apologizes if some parts look rushed, my tablet was about to die and i wanted to finish it before it ran out of battery ._.

July — d.j.

for @dreamcxtcherr ‘s 3k writing challenge. congrats lena!!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mention of car crash/death, mention of alcohol consumption, daisy cries, i think thats it lmk if not!!

ship: R x daisy johnson

okay y’all… first ever anggstttttt!!! i’m way too excited about it. if you want a fully immersive experience, i recommend listening to july by noah cyrus slowed + reverb

(gif uncredited on pinterest (ugh, i hate that. credit a gif if you use it!! im trying to find the owner)) update — found owner

It was another mission. Another nightmarish fire-fight where you almost lost a limb, almost lost a friend, almost lost your life. Twenty-four hours later and you’re back home, safe.

Well, as safe as you can be when your engagement is on the verge of breaking off.

You stare at the simple ring on your left hand. White gold band, a tiny amethyst set to the left of a diamond. There was a nearly identical one lying next to the sink, the only difference being the switched places of the glittering gems.

You know she didn’t do it purposefully. You had both been exhausted after what was supposed to be an in-and-out mission turned into a hostage situation. Daisy did what she always did as soon as you were home — take off her gauntlets, wash her hands in the sink, grab a snack, and hop into a steaming shower.

But you still can’t stop yourself from staring at it, eyes fixed, hands shaking, breath held and mind racing.

You used to join her. You would wash each other’s hair, ease each other’s sore muscles with delicate touches on tender purple-black bruises. She would lean into you, letting you braid her hair and falling asleep in your arms, drifting into a deep slumber. It was intimate, lovely; it was normal and perfect.

Taking a sip of your room-temperature beer, you slide off the cool granite of the kitchen island. You had a new routine after missions now, you just had to get used to it.

You hear the shower shut off, bare feet pad into your cosy bedroom, and the door shut with a loud creak. The minute squeak of the mattress tells you that Daisy flopped into bed.

A ghost of a smile lights your face. It looks more like a grimace, you think, as you check your distorted reflection in the green glass of your beer bottle. Chucking the empty bottle in the recycling, you run a hand through your dirty, salty hair. The comfy sweats you changed into an hour ago would need to be washed, the dirt still adorning your skin rubbing off on the black material. You exhale before heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

The tiled room is filled with steam, the mirror fogged up so that only a blurry outline of your silhouette could be seen. You are unrecognizable.

How fitting.

The quick, cold shower you take does nothing to ease your mind or body. You wipe the mirror in a circle, taking out a first aid kit.

With all your cuts bandaged and the proper creams Jemma had snuck to you and Daisy applied to your fresh bruises, you headed into the hallway in your towel.

Daisy is standing in the kitchen, lilac lounge shorts you bought her last Christmas showing off her tanned and scarred legs. She looks warm and soft, a very different Daisy than the superhero who had broken a mob boss’ legs just hours before. Her hair is wet and in braids. You frown. You always braid her hair.

If she hears you, she doesn’t turn around, so you take a moment to admire her. Ten seconds, that’s all you give yourself. It was a stressful mission, if you stare too long she might snap. From the back, you can’t see the dark circles you know are there, but you can see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she ponders what to eat.

You say nothing as you go to the bedroom to change. You find a black pair of SHIELD sweats and an old, holey t-shirt you vaguely remember stealing from Fitz. A presence at the doorway catches your attention.

“Hi,” Daisy says tentatively. Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs holding the air captive until Daisy spoke again.

“I missed you.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe tonight wouldn’t end with one of you on the couch, clutching a six pack while the other cried as quietly as possible, tucked into cold, lonely sheets.

“Braiding my hair, I mean,” She clarified. Her fingers twisted together, rigid posture giving away her nerves.

The air felt humid, as if the open window had suddenly sucked all the AC out and let the mid-summer heat in. Your memory flashes to the last time you and Daisy had a normal, happy conversation.

The edges are fuzzy, but the pure joy in Daisy’s chocolate eyes is clear. Fairy lights strung haphazardly around the living room, a movie playing in the background, your lips on hers. Blankets make a ceiling over your head that shut out the rest of the world, this moment was only for you two. You played with the thin metal band on her ring finger, she ran her hands through her hair. Her matching ring scratched your scalp lightly. You both smile as you pull away. You whisper childhood stories, laugh at the funny parts and offer melancholic smiles at the not-so-lighthearted parts. You were happy.

That night you got the call — Lincoln Campbell, yours and Daisy’s best friend, had wrapped his car around a telephone pole coming off of a long shift at the hospital. His blood alcohol was almost .40.

Eggshells littered the house from the time you got back from the funeral. One wrong word, Daisy would snap and spend hours punching a bag until her fingers bled. You would fill those hours with whatever was closer — wine or your car keys. You pulled yourself out of your head, realizing you should answer her.

“I missed it, too,” You breathed.

Daisy made a small, unintelligible noise before collapsing against the door frame. You froze for only a second, your mind racing through possibilities. Was she bleeding internally? Was it her back again? Did she get shot and not notice until now?

You leap over to her, catching her as she crumbles to the hardwood floor.

A quiet sob wracks her chest. Your hands hover over her slouched back, unsure how to comfort her. At this moment, Daisy feels foreign. Her sudden vulnerability alerts you to how she’s been holding her emotions in for god knows how long.

“Daisy…” You start, hesitantly.

Daisy hiccups loudly, another wave of tears washing over her.

“Tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags,” Daisy cried, “But I don’t, I-I don’t want to lose you!”

Burning tears gather on your lash line, threatening to fall at her words. You never could stand to see Daisy cry.

Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before you realize what Daisy is talking about. After Lincoln’s death, you two had fought increasingly more often until Daisy locked herself away or spent the night at May’s, and you went for drives until your car ran on empty. On those nights, bottles of wine disappeared from the cabinet without a trace.

Daisy sits up, stamping down her sobs, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that you aren’t going to say anything. Her trembling lip and red eyes pierce your heart. The astronomical distance between you two seems atomic now. You reach out quicker than lightning, shushing her cries and rubbing her back.

“Do you want to go?” You asked after a while. Your knees dig uncomfortably into the floor, your shoulder hurts from the ridges in the doorframe.

Daisy sniffles, her hair falling into her face as she looks away. You crane your neck down, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You know I’m afraid of change, I guess that’s why we’ve stayed the same,” You sigh, your chest constricting and squeezing the broken glass pieces of your heart.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue, “But if you want to find a new life, someone who loves you better than I do, darling, I understand.”

Daisy is still frozen, stare burning holes in the floor. You’re glad that the two of you are at home, the poly-tectic adaptive materials hidden between the walls keeping the house from collapsing. By the slight groan of the foundation, you can imagine Daisy could bring down a mountain with the amount of pain she’s in.

Which can only mean one thing.

“I’m not enough,” You stated. It wasn’t a question. You glance down, a glint in the low light cast from the lamp on the bedside table catching your eye. She has her ring on…

Daisy finally, finally shakes her head ‘no’. You let go of a breath, guilt building every second that passes. She isn’t happy. You shouldn’t be happy that she’s staying.

“Feels like a lifetime, we’ve been trying to get by while we’re dying inside,” You say, gently.

Daisy snaps her eyes to yours, a desperation in them you recognize as grief.

“So much of the past year has been consumed by grief. We never took time off, we never talked about it. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one,” She whispers.

You nod, there is no denying that you each had a part in getting to where you are now. Delicately, you grab her hand. She squeezes it, a rush of small vibrations traveling up your arm. Your chest flutters at the familiar affection.

“So have I,” You assure her. She gradually falls towards you, exhausted. You let her rest her head on your shoulder, her breath evening out as her arms wrap around you. You feel hot tears flow down your face, fall onto her hair. Slowly, you pull Daisy closer to you.

Hours later, the sun peeks over the top of the mountain range in the distance. You had adjusted the two of you sometime around two a.m., no longer able to feel your legs from how the floor cut off your circulation.

Sometime around three, you had gathered the courage to move Daisy to the bed, trying hard not to wake her. She had only turned over and not let go of your hand.

You haven’t slept at all tonight, thoughts spinning until you force yourself to pause and count to ten, only to repeat the pattern.

You know what you have to do. You know what’s best for the both of you. You’ll leave, pack your bags and find a place to stay until you can scrape up enough money to rent an apartment. You’ll go to therapy, learn to live without Lincoln, without Daisy. Eventually, Daisy will heal, too. You both have the team at your backs, no matter what happens. She would be okay.

But you know you won’t. The fear of losing Daisy, of losing your life, your home, yourself stops you. You can’t move on. You can’t move forward.

You know that the big changes it takes to heal could cost you Daisy. So, you stay the same. You give into fear. You’ll never be enough, never love Daisy right, never quite heal fully — and neither will Daisy. But you still stay.

You’ll always stay the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ahhhh how was it? did you love it? any feedback? want more? put any thoughts/feelings/questions/concerns in the comments or my ask box!! i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading it even more!!

<<3

Life Support

Groggy, head pounding, and feeling sick and ashamed, Trinity slowly opened her eyes. She noticed was in a different room. And she was just waking up from what felt like the deepest sleep. The medicine had knocked her out. She let her eye sight adjust and rubbed her temples. She took a sip of water, and laid back as she swallowed. Realizing how parched she was she reached for more water, took a few more sips almost choked. "Fuck!" Her heart began to pound. "The damn baby!" She frantically looked around the room and saw nothing. "Oh my God...it must have worked!" She smiled. "But wait...am I going to jail? Shit what the fuck am I gon tell my mama?!  Ok think Trin...think hard...use your brain bitch....shit...I cant remember shit! Ok...ok...ok...." she took deep breaths looking up to the sky...ok...I was pushing...And..." Congratulations mommy! You're finally awake! How ya feeling?" The blue eyed nurse from earlier was back and she was beaming with joy. Trinity instantly felt dizzy. "Wait...congratulations to who?" she whispered confused about the nurses excitement. "Aaaw sweetheart. Im sorry, you're just waking up and we have to update you on everything. Its been about 2 hours, but that's alright we got baby girl all bundled up in the NICU." the nurse grabbed her shoulder in reassurance. "NICU?" Trinity asked in more confusion. "Baby girl?" she sat up in the bed. "YOU MEAN TO TELL ME IT LIVED?! WHAT THE FUCK?!" she screamed unable to hide her surprising disappointment. Shocked and alarmed the nurse stood back and nervously giggled "honey...uumm...I think the medicine has you a little out of it. Apparently you were ready to push and we didn't know. The head doctor of the delivery department came in to introduce himself to you, and saw the baby falling. He dropped everything and caught her by her ankle. Its broken...baby girl is so tiny shes only 3 pounds... he was just trying to save her...it was an accident..." "Hold up." Trinity put up her index finger. Trying to process everything the nurse was saying, she just had to ask one more time. "So...the baby lived...." she looked zoned out. She was in disbelief. Why the fuck do her plans keep failing? "Yes. You pushed so hard you passed out. We gave you medicine to help with pain. Shes beautiful. Do you want to see her? I can take you to where she is after the counselor speaks with you." the nurse said. Feeling her heart drop to her feet she shot her eyes at the nurse "Counselor? What a counselor want with me?" she started to feel concerned still unsure of how she would explain herself. "Just to ask you a few questions. We have the baby in the NICU because shes going through detox. There are drugs in her system. And right now shes doing ok...got a bad case of the shakes...but shes ok." the nurse said with sympathy in her eyes. "You wanna talk about how those drugs got in her system? We can get you some help." All of a sudden her memory flashed back to Junior and the party. The mornings and afternoons she spent driving over there to get more. The day she stopped and said no more. But it must have been too late. Thinking about her mother crying, her possibly going to jail, the thought that she may never live a normal life, she tried to think of a way out. She needed to blame somebody else there was no way she was going to tell anybody the truth. This will go to her grave. Brainstorming and silently freaking out all at once, she blurted out "Shawn! His name is Shawn! And he stays over on Basey Drive! I was with him a few nights ago and he must have drugged me. I told him I felt funny! That's probably why I went into labor early! God! Oh my God!" she covered her face and fake sobbed playing the role of a hurt mother. "Thank Heavens you remembered! Im gonna let the sheriff know right away!" the nurse ran out aiming for her telephone at her desk. Waiting until the room was all hers again she slowly uncovered her face. She laid back, shaking her head, in awe at her performance, and the recent choices that landed her here. "Giiirl you done fucked up now. But they finna get Shawn ass and that's good for him." she smirked as the thoughts ran over her mind. "Hope he rot in fuckin jail. And when its time for me to testify im just gonna leave town I aint sittin up in them crackas faces fuck that." She rolled over on her side but had to quickly lay back straight as a sharp pain hit her vagina. Then she remembered again....."dammit...the fuckin baby.." she slapped her forehead. "Ugghhhhh what am I gonna dooo Trinity you fucked uuuup giiirl my goodness!" she scolded herself. "Alright." she sighed. "No time for that think of a plan." She sat there for what seemed like at least an hour. She was falling back asleep when a young lady in pink scrubs came in. "Hello Mommy congratulations!" the cheerful caregiver jumped up and down. Trinity opened her eyes and rolled them. She was already sick of the nurses calling her mommy. "Whats up?" she said with attitude. "Well uhmm.." the young lady lost her smile. "The counselor is sick so you can see the baby until her replacement arrives. Your wheelchair is outside. You ready?" she started to smile again. Not knowing what to say she sat quiet for a moment. Staring at the floor she saw images of her as a child, and pictures of Shawn as a child that he had shown her. She tried to imagine if the baby looked like her, or just like him. Did the baby have her eyes? The only way to find out was to see her. But she wasn't ready. "No." she simply replied as she got back under the blanket putting it over her head in shame. "No??" the nurse asked in amazement. "Really? Why not? Shes beautiful shes just small but.." "I said no!" Trinity screamed at the young lady. Without another word the nurse walked out slamming the door behind her. Finally tired of handling things alone she found her phone and dialed the only number that always answered. "Heeeyyyy daddy baby!" her father chuckled on the other end. "What you doing over there besides lettin ya head weigh ya down eeh?" she couldn't help but giggle. He was so silly. But it was time to get serious. "You so crazy daddy, but not right now. I need you and Mama on the line together." her voice trembling. "Oh Lord something is wrong I hear it in your voice." he softly said. Give ya mama a minute shes on her cell with somebody she been talkin bout 10 minutes...im gonna pray while we wait." "Thanks daddy that may help cuz Im...." "Ooooh Jesus NOOO! Oh Lord spare him God please hes just a young boy!" Her conversation was cut off by screams from her mother. "Judith calm down whats the matter? What happened?" Her father yelled with worry. "Is that my baby on the phone? Is that..Trin!! Give it here! Trinity baby!" Her mother cried. "Yea..mama its me..why you..stop crying..whats wrong?" Now she was starting to worry. "Baby...baby somebody sent the police to the house you shared with Shawn on Basey Drive..." Rolling her eyes and smacking her teeth she flopped back down on the pillow " Oh mama good grief who cares! Look I know you love Shawn cuz ya thought that was gon be your son in law cuz my silly behind thought he was my prince charming and bla bla bla" she waved her hand in a dismissive motion. "but its over with me and him so relax don't waste the prayers he alright. He may need a lil jail time maybe he'll get a real job" She shrugged her shoulders in satisfaction knowing she was the one who sent the police. "May he rot in that mothafucka." she silently thought. "Trinity. You don't understand. Hes not in jail baby." her mother wept. "Maaaan I don't have time for this!" she snapped. She already hated to hear her mom cry and the fact that it was about this idiot just angered her. "Jesus Christ so where is he mama?!" she asked growing annoyed. "There was a shooting. An undercover approached him and Shawn knew immediately it was a set up, so he pulled his gun on the man. The room began to spin as her mothers words shot through her ears and caused a shock to her soul. "There were officers near by...her mom continued..."and as soon as Shawn pulled his gun out they came out of hiding. Shawn never got to shoot. They shot him baby. Three to the body. One to the neck. And one in each leg." her mother spoke through tears. Waiting for a response. After feeling her breath leave her body and slowly return, she collapsed to the floor unable to stand on shaking legs. She asked in a sobbing whisper "Is he ok?" Holding her chest she began to sob loud. Nothing mattered now. Not the fights. Not him cheating. Not his wife. Nothing. She wanted revenge, but she cant see him in a casket. She cant kiss a dead man. She uncontrollably cried louder, wishing she could take back what she had caused. "Mama you got to tell me he is ok. Please just say he is some how...miraculously ok...please say it mama!" The line was silent. "You not saying it! Tell me hes ok!" she screamed. She was getting hysterical. Her mother cleared her throat, which made Trinity tone it down a bit. "I cant tell you hes okay baby. Hes not. He lost a lot of blood." Her mother paused and took a deep breath. "And when they took him away he was already dieing. God has the final say. But for now...hes on life support."