eyes flicker. They flutter. They turn wide and terrified toward Daniel, and his breath catches. He strokes his thumb gently over her knuckles.

"Breathe," he repeats, inflating his lungs exaggeratedly slowly. Daisy's face is turning from red to blue. He refuses to outwardly panic, but it's like Daisy's body has shut down. She hasn't even blinked and tears are now streaming unheeded down her cheeks and nose and soaking the bed.

Then Daisy's eyes are rolling to the back of her head, and her entire body sags. The rattling of ricochet vibrations abruptly cut off.

He blinks, staring numbly down at the entirely limp form- and it occurs to him that he's never seen her body so relaxed- so loose. Even in sleep, she's always gripping or clutching at something.

And it only took passing out from oxygen deprivation.

He shakes Daisy's hand gently, greatly unnerved by her limpness, and reaches out with his other hand to wipe the tears away. "Daisy," he calls softly.

Her eyes flutter before flashing open quicker than he was expecting. Both of her hands immediately flash up to protectively cup the back of her neck, and her body is fraught with tension once more. At least the temporary paralysis seems to be gone.

"Easy," Daniel says. He feels entirely out of his depth, and a bit like he's talking to a wild, injured, animal rather than his girlfriend. "Easy, it's just me."

Relief floods through him when recognition sparks in Daisy's eyes. Her hands slowly start to lower and she opens her mouth, but only a croak escapes for a moment, and her hand tightens back on her neck as she grimaces as if she's in pain.

He wonders belatedly if him touching it caused physical pain in addition to the flashback/episode. Guilt twists in his gut. He knows better than most the emotional toll some scars bring. She never had a problem talking about the scars she's gotten since joining shield, but she's also never talked about the older, fading, ones.

"Sorry," Daisy eventually gets out after a few attempts, and Daniel is already shaking his head in denial.

"What did I say about doing that?" He means apologizing.

"Sorry," Daisy apologizes again, and Danial snorts. She looks at him, hand still cupping the back of her neck. His knee aches, but he doesn't get up. Finally, her hand slowly drops, falling limply to the mattress. "Fitz did it," she says, staring at him intently.

Danial's throat catches on air, and an indignant furry rises when he recognizes the name. The name of the man he periodically heard about during their travels through time- always in some fashion of reverence and hope and longing. The way they talked about him was almost worship-like.

Daniel was only able to meet him for a few minutes, but he knows from that short time that Daisy loves and trusts him unconditionally.

"He what?" Danial utters.

Daisy relaxes slightly and gives a short nod as she breaks her gaze. She shrugs. "It wasn't his fault. Ward did it to him. Broke his brain. And then the Framework happened, which only made him worse- caused a kind of split personality type of thing. It's complicated, but it happened, and it wasn't really his fault."

"That doesn't make it-"

"But then he died," Daisy cuts him off, and Daniel falls silent in his confusion. Daisy rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling now. "He died-died. Gone. Poof. We got him back with complicated time travel type stuff, so the Fitz we have now isn't the one that hurt me, you know?"

And, oh. That weirdly makes sense. It's devastatingly complicated, and Daisy never got a chance to process or grieve. Has she ever been allowed to process anything that happened to her, or has she always just been forced into the next complicated, messed up, situation?

Daisy sighs and turns her head back toward him. She pats the bed next to her. Daniel slowly and painfully climbs back to his feet before sliding in next to her. He follows her gaze back toward the ceiling. It's metal, and curved, and thankfully not cracked open.

"I hate him," she whispers suddenly- just a hiss of air through her teeth.

Daniel startles in surprise, turning his head to watch her glare. "Fitz?"

"Ward," she corrects, before her scowl droops away into an exhausted mou. "Even dead he still manages to hurt us over and over. Why can't he just stay dead?"

Daniel presses his lips. He has heard the name Ward nearly just as much as Fitz, and if Fitz were an angel, Ward must be the devil. And he'd bet anything that he hasn't heard the full extent of what he did.

Daisy's head tilts sideways and rests against his shoulder.

"I'm tired, Daniel," she murmurs. His heart jolts unsteadily at the unmitigated, helpless, exhaustion in it.

"Then sleep," he says, even though he knows that that's not what she means.

She doesn't contradict him, though. Just sighs. And then sits up. "I can't. I have to get ready."

For the next disaster, he finishes in his head as she slowly collects her clothes and pulls it on. He doesn't try to stop her, this time, to pull her back to bed.

His heart thuds and aches. And then he gets up. He'll be ready, too.

A/N: Poor Daniel. Poor Daisy. I hurt them so much... Please let me know what you think!

A new ship-shot is out. Check it out if you're interested in FitzSkimmons (Fitz/Daisy/Jemma). It's called Two times Jemma helps them through nightmares, and one time they help her.

~Silver~