Archive of Our Own ^beta

May blinked out at the road, frowning. It was asphalt, outside the windshield, evergreens. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, not the grip of a revolver. She’d been back there, seeing the warehouse without really realizing it. Watching a little girl walk closer, hand outstretched. 

Those memories were faded, now, the details off. Less vivid. She knew where she was. Her breathing hadn’t slipped a notch out of rhythm, just gotten a little tighter. 

It hadn’t been Katya she’d been seeing just now. It’d been Robin. 

Robin never looked like that. She never would. 

May’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. 

It’d been a long time since something like this had been able to rattle her. Something had shifted, since the Framework, some subconscious thing Andrew probably would have been able to explain. Memories of everything that had happened in Bahrain finally felt far away, healed farther than just a scab. 

Scars marked you, the things you’d lived through. They didn’t bleed every time they got nicked. 

May glared out the windshield and made her fingers relax on the wheel. Her breathing had shifted into a familiar pattern, mechanically precise without any thought put into it. She twitched the volume of the radio up a little, ran a hand through her hair. The image was held in the back of her mind until she could make it mean nothing, and then she let it go. Her right hand was wrapped around the steering wheel. 

She’d made it into town now, maybe 35 miles till destination. The GPS was chirping, but she had a paper map flung on the passenger’s seat for familiarity’s sake. There was some bright pop song playing on the radio. Familiar, but only because it had probably already played a couple dozen times over the past week. It was the kind of thing Nat had used to listen to whenever she thought she could get away with it; she’d had a whole playlist of the most obnoxiously peppy, catchiest songs she could get her hands on, had played it in all its glory whenever it’d been just Delta and her and Phil stuck on some long trip where music was actually a possibility. May had never been sure whether it’d been Nat’s special brand of cheerful, darkly ironic humor, or whether she’d just actually enjoyed the hell out of head-bopping along to the songs they’d all wound up learning all the words to because there were only fifteen words in the whole damn song. 

May changed lanes and switched stations, checked the rearview out of habit. She’d have noticed a tail without needing to notice it, but the unease wouldn’t leave. They’d driven around enough to have some radio stations saved now; this one usually played stuff Phil liked, old-timey and nostalgic because he said he’d gotten too old for the screaming that had once made up all of the tapes and CDs in Lola’s glove. She recognized the song playing now, realized with a blink of surprise that it was one she actually liked. Gloomy and it’d used to lift her spirits. She’d burned this whole album onto a cassette a lifetime ago, had listened to it in the cockpit more times than she could count, and right now it was just making everything worse. 

May closed her fingers around the steering wheel again and made herself breathe. 

She had pictures in her phone of some of Robin’s latest drawings, the way the colors of them were brightening, bit by bit. This was just supposed to be lunch; it wasn’t all that far away for Polly and an hour’s drive for May was nothing at all. The suggestion had been Polly’s. Robin had been asking about her, bright questions with no calamity in them. These days, she meant May, apparently, when she said mom , Polly when it was mommy. 

May thought about the gun in its holster taped under the passenger’s seat and checked the rearview mirror again. She thought about the muzzle of an old revolver, the scar on her right calf, bright eyes and small arms around her waist and bruises blossoming over Daisy’s arms and her aching leg and getting carefully out of driver’s seat cause she would stagger when she tried to stand otherwise, wooden birds and blood on her hands-- 

This was a mistake. 

It wasn’t panicky, the voice in her head. It wasn’t fear speaking, or instinct either. Just an assessment: clinical, matter of fact. May hadn’t needed to actually count out exhales in a decade but she did now, making a turn into a familiar side street and driving in three slow stupid loops around the block until she couldn’t anymore. 

She pulled out into light afternoon traffic and made a sharp right back the way she’d come, dialing before she could think too long about it because Polly deserved a lot better than an offhand text. Her voice came out so utterly normal that no one but Phil and maybe Daisy would have ever blinked twice. The vague excuse and apology came easy, incongruously familiar phrases she hadn’t had reason to use for so long. 

It was easy, almost thoughtless. May managed to smile at Robin’s voice piping briefly over the line. She sounded good, almost bright, less weighted. Polly sounded good too, no strain in her voice. May said sorry and meant it, for more reasons that she would ever say. She promised to do…something soon and hung up, rubbing the heel of one hard hard against her temple and pulling over by the curb. Call? Try? 

She wasn’t sure why that felt like another thing teetering on the pile making her feel like absolute shit. 

May breathed out a long, slow exhale and nudged into park, staring sightlessly out the window. Her phone pinged with a text. Simmons, probably. Checking in. She wouldn’t trade what they had now for this world or any other, but she missed it, sometimes, the bustling base. Always having something to do, defensible walls. 

The text was headed hi May. May stared at it for a long moment, keeping her palms wrapped around the steering wheel. She didn’t feel much like May, right then. Melinda, maybe. For once. Just a woman sitting in her car with an aching thigh and a switchblade in her pocket, feeling every single one of her fifty-two years. Exhausted with not doing a damn thing. She hadn't felt this way in so long.

She felt like Agent May, like she would never, ever be able to be anything else. 

May shut her eyes hard and then opened them again. She muted the radio and pulled back onto the road, driving steadily towards home. 

<>

Phil was standing by the stove, as she stepped through the door. The cabin was filled with the smell of something simmering, warm. He turned around with a grin and a bit of surprise. 

“May! How’d it go?” 

May shook her head. She slung the jacket in her arms over the back of the sofa and walked over, waiting for him to set down the spatula and step away from the stove before leaning quietly into his arms. 

Phil pulled away to look at her too soon, brow crinkling with concern. “You okay?” 

May shrugged and nodded. She stayed where she was for a few breaths longer and then pulled away. Made one half-hearted attempt at a smile, but she didn’t think she could manage much better than a wince right then and stopped before it got there. Phil was still frowning. 

“You look sad,” he said finally, surprising them both. He let her step away but took her hand, thumb rubbing absentminded circles over her scarred knuckles. It made her want to cry, stupidly, but May swallowed and let herself feel it. 

“I am.” 

Might as well have admitted that coffee tasted good or cooking made sense. It didn’t startle her any less than it did him. That wasn’t what she would have called this feeling, a few years ago. 

Phil just hummed, reaching quietly around to stir the sauce with his free hand. May had no idea what he was making. It smelled nice.  “You’re home too early?” 

Open question, stating the obvious. May debated a second and then sighed. “Didn’t make it,” she said, and then grimaced at the way that sounded. It wasn’t like there’d been anything actually stopping her. Commuting for decades by quinjet or helicopter or motorcycle before that meant that traffic had never really been a valid excuse for anything. It wasn’t like it meant much of anything all the way out here, either, but May thought vaguely that she might actually get to use that as a cop out for something someday. Traffic. She liked the idea of that, the normalcy of it. 

Phil frowned again, questioning. “Something happen?” 

May shook her head again but couldn’t come up with anything else. 

Phil studied her face a second and then nodded. “You hungry?” 

“Not yet. Smells good,” she said, nodding at the pot, and then tried to soak in the smile that got her. “Where’s Daisy?” 

Phil grinned softly at her. “Napping.” 

May glanced over. Fluffy socks were propped on the arm of the sofa, a blanket trailing down to the floor. 

“Mm.” 

“Eat in thirty?” 

“Sure.” 

Phil watched May wander over to the sofa, pause for a second before folding carefully to the ground. 

He could only see her profile from this angle, but he still caught the wash of emotions that crossed May’s face as she knelt there, watching Daisy’s sleeping face. The tenderness she couldn’t so easily wear while her girl was awake. Old grief, healed-over wounds something had prodded at. Plenty there he couldn’t identify, not like this. His chest ached. 

May reached out a hand to brush a strand of hair softly out of Daisy’s eyes, tucking her blanket better around her before settling nearby, leaning against the coffee table. She’d positioned herself facing the only entrance point, back to him and clear line of sight to every window. He wasn’t sure she’d even realized she was doing it, but shook his head at the alarm bells jangling in the back of his brain. They didn’t mean the same thing anymore, not here. 

Phil scraped the last of his sauce into a bowl and started rifling in the chaotic spice rack May kept threatening to reorganize. When he’d found the oregano and straightened up again, looking back around, May had picked up a book she’d left on the coffee table the previous evening, tapping the bookmark lightly against the edge of the table.

He leaned back down to dig up the chili flakes, exhaling softly. 

<>

“Spy movies? Really ?”  May reappeared in the doorway of the bedroom, dressed in sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. Her best Unimpressed look was directed at the little huddle on the sofa and it whizzed cheerfully right over their heads. 

Daisy leaned over the back of the sofa to grin at her, hair still mussed from her nap and eyes bright. “ Maaay, c’mon you can sit and grumble and give contradicting criticism. It’s raining. The weather demands we eat spaghetti and watch a movie and make tea. It’s a-- law of nature.” 

“Daisy was in a mood to feel superior to fictional people running around waving guns,” Phil said, grin clear in his voice as he leaned over to fiddle with the tablet on the coffee table. “Mel, blue bowl is yours.” 

“If it’s Mission: Impossible I’m gonna shoot something,” May grumbled, but she grabbed the bowl and made her way over, snagging her book and dropping onto the sofa. 

“Mmff-- Jason Bourne!” Daisy said, mouth full. 

May raised grudging eyebrows. “Book was good.” 

Phil waved a hand vaguely in her direction, having grabbed his glasses from somewhere and squinting at the screen. “Wasn’t Ludlum CIA?” 

“Dunno, ask my mom.” 

Daisy gaped at her. “Wha-- your mom was-- we can just -- ?” 

“Mm. You can, probably.” May mustered a smirk, spinning her fork. “Phil might get drop-kicked two ways to Sunday.” 

Phil finally twisted around at that, wounded. “Just because I tried to trim the hedge once --” 

“Oh, no no no. It was the sandwich. Before that. Way before that.” 

“Oh, not the-- ” 

Daisy was looking back and forth between them like she was watching a soccer match, mouth still open. “I feel like? I’m missing some stories here?” 

May settled back, folding one leg beneath her. “Get her to tell you someday. It’ll be funnier that way.” 

“ Dais -- did you encrypt these or something? Because the Toolbox was easier to access than this--” 

Daisy laughed gleefully, threading fingers through her hair and yanking it behind her ear. The sound made May’s chest warm. “I was wondering how much longer you were gonna go at it. Gimmie, Mr. Super Spy.” 

May wound up settled on the floor again at some point, bowl empty and set aside and her eyes on her book with its creased spine. How she could give snippets of dry commentary and keep turning pages at the same time Phil had no idea, but he grinned to himself when he spotted her slide the book surreptitiously a little farther away, lean back a little and then pull it a little closer again. He leaned down to nudge her, holding up eyeglasses dangling between finger and thumb. 

“You’re welcome to borrow…”

May gave him a glare that could have withered the trees her book had once been and turned her back on him. 

Daisy had her chin on her hands, too engrossed in the admittedly tiny screen to notice the exchange. 

“Guys. Guys, this is painful. What the hell -- dude, I mean-- DISARM him, oh my god --” 

“You sound very gleeful,” Phil observed indulgently. May huffed and turned a page. 

Daisy waved a hand. Her eyes were sparkling, her grin barely fading from her face. May glanced more often at her than she did the screen, going a little soft every time she did. “I mean-- May would have kicked his ass back down the stairs by now but obviously being punched makes you incapable of shooting someone because he still has the gun in his hand and a perfect trajectory but nope-- ” 

“Aren’t you normally supposed to root for the protagonist?” 

“Well yeah but he’s being a dumbass. ” Daisy leaned back with a theatrical sigh, cuddling contentedly under the blanket she’d tangled herself in. “May, you said the book is better than this?” 

“I’m having doubts now . ” May looked up. “What? I read it half-conscious in a shitty motel in Sicily twenty years ago, I don’t remember that well. I thought it was good at the time.” 

Phil buried his head in his hands. “Oh no.” 

“And I was only reading because someone thought it would be a good idea to watch The Exorcist --” 

“Look, bad life decision, but I suffered way more than you did over that, okay--” 

“ Who had the transatlantic flight to navigate the next day? You got to sleep in the cargo hold--” 

Daisy waved at them and then at the screen, spluttering. “Guys, guys, I physically cannot  lose my mind over two things at the same time but like I am keeping a tab of the stories I am gonna need later, okay— and, yep, Hollywood, that is definitely the sound a mag makes, mmm-hm…”

<>

How they ended up watching Star Wars May had no idea, but she had only a handful of pages of Jailbird left and she was close enough to comfortable, the pillow bracing her left knee easing some of the muscle ache. It was alright. 

She wasn’t really paying attention any more, but there was something nostalgic about this, the warm shaky weight of it settling into her bones. May shook herself. She was close enough to the edge already, using up half of her focus just to sit still, lean into where she was and let nothing else touch her. Their three phones were scattered over the coffee table and Jemma’s text was still unread and unanswered in hers. 

It was a prequel or a sequel playing and Phil probably had half the dialogue memorized. Daisy and Fitzsimmons had had Star Wars watch parties back in the day; Phil had crashed the party the few times he could, but May’d only ever joined them once and it’d been because Skye-- Skye, then-- had dragged her to it. She’d sat through half the movie just to watch her and Fitzsimmons look like the kids they’d been for a while. 

Phil and Daisy were talking over it now, voices blending a little with the valiant speakers of the little tablet. Daisy was heading back to HQ in a few days.  Prep for the first mission of her new team was beginning soon, preliminary recon off-world based on a rescued Fitz and Simmons’ intel and theories. Daisy wore Commander well, and Phil had made himself available for long-distance consults, but Mack had things running smoothly and no one had ever had any doubts about him as Director. 

It was good. It should have felt good. It was like a fist in her chest. May closed her eyes tight, gritting her teeth. 

Haven’t we done enough of this today? 

“You nervous?” Phil sounded softer, able to ask like a father before anything else. They’d always had that, him and Daisy, but it was different without the weight of everything that had to be put first. Lighter. Most days, it was enough to make May feel lighter, too. 

“Nah. I’m almost used to space at this point. It’s good, something to sink my teeth into again. Basic but important. Might not be the end of the world any more, but there’s still a lot that needs fixing.” 

May opened her eyes. 

“You can’t.” 

They whipped their heads around in unison at the sound of May’s voice, sharp and brittle. 

Daisy blinked at her, startled. May wasn’t looking at them. “What?” 

“Fix everything,” May said, clipped. She looked around, finally, and something in her eyes made Daisy’s stomach sink. “That’s not on you.”

“May… the mission hasn’t changed. And…,” Daisy stopped, stumbling. “I’m failing to see how this is any different from what you guys have literally spent your lives doing--?” 

“It should be.” 

Neither of them startled, when May got abruptly to her feet, but Daisy didn’t miss the way she braced herself for a second against the sofa arm, that blink before she moved. Daisy hadn’t seen May look like this in so long, closed off and angry at something they couldn’t see, sad over something deeper. She was already moving away. 

Daisy opened her mouth, but Coulson caught her eye, shook his head once. Before anyone could say anything else May had grabbed a jacket, made her way to the door. 

“Gonna walk,” she gritted out, and the door snapped shut. 

Daisy looked around at Coulson, bewildered, worried before anything else. “What was that about?” 

It’d been the sound of May closing a cabinet earlier that afternoon that had first clued Daisy in. That, and the fact that May had been home hours earlier than expected and hadn’t said a word about it, just stayed close and wore a lightness natural enough to tell Daisy it was forced. 

But-- it’d been the cabinet, really, the sharpness of the sound. Gut feeling. Daisy had given up trying to logic it, but she’d been wondering, in some distant corner of her mind, if this was what it was like. Family. When the sound of a wooden door snapping shut was enough to tell you that someone was struggling.

AC shook his head. His expression had slipped back into that old neutral for a second before it softened, but his eyes were concerned. Not worried, or alarmed, but concerned. He sat back, and, instinctively, Daisy’s shoulders settled. 

“She’ll let us know when she’s ready.”  

<>

Phil woke suddenly, that night, without knowing why. 

The covers were rumpled, May’s half of the bed empty. 

She’d already been asleep when he’d come in, having gone to bed before any of them. He’d mostly lost the hair-trigger response thing May still had, after… everything, but it still made a difference whether it was some sense of alarm that woke him. There was no helpful jolt of adrenaline in his system this time; his vision stayed fuzzy for a minute no matter how many times he blinked. 

It took him a long second to spot her. May was sitting across the room, leaning against the wall. She had her knees up, forehead resting on them, curled achingly into herself because it was just her and the darkness and there was no one around to see. He could hear her breathing, short and sharp and shuddering. 

The sound stopped the second he moved. May hadn’t lifted her head. 

Phil stood up carefully, not so much for the purpose of being quiet as much as it was just… a thing he had to do now. May didn’t move or make a sound as he crossed the room, slow steps carrying him forward until he was close enough to sink down beside her, shoulder to shoulder. 

“Melinda.” 

May looked at him. She just looked, for a long moment, almost expressionless, faint tear tracks on her face and tired, tired eyes. Phil looked back, shoulders soft and easy, giving her the space to tell him to go away if she wanted to. She didn’t. 

“Are you okay?” 

He watched her start to say something, automatic and thoughtless and easy, and then stop. 

They were building this; they were, they had been. It was new, still, and almost nothing about it was. One of the first talks they’d had, after this cabin: they were both so tired of lying. They’d chosen the lives they’d led, but they’d also chosen everything over themselves. The point of this was for it to be a life, theirs, and for it to be real. 

The words had already dissolved into the silence by the time May spoke. 

“I don’t know.” 

May could make out Phil’s nod in the frail moonlight, steady. There was so much compassion in his eyes, and May leaned her head against his shoulder because if she saw that much kindness directed at her right now she was going to start crying again and she wouldn’t be able to stop. The harsh edges she kept inside were tearing at her chest right now, and it was letting her keep it together, contained. 

This was too easy. Nothing about this was easy, but doing anything but shutting down right now made her head scream about running and that wasn’t the point of this. 

She’d walked the perimeter, earlier, around and around, sloshing through the mud and between the pines. It was a big property. It was theirs. If the world came knocking at this door they could just leave it closed. The team might actually fly down to help Daisy yell if they did anything else. 

May closed her eyes and reached for Phil’s hand, pressed her palm against his and squeezed her eyelids shut until she saw stars. Nothing felt far away; she wanted to get up and walk their borders again, remind herself that this was their space and she could breathe in it. She wanted someone to break in, something to fight, something that would mean they were safe.

She needed something that would tell her she could still keep this safe and instead she was sitting here throwing a little personal pity party in the middle of the night because sleeping brought dreams and, god, she was so tired.

Phil did not need to deal with her like this but the idea of being alone right now was--

“I’m not going anywhere,” Phil said gently, and May loosened her grip on his hand, startled, realizing how hard she’d been squeezing. Phil reached out to start rubbing her back, slow steady strokes; always just enough of a pause for her to tell him no if she wanted to. It made something in her start to unravel, both the touch and the care in it, and in the asking. The quiet, internal grip of cruelty eased. May’s vision blurred.

“May,” Phil said quietly, and watched the way she looked up, automatic and instinctive. Her eyes were wet, but her gaze was steady, clear. His tone hadn’t been gentle. It was the voice that had been in her ear through all their years of ops, her eyes in the sky those times it wasn’t both of them on the ground. Phil had trusted her to watch his back more than he had himself for so much of his life. It was that same trust that had carried them through more hells than he could count; that same look in May’s eyes, steadfast. 

“We have time,” Phil said quietly, and May blinked at him, faltering. “Whatever’s eating at you-- you don’t have to tell me right now. You don’t have to be okay right now, either. We have time. We’ll figure it out. We’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

May looked away, swallowing hard. She stared down at their fingers still woven together in her lap, squeezed his hand tight. Phil heard her take one slow, shuddering breath. 

He shifted carefully, got to his feet. Both his knees clicked audibly; he straightened and his spine joined the chorus. May managed to raise an eyebrow, looking up at him. He grinned sheepishly. 

“C’mere?” 

May got up (with considerably more grace) and took one step forwards. Phil wrapped his arms around her shoulders and May relaxed into it, pressing her forehead against his collarbone, her breathing shaking out of that iron-clad steadiness she’d held it to. He could feel the wet patch growing on his shirt and he brought one hand up to settle softly on her hair, breathing slow and steady. May held on tight. 

The darkness and moonlight and quiet folded in around them. They stayed there a long time. 

<>

May stepped out of the bedroom the next morning to find a familiar, blanket-swaddled silhouette already puttering around the kitchen. The sky was still dark. 

“What time is it?” was the first thing that came out of her mouth. She’d glanced at the clock on their bedside table before coming out, but the logic part of her brain was moving a little slow this morning. Or something. She was tired. Maybe it’d stopped? 

“Five thirty,” said Daisy cheerily. “You slept in,” she added, awfully smug for someone sporting the approximate countenance of a raccoon. 

May grumbled and wandered over, coming up to lean against the counter. “You were up coding till who knows how late. Why are you up.”  

Daisy blinked at her. “How did you… actually. I gave myself away, didn’t I? I made your tea.” She nodded towards a steaming mug on the countertop sitting a calculated distance from May’s elbow. “Ignore it for a sec, it’s still steeping.” 

May looked between her and the mug, taking in the beginnings of breakfast coming together in the kitchen behind her. It would be light, from the look of it. Salad and that good sourdough Phil had baked a couple days ago. The garden out back was coming to life, but there wouldn’t be anything from there yet but the tomatoes. She shook her head. “Daisy, what…”  

Daisy shrugged, leaning her elbows on the counter and wrapping her palms around a mug of her own. “I’m gonna miss you,” she said quietly, tilting her head. “In space. Mornings especially. Or, you know, the equivalent of mornings out there.” 

The blanket draped over her shoulders was fuzzy. May tugged her tea over mostly for something to do. “Call,” she said. There was so much she wanted to say, but the promise in that would have to be enough for now. “Any time.” 

Daisy nodded. There was a promise there, too. “I know you’d kick my ass for worrying,” she said, still quiet, but not hesitant. “So I’m just gonna ask, okay? Can you tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” May said automatically, because it wasn’t a lie, exactly, and she was trying not to stumble over the idea that Daisy was up earlier than she had any reason to be just to make her tea and breakfast because… it was better than worrying? 

There was so much in that gesture that May would need an hour and maybe a hike to comprehend it all.  

Oh, Daisy… what did I do to deserve you. 

“Okay,” Daisy said patiently. “Then will you tell me what’s going on?” 

May stared at her, ceramic warming her palms. 

Lying wasn’t an option. Leaving her with nothing wouldn’t be fair. Doing whatever came easiest had been feeling worst of all. There was something in that, maybe. 

She’d known Phil to forget, sometimes -- it’d been a long time since he’d really needed words from her to understand, it was easy for him to forget -- but it wasn’t like she didn’t know the words. They just didn’t do what she wanted them to, mean what she meant. It would never be something she was good at, and it didn’t bother her. It would always be worth trying for Daisy. 

Daisy’s eyes were still on her, patient. 

“I’ve spent most of my life hurting people,” May said at last. “I’m not sure I know how to do anything else. That scares me.” 

It was true. It wasn’t all of it, but it was true. 

Daisy just hummed. May could see the look in her eyes, though, could feel her own shoulders doing their best to climb toward her ears. 

“I wish you could see yourself the way we do.”

That one was easy. May rubbed a thumb absently against the handle of her mug. “I wish you could, too.” 

She watched the way Daisy’s expression shuttered a little at that, her weight shifting back the slightest bit before settling again. She wasn’t ready for that talk yet, then. That was fine. May would bring them back here when it was time. 

The occasional necessity of Talks for the sake of someone else was something she’d made her peace with a long time ago. 

“You know, I…think it took me a long time to really… get that you had, like, a whole, other life before we ever met you.” 

May blinked. She could see the resolute lift to Daisy’s chin, that look she knew so well. Daisy’s indeterminable drive had always been fueled by a heart that spanned worlds. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it being directed towards her, nor did she have any idea where this was going, but she shrugged. 

It didn’t hurt like it used to, that fact, hadn’t for a long time. She still carried those regrets, but her life had become so much more than that. 

“I was a different person then.” Because that was true, too. 

“I know.” Daisy shifted again. “Coulson…still missed that old you, and I— you were in so much pain, back on the Bus in the beginning.” 

It was a simple statement, matter of fact, but May blinked again. It wasn’t… it wasn’t like she was wrong , or that she’d expected Daisy to not know, but it felt… very odd, just hearing it like that. 

“I wish you never had to go through all of that, I wish you’d gotten to keep that life, that-- happiness, I... but, May…” Daisy leaned forwards again, tentative and certain and earnest and unshakeable. “Of all the things... I hope you know, I never regret not getting to know the old you. I know you now and-- I am so grateful.”

She took a breath, smiling, reaching out to set one hand light on May’s arm. It only felt warm.  

“The only thing that was always missing was just… getting to see you like this. Happy. Finding peace. And I’m so glad, May.” 

May tipped her head forwards until she could rest her forehead against Daisy’s, her throat thick and her voice gone. It took her a long moment to realize there were hot tears on her face again. She didn't care. 

Daisy squeezed her arm and May placed a hand over her knuckles, scars over scars. She remembered bandaging up Daisy’s knuckles the first time she’d split them against the bag after a nightmare, remembered teaching her the difference it made, taking the time to wrap your hands properly even when you thought you would rattle apart. She closed her eyes and Daisy tugged her sleeve over her palm, wiped the tears from her face.

She stepped forwards, wrapped her arms tight around May’s waist. “I love you so much.” 

May squeezed her shoulders, closed her eyes and let herself breathe. It took a long second for the words to form, but-- 

Any space Daisy stepped into could be safe; would be. She’d taught this girl to keep herself safe and it’d been because the world had asked it of them and they’d answered, but that hadn't been the point of it. Daisy had a safe place to come home to.

Scars marked you, the things you’d lived through.

Maybe none of them would ever be safe the same way again, but they still were, they would be. This was safe. May was so tired— they had time. 

Daisy hadn’t been waiting; she just hugged her that bit tighter when the words finally made it out into the air. 

“Love you too.”

<>

It started raining almost as soon as the sun slipped above the horizon. They took turns napping, that day, scuffles for custody of (or, rather, a bluetooth connection to) the little speaker sitting on the kitchen counter rotating between whoever was awake at the time. (All three had rather wildly different ideas of what ‘rainy day music’ sounded like). 

May awoke to the sound of laughter. And a crick in her neck. 

Her lower back was yelling obscenities, fuzzy blanket bundled under her chin, and she kept her eyes closed, listening to the sound of her little family puttering around the kitchen. Daisy’s laughter was bright, Phil’s chuckle turning into a yelp as something landed somewhere with a splat. 

“No, nononono gimme that--” 

“Too late, I’mma just clean this up--”

“That is not what cleaning up means, Daisy, oh no you-- 

Splat. 

“Exit my kitchen, you hoodlum--” 

Daisy’s gleeful cackling filled the air, along with the sound of what was probably a violently flapped tea cloth. May thought maybe it’d be a good idea to keep her eyes closed just a little while longer. 

She’d find both Phil and Daisy sporting identical facemasks of flour, when she finally opened her eyes, along with a kitchen that looked like a hurricane had been through it. There would be a good lunch, eventually, something warm; better music, because this was not what you played when it was raining, damn it. 

May scrubbed a hand over her eyes. They no longer ached.

She’d dreamt of nothing at all. 

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I've gotta get home
There's a garden to tend
There's food on the ground
The birds have all moved back into my attic,
Whistling static
When the young learn to fly
I will patch all the holes up again

- Home, Jack Johnson