She taps the light off in the cheap motel and sighs her way into the pillow.
“Gosh, I feel like we’re the Petries.”
“Maybe we should get matching pajamas?” he answers sounding tired, sardonic.
It’s been a long day and the nearest safehouse was too far out. Their coms were cut off thanks to the equivalent of an EMP.
She’s not going to mention that detail, though, or invite the topic for discussion.
Luckily, Phil still had his wallet.
“That’s the Ricardos,” she replies, and he can hear her shift around on the bed, like she’s not comfortable.
Probably not used to sleeping alone. Hasn’t been that long, right? A few months.
He still thinks about Rosalind sometimes. Makes himself stop before it goes where it always wants to go.
Then again, it could just be that the two twin beds have mattresses that might be older than Daisy.
“You’re making me feel both old and useless,” he tells her. “How is it you know more about those t.v. shows than I do?”
“You spend a lot of family time watching reruns in foster homes,” she says, getting still. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head as he stares up at the ceiling bathed in darkness. “People get funny ideas about the way things used to be.”
“Rose-tinted glasses and all that,” she says, then sighs audibly. It sounds frustrated. “I’m not going to be able to fall asleep.”
“Thanks for getting me out back there,” he tells her. “We can get to the nearest drop point and let the team know our location in the morning.”
“Can’t wait for that stellar continental breakfast.”
“I have enough money left on the card to buy you the biggest breakfast you’ve ever had. What do you say?”
“You’re trying to cheer me up?” she replies, and the mattress groans as she stands.
He can hear her feet pad around towards his side, where the bathroom is.
It’s true, he hasn’t been very cheerful lately. Or alone with her like this.
They haven’t had very much room for each other in the last several months.
“I’m going to take a hot bath. Pray there won’t be a scurry of roaches when I turn on the light.”
“It’s old, but it’s clean,” he mutters. He did check it out before he’d let her stay in a place like this. “What kind of guy do you take me for?”
“A desperate one,” she says, flipping on the light inside and looking around as he squints, and turns over away from the light.
“It was a joke,” she says, her voice suddenly sounding closer without the echo of the bathroom tile to distort it.
“Hilarious,” he says, and then turns back when he feels her weight next to him on the mattress.
“Thanks. For trusting me back there.”
He looks at her a little incredulous. What else would he have done?
“Being Inhuman has made me see things differently. I realized I’ve changed. Not that person you picked up in a van, you know?”
“No,” he answers, sitting up. “You’re not.”
Her hair falls into her face a little as she nods her head, looking down at her fingers pulling on a loose thread of polyester in the comforter.
“You’re stronger. In every way. Your beliefs, your body, your gift.”
“Phil.” She doesn’t look up, and says his name like she wants him to stop. Embarrassed at having someone lavish this kind of praise at her.
She deserves it.
“You are,” he says, touching his fingers against her wrist.
“I used to pretend that my parents were the Petries. Got sucked into it just like my foster parents. Silly rose-colored ideas, huh?”
He wants to think it through before he speaks, but he can’t help himself. “Your father talked like he felt that way about your mother,” he starts.
Then she does look up at him, searching his eyes. They’ve never spoken about this, he was afraid it would be too painful for her, having found them only to lose them again.
“Before HYDRA got to her,” he goes on, like he’s working through it in his mind. “He described her the way that I’ve found myself describing you.”
She parts her lips to take in a short, gasping breath, as his eyes widen at the realization of what he’s just said.
“What I mean,” he starts to backtrack, then stops, closes his eyes. “Your father loved your mother very much.”
When he opens then again-and neither realizes it and they’ll laugh about it later-but they both lean into each other at the same time, their mouths touching carefully.
She wants to say it, but that tiny voice inside holds her back, still afraid after all of these years. That she will ruin this.
“I do love you,” he says, picking it back up, pulling back just enough to get a good look at her whole face. “Whether you’re Skye, or Daisy Johnson. Whoever you choose to be.”
This time she kisses him first-for sure it was her-with more confidence, letting the doubts slip further and further away.
His fingers find her face and he draws her in closer to him, grasping and kissing her like it’s something he’s been starved for doing for the longest time.
Right about now is the moment that she would hesitate, pull back, because this could hurt. She will be the one responsible.
It’s just…it’s Phil.
She puts her hand over his heart, can feel the scar beneath the fabric and a rapid beat, as he watches her, curious.
“We don’t have to-“ he starts to explain.
Leaning forward, she silences him with her lips, then tries to fit in closer beside him, between kisses, and finally gives up, swings a leg over him so that she’s sitting on him instead.
The pleasant look of surprise on his face is enough to make her laugh out loud.
“We’re not exactly the Petries, are we?” she asks, in her most persuasive voice, running her thumb across his bottom lip.
He rushes to grab her against him for another kiss, deeper and exploring.
“No, we’re not,” he says into her ear, then mouths along her neck to her shoulder, moving her hair aside carefully with his prosthetic hand.
She feels her whole body tingle. No, it’s buzzing.
Like when she first discovered her powers. It’s new, but she’s not afraid.
It must be love.
Her hands draw his face back up to hers, and she realizes she’s seen him look at her like this before.
“It is love,” she tells him.