#causedavalanche

" luckily, you won't have to. " blue nitrile coats her forefinger & thumb as she gingerly turns over daisy's forearm to survey the mottling, midnight swirl of amethyst. it follows the same fractious path as the hairline splits along her bones. the whole of it is so ... strange ... but it's treatable.

& that's her part to play.

cassie's palm settles with light enough pressure not to disrupt the immobilized limb, a gentle reassurance that threads the bend of her lips to go along with it. " you'll be here overnight at least for observation, but a nurse & one of the night shift residents will check in on you every few hours. " the casting kit sits off to one side with the tray.

cassie unfurls the stockinette & begins to stretch it carefully over the splinted length of daisy's wrist.

“quake,” huntress shoots her a glance. “why the fuck would i have that sort of access to your personal devices?”

right, the part of the agent’s statement that merits a reaction from the vigilante, instead of the other part that truly is a cause for concern. the truth is, they both did know what they were signing up for when they agreed to team up for this mission, and it’d be rather inconvenient if they walked back on it now.

as much as huntress does appreciate quake for sticking it out instead of bailing on her, she would much rather appreciate her colleague being alive for the most part. and presumably not handing over her digital privacy at the drop of a head.

✱ ˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐇ACKETT'S 𝐐UARRY 𝐅OREVER !!! ...

" ah ... " sam's explanation halts mid-sentence. the proof is all around them in shooting, dark spikes jutting up out of the ground for the ceiling, in alien technology gleaming with lurid, ethereal promise. this place holds none of the frost-loved coolness of her fellow kryptonians' arctic replica of home, but it is hers all the same. " well, i said it's a fortress. "

of sanctuary.

adapted & reformed from reign's black wiles, from the magicks that spun alongside science to build a worldkiller out of half of her consciousness. it's now adorned with flecks of gold, the skull mask replaced with emblems of gilded hope.

It's not the Bus, with their feet dangling and a cooler set between them, but Jemma knows now that it hadn't been the setting that had made those nights so special. It'd been the people, and specifically, it'd been Daisy.

Tonight, they've traded cheap beers for margaritas with a midrange tequila. Bartending is just simple chemistry, so Jemma had been responsible for drinks, though she would've happily accepted whatever Daisy had made or brought.

she hates watching interview footage of herself. never to say that bobbi morse doesn’t have a big ego— because she does. but she’s a spy first, a scientist second, and a superhero a far distant third, and it’s easy to see in the way the mockingbird’s reluctant to speak to the media. it’s all sharp angles and a shifting jaw under the mask, a curt voice waiting until the moment she can be dismissed. never mind the fact that she’d saved about three dozen lives in an afternoon, she’d wanted to shower and eat her weight in cheeseburgers.