Day 5: Saying their name | Dressing fancy

Daisy Johnson (Skye) & Phil Coulson, Agents of SHIELD, AU

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Skye—Daisy—twisted and turned in front of the mirror, biting her lip as she considered the full skirt with its layers of tulle and silk, the little flowers with tiny green leaves worked in glimmering thread around the waist and square neckline, the fluttery short sleeves that showed off the muscles she'd spent the last few years acquiring.

The whole thing made her feel more like a Disney princess than a SHIELD agent, but she actually didn't mind. Not for a night, certainly.

The deep red dress was a Christmas present from Coulson, overwhelming in that it had been custom made for her, with real silk and everything. It had hidden pockets for her phone and anything else she might want. Even the embroidered flowers had pink daisies mixed with red roses.

Just as exciting was that Grant had no idea what she was wearing tonight, other than it being red. The thrill of imagining his reaction, made her suddenly shy, and she turned away from the mirror, pressed the cool backs of her fingers to her flushed cheeks.

A knock at the door of her small bedroom, and she stilled, alert as a rabbit till Coulson's query made her smile.

"Daisy?"

"Come in!" She tried to stand confident and relaxed, but her fingers still twitched, so she clasped her hands behind her back to hide it.

Coulson didn't look up until he was in the room, door mostly shut behind him. When he did, the slow drop of his jaw, the smile that made his face all soft, the murmured, "Wow," made tears spring to Daisy's eyes.

"It's even more beautiful than I thought it would be. You make it beautiful." Coulson passed her a handkerchief, and she tried not to smudge her makeup, suddenly glad she'd gone minimal today.

"Really?" she sniffled.

"Of course." His eyes seemed to be suspiciously shiny too. "My mother had a red dress, something like that. You're just as pretty as she was."

Daisy thought she might melt through the floor at such a compliment, the idea that she might be considered as much a part of Coulson's family as the woman who had been his own blood. She stepped into his arms then, hugged him tight.

"Thanks, AC," she whispered. "Thank you. For all of it."

The dress, the compliments, the hug, his trust in letting her date Grant... She owed him so much.

"My pleasure." He kept his arm around her shoulders as she pulled away, smoothed her skirts back into place, found a watery smile for him.

"You look great too," she said. He was wearing a much nicer suit than usual, black, white shirt, white gloves, and with a red bow tie, as seemed fitting for a chauffeur. "You're sure you don't mind driving us?"

"Are you kidding? You think I'd let some random limo driver take my two best agents anywhere? Someone's gotta be packing for the night. Besides, it's Grant's birthday. It's the least I can do."

Daisy grinned, his chatter lightening the air. "Are you gonna dance too?"

"I'll steal you for one number." Coulson stuck out his hand, smilingly serious. "Deal?"

"Deal." She shook his hand gravely.

"Five minutes?"

She watched him step back out, suddenly noting how much happier she felt, how much more confident. Just like how a dad should make his daughter feel before a big date night. "Should I put my coat on now, or wait till we get to the car?"

He smiled back over his shoulder, quick and amused. "Grant's in the common room. Maybe let him see you first."

"Okay." Again her cheeks warmed, thinking of her boyfriend, hoping his face would light up at seeing her as much as Coulson's had.

"See you at the elevator, Miss Daisy Johnson."

She rarely heard her full name, and sometimes she wasn't totally sure it belonged to her, but the way Coulson said it warmed her down to her toes.

"Thank you, Philip," she answered, giving him what was meant to be a graceful nod of dismissal. "That will be all."

She had to turn away hastily to hide her snort, as the door shut on Coulson's muttered, "Well, I guess chauffeurs usually get called by first names, don't they?"

Nerves now exchanged for elation, Skye hurried to grab the rest of her things, humming Taylor's 'The Best Day' under her breath.

The battle against the White Witch was finally over, and tomorrow Edmund, his brother and his sisters would be proclaimed Kings and Queens of Narnia.

After their victory and arrival in Cair Paravel, Aslan gave them two days to rest and familiarize themselves with the area before crowning them. And during those two days, the 4 siblings kept each other close.

The battle had been hard on everyone, and the days before too, and they needed to rest and reassure themselves that all was well, and that they were together, all safe and sound.

These last few days had been particularly complicated for Edmund. He still couldn't understand how Aslan, the Narnians and Peter, Susan and Lucy had forgiven him for betraying them.

Peter had told him countless times that they weren't angry with him and that it was all in the past, but Edmund couldn't forgive himself. After all, he'd sold out his family for treats. How could he ever earn their forgiveness and acceptance?

And yet, in less than 24 hours, he would be crowned King of Narnia. He couldn't believe it. He, a traitor, would find himself ruling Narnia? What was next?

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time Edmund had had such thoughts, and he began to spiral, his thoughts growing darker by the second.

He was pulled out of this loop by someone saying his name. "Edmund. Ed. Hey, breathe little brother. Breathe with me. I'm here, it's okay, you're safe. Just breathe. I've got you, I've got you."

It took Edmund a few seconds to recognize his brother's voice. But once he did, he clutched at Peter's shirt with all his might, squeezing against him and trying to bury his head in his chest.

"There, I'm here Ed. It's all right, just breathe." Peter said gently, running a hand up and down his brother's back.

Edmund realized at this point that his breathing was totally erratic and tried to take a deep breath, but only succeeded in coughing as his breath hitched in his throat.

"Shh, I'm here Ed. Breathe with me. In.... and out. There, like that, that's good, keep going. Breathe in... and out."

Peter then continued to encourage his brother to breathe, amplifying his own breaths to give him a rhythm to follow.

In a few minutes, Edmund's breathing had returned to more or less normal, and he let his head fall against his brother's shoulder, completely exhausted.

"There, that's good Ed, breathe. I'm here, it's okay."

Edmund said nothing and just stayed in his brother's arms for a little while longer, enjoying this place where he felt protected and safe, as if Peter could protect him from anything.

Then, several minutes later, he pulled back, but didn't get up, also realizing at that moment that they were sitting on the floor, Peter leaning on the edge of Edmund's bed.

Peter let Edmund pulled away, but still kept a hand on his knee, not wanting to let go completely.

"Feeling better?" Asked the blond, a worried, concerned look on his face.

"Yeah, sorry." Edmund said before clearing his throat. "Sorry, thanks Pete."

"It's nothing, you don't need to thank me. Do you want to talk about it?"

Edmund shook his head. No, he really didn't want to talk about this again, because he knew how it was going to go. He was going to apologize, Peter was going to tell him he had nothing to apologize for. Edmund was going to say it was all his fault, Peter was going to say it was all his fault. Edmund was going to say he wasn't fit to be King, Peter was going to tell him he was.

So no, he didn't feel like talking about it. And thankfully, Peter understood and accepted that. "Okay. Anything else you want us to do?"

Edmund didn't really feel like moving or showing up, but he didn't feel like Peter leaving either. "Stay?" He asked, trying not to sound too miserable but failing miserably.

"Of course, little brother." Peter confirmed at once, pulling Edmund so that he was practically sitting on his lap, pressed against his big brother with his head resting against Peter's shoulder. Peter rested his head on Edmund's and tightened his arms around his brother, giving him time.

"Can you talk?" Edmund asked after a minute, his thoughts becoming too loud for him.

Once again, Peter asked no more questions and began to recount what Lucy had told him about certain Narnian species, adding little jokes here and there.

And then, when he felt better, Edmund lifted his head slightly, looking around his room. His eyes fell on the outfit he'd be wearing tomorrow at the coronation, and it was only Peter's presence beside him that stopped him from spiraling again. Instead, he chose to start talking.

"I can't believe I'm wearing this tomorrow." He nodded, pointing to his suit.

"Me neither." Peter agreed. "It reminds me of when we used to dress up when we were younger, with the old clothes we found in the attic. Except these don't look so shabby."

"Yeah, we're dressing fancy tomorrow." Edmund said.

"We have to, tomorrow we'll be Kings and Queens of Narnia, we have to dress up."

Edmund lost his smile a little at this, his dark thoughts returning. But once again, Peter didn't let him sink back in and tightened his arms around his brother.

"It's gonna be alright, Ed. We're doing this together. You're not alone little brother, it's gonna be alright." Peter said gently.

And even though he was having a bit of trouble, Edmund allowed himself to believe that it would be okay, that with his brother by his side he could make it. Not to mention his sisters.

At that very moment, someone knocked on his bedroom door and Edmund straightened his head, never to leave Peter's arms, who apparently had no desire to let him go.

"Come in." Edmund allowed.

The door opened and Susan poked her head into the room. She frowned as she saw her brothers sitting on the floor, Edmund clutched in Peter's arms like this.

"Everything all right, boys?" She asked, taking a few steps closer.

Edmund nodded but didn't answer further, not wanting to worry his big sister.

So Susan exchanged a look with Peter, who made it clear that if things weren't going perfectly right now, they would. Susan opened her mouth to add something, but was interrupted.

"Did you find them, Susan? They're not in Peter's room!" Lucy shouted from the hallway.

Susan watched her brothers for a few seconds before answering, and saw that Edmund's face lit up when he heard his little sister's voice. So she nodded and replied, "They're here Lucy!"

The 3 Pevensies then heard small footsteps in the corridor before their younger sister appeared in the doorway. And when Lucy saw her 3 older siblings together on the floor, she crossed her arms and put on a sulky face.

"How dare you make a cuddle pile without me?" She asked. "And why are you on the floor and not on the bed?"

Peter opened his mouth to reply but Edmund was faster than him. "We were waiting for you to get on the bed, we couldn't start without you anyway."

Lucy's face lit up and she ran to Edmund's bed, jumping on it, barely removing her shoes. She then went to crawl under the comforter in the middle of the bed. "I'm ready!" She declared.

Peter laughed and stood up, deciding to carry Edmund in his arms, and went to settle down next to Lucy, letting Edmund slide halfway off him so he could have his little sister in his arms too. Susan came and settled on Lucy's other side, reaching out a hand to touch her brothers too.

Given the rather late hour, Lucy soon fell asleep, and the other three weren't far behind.

Edmund's last conscious thought before falling asleep was that everything would be all right. As long as he had his siblings by his side, all would be well.

@comfy-vember 2024 - Day 5: Dressing Fancy

No content/trigger warnings apply

Story: The Four (original) Prompts: Saying their name — Hand on knee — Dressing fancy

Timor stared glumly at his reflection in the tall mirror. He didn't look like himself.

Instead of his usual too-large red tunic, he now wore a perfectly tailored doublet made from a velvety smooth royal blue cloth, with slits in the sleeves to reveal the blood-red satin underneath. The doublet and his leggings were lined with gold thread sewn in intricate patterns, and his hose were also blood-red.

And then, sitting atop his newly washed and combed black hair was the source of all his problems: the golden circlet that fit him perfectly. If only he hadn't found it. If only he hadn't tried it on! If only he'd never learned that he was the heir to the throne.

“Timor? Timor!”

He started, glancing up into the reflection of the room behind him and realizing Larrace stood behind him, watching him with concern. The lanky man awkwardly ran his hand through his disheveled brown hair. “Er, I mean...Your Highness?”

“P-P-Please,” Timor stammered, shaking his head vigorously. “P-P-Please d-d-don't....”

“Ah, but you're a prince now, aren't you?” Larrace said gently, with his usual lopsided grin. “Or maybe even the king of us all soon, eh?”

Dread rose in Timor's chest, bubbling up into his throat, thick enough to choke him. He staggered backward and dropped into the nearest chair, covering his face with his hands to blot out the entire world. But the world was there, waiting for him expectantly, watching for him to make a mistake, to prove that he was nothing....

His teeth found the edge of his sleeve and bit down, gnawing, tearing, digging down into the fibers as if he could somehow find his way to the root of the problem, even though there was no solution, he knew there was nothing he could do, no way for him to get out of this, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide—

A warm, rough hand on his knee. “Here now, none of that.” A gentle, familiar voice. Another hand wrapping around his wrist, gently easing it away from his teeth. “You don't want to ruin those fine new clothes of yours, do you?”

Gradually, the desperation died down, the waters that had threatened to close over his head receding as he focused on that hand, that voice he knew so well. How many times had Larrace said something like this to him? How many times had Larrace assured him there was nothing to fear? Not while they were together.

Timor's teeth released their grip on his sleeve, and instead he took Larrace's big hand and pressed it, palm-first, against his cheek. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, letting that familiar sensation ease the fear as much as possible.

“I-I-I...I-I d-d-don't want...t-t-to say g-g-good...b-b-bye....”

Larrace's soft chuckle made Timor wish he could curl up in the man's lap like he used to when he was small, resting his head against Larrace's chest and listening to the vibrations of his voice, even when he didn't understand the words. “Come now, little wolf cub. You know me better than that. I'm in the entourage taking you to your coronation. And even if I wasn't, I'd still be with you every step of the way. For as long as you want me around.”