HERO OR ROGUE?

            “i never realized the dress code was that strict. unless you’re coulson, anyway.” an addendum nearly slips. a dig; a barbed and how’s he doing these days? that stilts anything lighthearted in ward’s tone. he catches himself. too much blood under that bridge, the bridge itself too unsteady. 

            much like her. not skye: daisy. 

            it’s pretty, but strangely juxtaposed. a flower with no shortage of thorns. 

            he finally takes a sip of his drink, facing forward despite the pull to keep looking at her. 

            “hell of a career change,” he remarks. “from government agent to … vigilante? is that what they’re calling you now?” 

     It always comes back to Coulson.  In some ways,  Daisy understands harboring that level of resentment;  she understands needing to bite back every now and again because she used to be the same way with him.  In others...  not so much.  “Don’t you own,  like,  two pairs of jeans?”  

     The corner of her mouth hitches in the faintest smile.  Hardly noticeable beneath the bar’s dim lighting.  She’ll blame it on the vodka later.  It’s the only thing keeping her heart from breaking apart inside her chest.

     Coulson is a sore subject.

     That semblance of a smile is as quick to disappear as it was to arrive.  Another topic of conversation she was hoping to avoid.  

            the short answer is yes. rebranding a formerly named terrorist organization — oh, the irony — couldn’t prevent the media frenzy those accusations had provoked. all anyone would have to do is glance at the headlines. 

            ward isn’t just anyone. 

            her restlessness, tension riding high in the stiff set of her shoulders; she still has tells. he still recognizes them, even after this long. 

            he’s yet to touch his drink. 

            “i put two and two together. didn’t take much, considering. what i don’t know is why.” 

     Why?  There isn’t an easy answer.  ‘I lost someone’ sounds too cliché,  because who hasn’t?  ‘He died’ gives away too much  ––  too much he could use as ammunition later if he really wanted to.  Don’t hand them the bullet to shoot you with,  Daisy.  ‘I wasn’t happy’ is a lie washed down her throat with a sip from the glass sitting in front of her.

     Every beginning has its end,  right?

            disproportionate, but he would have expected nothing less. bite and bitterness. she’s harder than she used to be. time corroded those soft edges and made them jagged, carved from stone. maybe her name won’t take any getting used to, after all. 

            the bartender looks to him once her drink is brought. 

            he orders. on the rocks. 

            if the ice cubes start to shake in their glass while she sits here, he’ll know he overstayed his already limited welcome.

            “well,” he says, a bare hint of something wry, “i’m not sure if you knew this, but i did work for SHIELD once upon a time. espionage was kind of in the job description.”

     That would have earned something.  Not a laugh or a smile,  but something that would have said,  yeah,  I remember.  We all remember.  Something with bite,  because that level of betrayal still stung like salt on an open wound  ––  but there isn’t an  all  anymore.  There isn’t a ‘we’.

     Better to leave that where it is.

     The straw is plucked from the glass and fidgeted with.  It gives her restless hands something to do.  “O-kay,  except you’re not  ‘working’  with S.H.I.E.L.D anymore,  and neither am I.”

            three years. time is a fluid thing; too easily lost through cracks of memory like fissured earth, or a wound that never quite heals. 

            three years. 

            “you’re right. a lot’s changed … but not everything. what i told you before, it’s still true.” that he would never lie to her. never hurt her. even now. “always will be.” 

     Not everything.  Time has turned her world upside down;  loss weighs heavy on the heart and mind,  but at least she has that,  right?  What he told her before.  Her lip almost curls in a sneer.

     It’s a disproportionate response.  She knows.  “Gee,  thanks.”

     What’s left in her glass is thrown back and then she’s signaling the bartender.  Almost closes her tab,  but reconsiders.  Another vodka and lime is put in front of her instead.

            “it doesn’t have to be. skye, listen —” he catches himself. almost smiles. “sorry. daisy. i’m still getting used to that.” 

            “for me, or for you?” 

            “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. been a while.” 

     Daisy buoys between arrogance and confidence more often than most think.   It’s one of her defining character flaws,  in my opinion,  and often results in further perpetuating the  “Inhumans are dangerous and should be feared”  rhetoric in the earlier seasons after she became better adjusted to her powers.   In the later seasons,  going into season six,  it perpetuates her title as Destroyer of Worlds.   

     The difference between confidence and arrogance is a thin line drawn in the sand.   Distinguishing between the two from an introspection standpoint is nearly impossible;  the difference lies in how you approach a situation,  and whether you overestimate your own strength  ––  or in Daisy’s case,  your own power in the face of opposition.

     Take season three / episode [number],  where Daisy pushes back against the ATCU in defense of Lincoln.   “Do you really think you can stop me?   Do you have any idea what I can do?”   This is an inarguable example of blind arrogance that eclipses her better judgement,  and again,  perpetuates the anti-Inhuman rhetoric that these people and their powers should always be feared when faced with opposition.   Her arrogance in this situation is quickly shut down when she’s told about the snipers trained on her outside that could take her out with a clean shot from any vantage point.   

     Later in the episode,  we see Daisy and Mack talking about [name],  wherein she tells him that it’ll be  “his funeral”  if he’s prepping a cell for her.   Not only is this an example of arrogant behavior,  but it’s also contradicting her beliefs from a moral standpoint where killing is never the better option.   Regardless of her intent,  or whether she would have killed him,  no one can argue how a statement like this comes across.

     My point isn’t to say Daisy isn’t as powerful as she thinks.   My point is to say that she often takes an arrogant approach in situations that conflict with her own morals and what she deems to be right versus wrong.   This isn’t an inherently bad trait for a person to have,  but it does suggest that Daisy believes she can quake her way into forcing her own set of ideals and beliefs into a person or a group of people,  and if she can’t,  she’ll monger their fear of Inhumans / her instead  ––  intentionally or not  ––  and in season three / episode [number],  she does just that.

     (   There’s plenty more examples I could draw from the later seasons,  particularly season five,  but for the sake of keeping this succinct,  I’ll save those for a different analysis post.   )

     Now,  it goes without saying that most of these examples were circumstantial,  where her emotions did come into play.   All of these times had two common denominators:  the lives,  freedom,  and rights of the people she cares about,  and a difference between two or more moral perspectives.

     I’d also like to touch on just how cleverly the writers have depicted May as the  antithesis  to this.   Because where Daisy is often blindsided by her emotions,  and,  yes,  her arrogance,  May is not.   

     May is the prime example of a leader;  confident without overstepping that line,  and that’s what makes her a prime candidate for the next Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.   Daisy still has a lot to learn when it comes to being a leader,  and I can’t wait to see her take that final step to becoming the first real Inhuman Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.  ––  but first,  I’d like for Daisy to understand what it means to truly be confident in your capabilities,  and how it differentiates between being arrogant with your power.

     his breaths come hard and heavy against the slope of her jaw, his grip tight on the bare, slick skin of her thighs. she could’ve torn the shower curtain clean off and he wouldn’t have noticed, not when he’s buried inside her. not when she’s taking him deep and full, moaning his name, loud enough that the sound has to carry beyond the half - open door. he doesn’t notice that, either. the spill of noise from his own mouth is damn near visceral. a tumble of curses wrapped around her name, sweet on the tongue; languages intermingle clumsily and he’s telling her how good she feels, telling her that he’s close, he’s there, he’s about to cum. don’t stop. he couldn’t now, even if he wanted to.

     the peak of his climax hits with a full - body shudder, hips jolting forward, fingers clutching hard enough to bruise. as bruising as the chaser, a kiss meant to stifle those sounds that build in his throat and escape in a greedy flood. spots of white stipple across his closed lids. the shower’s spray is cooling down a little, but the heat of him, of both of them, makes it impossible to tell. somewhere between the buffets of sensation that felt so much like drowning, he knows it’s her turn. that’s what makes him pull back and ease her down. one of his hands keeping her thighs apart as he drops to his knees in front of her, hooking her leg over his shoulder, leaning in to let his mouth do the rest. he licks into her and tastes himself on her cunt, tastes the budding swell of her arousal, feels her nails dig into the back of his neck. 

     he’s ceaseless until the last possible second, and then some. fucking her with his tongue, sucking pressure around her clit and thumbing over it while she cums, hard, heel jabbing into his back, grasping for purchase anywhere she can reach. only after she’s done riding it out does he move his mouth away and stand again. tugging her flush against him, still backed up against the wall, kissing her again. slower, but just as fevered.