Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. fic: So It Goes
Story Title: So It Goes
Fandom(s): Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Whumptober 2024 Day 4: Hallucinations
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,788
Summary: “I’m gonna kill him.” The declaration is more growl than speech. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
Everything hurts. Every bone in her body, every muscle, and her head feels like it’s going to explode. Fitz had been correct about the shortage of painkillers, if not about anything else. There’s nothing in the Lighthouse except some old ibuprofen, which does little to help either her headache or the throbbing in her neck.
She hasn’t slept for two days, not since the … surgery. She hasn’t been able to. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees The Doctor, then Fitz, then Fitz who decides The Doctor had the right idea. She sees Jemma crying and Deke horrified, and the robots programmed to hold everyone at gunpoint. She hears the clatter of medical instruments and that brogue that once had been soothing. She feels screws slowly piercing her skin, a scalpel slicing her open, tweezers pulling, pulling, pulling, pulling. She feels her powers return, which gives her both a sense of normalcy (oh how she’s missed them) and utter terror (Earth, quaked apart). She manages to do what Fitz asked, put the gravitonium in the ball to close up the Fear Dimension, and she has an hourlong nosebleed from the concentration and pain.
Jemma offers to suture her. She refuses. She does it herself, or tries to. It’s not very pretty, but it’s functional. The Lighthouse has those, at least, medical supplies. Not just the bandages, but the instruments as well. Of course, Fitz wouldn’t have been dissuaded by a lack. He’d have used his pocket knife, scissors, a goddamn safety pin if he had to. All in the name of necessity.
If he’d just talked to her, explained -
Daisy swallows around a lump in her throat as what feels like never-ending tears well in her eyes. She’s sick and tired of crying, but she can’t help it. She’s exhausted and she hurts.
Jemma had wanted her to stay in the medical bay for longer, something Daisy had summarily rejected. The last thing she wanted was to be poked and prodded more, especially without anything to dull the sensations. She’d accepted a Gatorade for the electrolytes, then had drawn the line and retreated to her room.
She’s been in the dark since, even the low-wattage Lighthouse bulbs too bright. No meals either, she can’t imagine actually eating anything. Mack and Yo-Yo had attempted to visit; them, too, she’d turned away. She’s not in the mood to be felt sorry for, and she’s definitely not in the mood to have Fitz’s actions softened or explained. Granted, she doesn’t know that they would, but there’s the chance. A high chance in Mack’s case, given how close he and Fitz are. Were, she hopes yet cannot count on. Jemma’s out of the question, of course.
Thus here she’s lain, alone and aching and cold beneath the covers unable to find a comfortable position no matter what way she arranges herself.
She’s at her wits’ end. So, she tries the only other thing she can think of. While it’s not something she wants to resort to - surely it’s not mentally healthy - it’s worked before and she’s desperate. She also can’t say she hasn’t missed him, mirage or no.
She closes her eyes and lets her mind drift.
Someone raps on her door, urgent and immune to her requests then shouts to go away. She thinks at first that finally they’ve retreated, except then she shoots up in bed, startled, as the lock is broken and the door swings inward. Of all the people she expected, Robbie Reyes was not one of them, yet he stands, backlit from the hallway.
Her shock is such that she can’t manage to tell him to leave, something he takes as encouragement. He shuts the door behind him. The metal sizzles as he casually welds it to the frame, what with having ruined the lock.
Daisy’s voice is hoarse. “What are you doing here? I thought you were off killing your way through space.”
“I was. Then I sensed that something was wrong with you, the Rider jumped us here, and a very confused Agent Davis filled me in.”
“You sensed something was wrong? From another dimension?” she frowns. “How?”
The heavy chain Robbie wields with such precision releases a deafening clang as he unravels it and sets it on her cluttered table. He takes the liberty of pulling over a chair to her bedside. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”
“No, I mean - you sensed me? Or the Fear Dimension?”
“What the hell is a Fear Dimension?”
“It’s … a long story.” Which leaves the other option, the one she doesn’t understand. “So, me, then.”
“That surprises you?”
“Uh, yeah, that surprises me. The Rider’s got to have better things to do than check up on me.”
“He does,” Robbie acknowledges, “but I don’t. Someone I care about is in trouble, I’m not gonna let that slide. Since I don’t have many of those and I’ve been doing what he wants, he made an exception.”
“And I’m one of those not-many?”
“Yeah, Daisy. You are.” His hand twitches as though to reach towards her, but ultimately it stays where it is. Though she can’t see his eyes very well in the feeble light that peeks through the crack beneath the door, she can feel their intensity. “Didn’t you know that?”
“You strolled through a portal with an evil book of magic, forgive me if I wasn’t holding my breath for you to come back anytime soon. Let alone for such a dumb reason.”
Robbie’s tone is quieter than usual. “A dumb reason?”
Daisy shakes her head. It’s too much. “You’re wasting your time. I bet there are plenty more scores for you to settle.”
Whatever had stopped Robbie before doesn’t now as he leans forward to touch her. His fingers are light, barely a whisper as he brushes them along her neck. Her shifting must have exposed the gauzed-over incision enough for him to notice. “I’m not wasting my time. What happened?”
Daisy shies away from him even though the wound has already started to scab, even though she knows he would never hurt her. Really, she should’ve let Jemma dress it when it was still fresh, avoid or minimize what is bound to scar, but she’d been rather pissed at the time, unable to look at even an extension of Fitz. She’s still rather pissed.
“It’s nothing. A scratch.”
“Doesn’t look like a scratch.” Noting her discomfort, he drapes her hair back over the wound, concealing it to the world, and traces her jawline instead. She shivers, and not from being cold. “Daisy, tell me.”
She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to relive again what she already does every minute of every hour since it happened. But he’s earnest, and he’d crossed literal dimensions to get here -
And he’s the one person who’d met her before anyone else. Jemma, Yo-Yo, Mack, they’d all met her and Fitz at the same time, if not earlier. They love him dearly. They’re conflicted.
Not Robbie.
Robbie who had to be threatened to work with S.H.I.E.L.D., yet had bought bandages for her in the middle of a blackout. Who managed to send her a sign while trapped between two planes of existence. Who trusted her wholly with his brother, the thing most precious to him. Who had traveled here through an interdimensional portal from hell because somehow, he could sense her suffering.
No, Robbie would not go to the mat for Fitz - but he would for her.
Surrendering, she recounts everything. The future, Kasius, the Fear Dimension … the surgery. All of it. Robbie absorbs her words with little reaction, which with every passing word drives more and more apprehension into her heart. Had she been wrong in her assessment? If she can’t count on him, nor those she considered her friends, her family, who can she count on? Only herself. And if she’s the only one who has a problem with any of this, maybe she’s the one in the wrong. Maybe Fitz, The Doctor, the hybrid, was right and she’s overreacting -
Daisy startles at Robbie’s voice, as much by the suddenness as the response itself.
“I’m gonna kill him.” The declaration is more growl than speech. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
Daisy expects to see amber irises, the Rider’s bloodthirst poking through. She finds none. Robbie’s own dark brown is all that’s there; the bloodthirst is his. It’s unnerving and comforting all at once. More than that, it’s gratifying to a degree she hadn’t expected.
Something in her chest loosens. The fact that he’s ready and willing and able to murder someone for hurting her - someone he knows … She’d have been okay with perfunctory empathy, a pat on the shoulder. Not that she would ever ask Robbie to kill anyone, but the gesture, that she will take as-is.
She squeezes his tensed arm to keep him from marching down to the cells right this instant and turning Fitz into a pile of ashes. “No. No, don’t, just - stay with me. Please.”
He obeys with reluctance, and at her gentle tugging gets up from the chair to settle beside her on the bed. Satisfied that he won’t move, she slides down to lay her head on his lap. She burrows into the supernatural warmth that seeps into her bones. Which serves only to make her emotions float even nearer to the surface, for allowing Robbie to access his powers means that perhaps even Ghost Rider, an uncompromising demon whose moral scales permit brutality, is on her side. Even he has determined Fitz’s methods to be extortionate.
The sobs come at that realization, thick, heavy sobs that dampen Robbie’s jeans and smudge what’s left of her mascara. She holds onto him like a lifeline. Because that’s what he is, her only lifeline in an ocean of loneliness and pain. He eases off his jacket and covers her with it, enveloping her in his scent. She doesn’t know when that smoke-and-leather had become familiar, let alone calming, but somewhere along the line it had.
Robbie pulls her yet tighter to him, slowly soldering her broken pieces back together, and lets her cry until at long last she falls into welcome sleep.
He isn’t there when she wakes up. No warmth, no jacket. Her pieces are still scattered. She tries to sink back into the gilded dream that had seemed so real, desperately wanting to feel Robbie’s solace for a moment more. One moment, that’s all she asks.
It’s to no avail. He’s gone. He never was here to begin with. He’s in a hell of his own far away from hers, unreachable.
The tears come again. This time, there’s no one to dry them.
Fandom(s): Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Whumptober 2024 Day 4: Hallucinations
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,788
Summary: “I’m gonna kill him.” The declaration is more growl than speech. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
Everything hurts. Every bone in her body, every muscle, and her head feels like it’s going to explode. Fitz had been correct about the shortage of painkillers, if not about anything else. There’s nothing in the Lighthouse except some old ibuprofen, which does little to help either her headache or the throbbing in her neck.
She hasn’t slept for two days, not since the … surgery. She hasn’t been able to. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees The Doctor, then Fitz, then Fitz who decides The Doctor had the right idea. She sees Jemma crying and Deke horrified, and the robots programmed to hold everyone at gunpoint. She hears the clatter of medical instruments and that brogue that once had been soothing. She feels screws slowly piercing her skin, a scalpel slicing her open, tweezers pulling, pulling, pulling, pulling. She feels her powers return, which gives her both a sense of normalcy (oh how she’s missed them) and utter terror (Earth, quaked apart). She manages to do what Fitz asked, put the gravitonium in the ball to close up the Fear Dimension, and she has an hourlong nosebleed from the concentration and pain.
Jemma offers to suture her. She refuses. She does it herself, or tries to. It’s not very pretty, but it’s functional. The Lighthouse has those, at least, medical supplies. Not just the bandages, but the instruments as well. Of course, Fitz wouldn’t have been dissuaded by a lack. He’d have used his pocket knife, scissors, a goddamn safety pin if he had to. All in the name of necessity.
If he’d just talked to her, explained -
Daisy swallows around a lump in her throat as what feels like never-ending tears well in her eyes. She’s sick and tired of crying, but she can’t help it. She’s exhausted and she hurts.
Jemma had wanted her to stay in the medical bay for longer, something Daisy had summarily rejected. The last thing she wanted was to be poked and prodded more, especially without anything to dull the sensations. She’d accepted a Gatorade for the electrolytes, then had drawn the line and retreated to her room.
She’s been in the dark since, even the low-wattage Lighthouse bulbs too bright. No meals either, she can’t imagine actually eating anything. Mack and Yo-Yo had attempted to visit; them, too, she’d turned away. She’s not in the mood to be felt sorry for, and she’s definitely not in the mood to have Fitz’s actions softened or explained. Granted, she doesn’t know that they would, but there’s the chance. A high chance in Mack’s case, given how close he and Fitz are. Were, she hopes yet cannot count on. Jemma’s out of the question, of course.
Thus here she’s lain, alone and aching and cold beneath the covers unable to find a comfortable position no matter what way she arranges herself.
She’s at her wits’ end. So, she tries the only other thing she can think of. While it’s not something she wants to resort to - surely it’s not mentally healthy - it’s worked before and she’s desperate. She also can’t say she hasn’t missed him, mirage or no.
She closes her eyes and lets her mind drift.
Someone raps on her door, urgent and immune to her requests then shouts to go away. She thinks at first that finally they’ve retreated, except then she shoots up in bed, startled, as the lock is broken and the door swings inward. Of all the people she expected, Robbie Reyes was not one of them, yet he stands, backlit from the hallway.
Her shock is such that she can’t manage to tell him to leave, something he takes as encouragement. He shuts the door behind him. The metal sizzles as he casually welds it to the frame, what with having ruined the lock.
Daisy’s voice is hoarse. “What are you doing here? I thought you were off killing your way through space.”
“I was. Then I sensed that something was wrong with you, the Rider jumped us here, and a very confused Agent Davis filled me in.”
“You sensed something was wrong? From another dimension?” she frowns. “How?”
The heavy chain Robbie wields with such precision releases a deafening clang as he unravels it and sets it on her cluttered table. He takes the liberty of pulling over a chair to her bedside. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”
“No, I mean - you sensed me? Or the Fear Dimension?”
“What the hell is a Fear Dimension?”
“It’s … a long story.” Which leaves the other option, the one she doesn’t understand. “So, me, then.”
“That surprises you?”
“Uh, yeah, that surprises me. The Rider’s got to have better things to do than check up on me.”
“He does,” Robbie acknowledges, “but I don’t. Someone I care about is in trouble, I’m not gonna let that slide. Since I don’t have many of those and I’ve been doing what he wants, he made an exception.”
“And I’m one of those not-many?”
“Yeah, Daisy. You are.” His hand twitches as though to reach towards her, but ultimately it stays where it is. Though she can’t see his eyes very well in the feeble light that peeks through the crack beneath the door, she can feel their intensity. “Didn’t you know that?”
“You strolled through a portal with an evil book of magic, forgive me if I wasn’t holding my breath for you to come back anytime soon. Let alone for such a dumb reason.”
Robbie’s tone is quieter than usual. “A dumb reason?”
Daisy shakes her head. It’s too much. “You’re wasting your time. I bet there are plenty more scores for you to settle.”
Whatever had stopped Robbie before doesn’t now as he leans forward to touch her. His fingers are light, barely a whisper as he brushes them along her neck. Her shifting must have exposed the gauzed-over incision enough for him to notice. “I’m not wasting my time. What happened?”
Daisy shies away from him even though the wound has already started to scab, even though she knows he would never hurt her. Really, she should’ve let Jemma dress it when it was still fresh, avoid or minimize what is bound to scar, but she’d been rather pissed at the time, unable to look at even an extension of Fitz. She’s still rather pissed.
“It’s nothing. A scratch.”
“Doesn’t look like a scratch.” Noting her discomfort, he drapes her hair back over the wound, concealing it to the world, and traces her jawline instead. She shivers, and not from being cold. “Daisy, tell me.”
She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to relive again what she already does every minute of every hour since it happened. But he’s earnest, and he’d crossed literal dimensions to get here -
And he’s the one person who’d met her before anyone else. Jemma, Yo-Yo, Mack, they’d all met her and Fitz at the same time, if not earlier. They love him dearly. They’re conflicted.
Not Robbie.
Robbie who had to be threatened to work with S.H.I.E.L.D., yet had bought bandages for her in the middle of a blackout. Who managed to send her a sign while trapped between two planes of existence. Who trusted her wholly with his brother, the thing most precious to him. Who had traveled here through an interdimensional portal from hell because somehow, he could sense her suffering.
No, Robbie would not go to the mat for Fitz - but he would for her.
Surrendering, she recounts everything. The future, Kasius, the Fear Dimension … the surgery. All of it. Robbie absorbs her words with little reaction, which with every passing word drives more and more apprehension into her heart. Had she been wrong in her assessment? If she can’t count on him, nor those she considered her friends, her family, who can she count on? Only herself. And if she’s the only one who has a problem with any of this, maybe she’s the one in the wrong. Maybe Fitz, The Doctor, the hybrid, was right and she’s overreacting -
Daisy startles at Robbie’s voice, as much by the suddenness as the response itself.
“I’m gonna kill him.” The declaration is more growl than speech. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
Daisy expects to see amber irises, the Rider’s bloodthirst poking through. She finds none. Robbie’s own dark brown is all that’s there; the bloodthirst is his. It’s unnerving and comforting all at once. More than that, it’s gratifying to a degree she hadn’t expected.
Something in her chest loosens. The fact that he’s ready and willing and able to murder someone for hurting her - someone he knows … She’d have been okay with perfunctory empathy, a pat on the shoulder. Not that she would ever ask Robbie to kill anyone, but the gesture, that she will take as-is.
She squeezes his tensed arm to keep him from marching down to the cells right this instant and turning Fitz into a pile of ashes. “No. No, don’t, just - stay with me. Please.”
He obeys with reluctance, and at her gentle tugging gets up from the chair to settle beside her on the bed. Satisfied that he won’t move, she slides down to lay her head on his lap. She burrows into the supernatural warmth that seeps into her bones. Which serves only to make her emotions float even nearer to the surface, for allowing Robbie to access his powers means that perhaps even Ghost Rider, an uncompromising demon whose moral scales permit brutality, is on her side. Even he has determined Fitz’s methods to be extortionate.
The sobs come at that realization, thick, heavy sobs that dampen Robbie’s jeans and smudge what’s left of her mascara. She holds onto him like a lifeline. Because that’s what he is, her only lifeline in an ocean of loneliness and pain. He eases off his jacket and covers her with it, enveloping her in his scent. She doesn’t know when that smoke-and-leather had become familiar, let alone calming, but somewhere along the line it had.
Robbie pulls her yet tighter to him, slowly soldering her broken pieces back together, and lets her cry until at long last she falls into welcome sleep.
He isn’t there when she wakes up. No warmth, no jacket. Her pieces are still scattered. She tries to sink back into the gilded dream that had seemed so real, desperately wanting to feel Robbie’s solace for a moment more. One moment, that’s all she asks.
It’s to no avail. He’s gone. He never was here to begin with. He’s in a hell of his own far away from hers, unreachable.
The tears come again. This time, there’s no one to dry them.