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“They’d slap that kid if they knew what was good for him.”
“Can we change the channel-“ “Is there something else we can-“
Daisy and Fitz both clamped their mouths shut as they spoke over each other, and there was a beat of silence before Jemma grabbed up the remote and started flipping through the channels. Finding something to watch was always a little tricky—anything overly violent was out, thrillers were hard to watch if they were accurate or if they weren’t, survival shows were usually a no-go (but it depended on the day), and the rest of it typically wouldn’t hold everyone’s attention. Sitcoms, if inane, were mostly safe. Mostly.
It only took a few flips to get from Nick at Night to regular Nick, where Spongebob was playing. Jemma didn’t care for it, but it made the other two laugh, which they certainly needed more of in their lives, so she’d let it slide. They’d already gone through four channels and three beers each tonight.
Jemma wasn’t following the plot (could it be said to have one?), but there was some stupid joke about perfume departments that really should’ve gotten at least a chuckle from Daisy. She felt a huff of breath from Fitz where her head rested on his chest that would have to count, but the other side of the couch was silent. Jemma glanced over to Daisy, who was staring at her knees, brows furrowed.
Jemma wiggled her toes where they were lodged under Daisy’s thigh. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Daisy’s eyes snapped to her. “Hmm? Nothing, sorry.”
“You don’t look like you’re with us. Want to talk about it?”
Daisy glanced to Fitz, who was looking at her with concern now too, and shook her head. She turned back to the television and valiantly pretended to watch, chin in her hand. Jemma, of course, had gone almost thirty years of her life without having learned to let sleeping dogs lie, especially when it came to her loved ones.
“If something’s bothering you, it might help to talk it out.”
“Hypocrite,” Daisy muttered fondly, gaze still plastered on the tv.
“Entirely,” Jemma agreed. “Doesn’t make it less true.”
Daisy sighed through her nose, leaned forward to snatch her beer off the coffee table, and guzzled the rest of it before answering, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “It’s stupid. I feel like I should be over it by now.”
Jemma tried to tamp down the little flare of indignation in her chest, knowing it wasn’t the place, and worked to keep her voice even, paying particular attention to how Fitz stiffened behind her. “There’s no time limit on how long trauma can affect you.”
“It’s just- everything that’s happened since, something little like that shouldn’t still set me off.”
“Doesn’t have to be big to be a trigger.”
Daisy shrugged.
“And you said it was stupid, but none of what you’re feeling is stupid.”
Daisy shrugged again, looking down to pick at the black polish on her nails. “Feels that way.”
Jemma frowned. “If it was anyone else feeling it, would you still think that?”
For a while the only sounds were those coming from the tv: completely inappropriate bubbling laughter and dumb jokes that none of them were actually listening to.
“I’m a SHIELD agent.”
“Now. But you were a child.”
“Yeah, but it’s still affecting me.”
“Because it changes your brain.” Jemma could feel her voice becoming strained, and she pushed out a long breath. Fitz was unusually still, eyes focused in front of him. “Abuse like that, it changes how your brain grows and how it functions, even into adulthood. The corpus callosum is smaller, the hippocampus can have decreased volume, EEGs show less activity in the left hemisphere of the brain, your limbic system is more sensitive-“
“Great, so I got slapped around a little bit and now I’m all sorts of fucked up.”
Jemma gritted her teeth. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I just mean that of course it’s still affecting you, it’s not just something you can shed away in adulthood, or with experience. You learn to manage and you learn to cope, but this is always going to be something you carry.”
Daisy sighed and shifted so she was facing them on the couch, cheek leaning against the back. “Yeah, well … that kind of sucks.”
Jemma let out a sympathetic hum. “It does.”
Daisy cleared her throat. “You know an awful lot about this.”
Fitz’s arm tightened around Jemma’s shoulders, and she hoped Daisy didn’t notice. “I make it my business to know.”
“Were-“ Daisy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Were you …?”
Jemma shook her head.
“Okay. Good.”
Jemma nudged Daisy’s leg with her toe. “Have you ever talked to anyone about this?”
“Not … really? There were the nuns at the orphanage, but they just mostly told me to pray. Like I wasn’t already. And then there’s you.”
“You’ve mentioned it to me, I don’t think that counts as talking. Like I said, it might help.”
“Maybe.” Daisy sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, chewing it nervously. “Fitz, I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable-“
“No! No, no,” Fitz cut her off, pressing the fingers of one hand into his eyes, his voice a little high pitched. “I’m not, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you think that- I just- This is kind of hitting close to home.”
“Oh,” Daisy said, body stilling.
“Yeah.” Fitz dropped his hand, not looking at either of them, just the tv, which was now on commercial. An advertisement for moon sand. Moon sand, moon sand, the sand that molds like dough. Jemma leaned into him more heavily.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Daisy said.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, I never mentioned it.”
“You’re under no obligation to.”
Fitz nibbled on the skin around his thumbnail. “You should talk to someone, though. Us or someone else.”
Daisy curled into herself, hands gripping the material of her hoodie. “Did you?”
“I did, with the counselors at the Academy. Couldn’t really afford it before that. And with Jemma, she’s good at it.”
Jemma blushed and ducked her head.
Daisy picked lint off the black material. “I’ve never had good experiences with counselors.”
Fitz visibly softened, looking over at Daisy. “What about friends?”
She quirked a sad little smile, glancing away. “I don’t know, never tried it.”
“Never too late to start,” Jemma said.
Daisy nodded. Fitz waited a few seconds before speaking. “How old were you?”
“A little while when I was five. And then eleven through thirteen. How about you?”
“Until I was seven.”
Daisy let out a breath. “That’s a long time.”
Fitz hummed his agreement.
Jemma reached for the remote to turn the volume down but Daisy held out a hand to stop her. “Please don’t.”
“I can leave it on,” Jemma said.
“Sorry, I just …” The tv seemed to hold Daisy’s attention for a few moments, though Jemma knew that wasn’t what it was. “I don’t really know how to talk about this.”
“Before we start,” Jemma murmured, “you do know it wasn’t your fault, right?”
“Yeah?” Daisy said, sounding very unsure. “I mean. I do. Logically, I do. It’s just- I never told anyone. I should have.”
“It can be hard,” Fitz said, “trusting other people with something like that, when the people you’re supposed to be able to trust are the ones hurting you.”
“And that shouldn’t have been your responsibility in the first place,” Jemma added. “It’s never a child’s responsibility to put a stop to abuse. There should’ve been adults paying attention.”
“I guess,” Daisy said. “The nuns did notice, eventually. The first time, at least.”
“What about the second?” Fitz asked softly.
Daisy’s gaze dropped. “I got in trouble at school. And they gave me up.”
There were a few beats of silence. “Well it’s kind of no wonder you didn’t tell anyone,” Fitz said, “all you wanted was a family and if the nuns knew they would’ve moved you again.”
“I wanted a family like Miss Honey, not- not people who locked me in a closet.”
Jemma felt the air leave her chest.
“My dad did that too,” Fitz said.
Daisy caught his eye. “Were you ever scared of the dark?”
He nodded.
“That was the worst part. Not even not knowing when they’d let you out, just that it was dark. I think that was even scarier than getting hit.”
Fitz chewed his lip. “I think the worst part for me was the anticipation, you know? Like if you were out in public but you knew you were gonna get beaten as soon as you got home. And then the whole car ride you were just trying not to cry cause you knew it would make it worse. Just knowing it was coming was the hardest part.”
“Prolonged states of hyperarousal,” Jemma said. “It’s very taxing on the mind and the body, especially for a kid.”
“Well whatever it was called, it sucked,” Daisy said.
Jemma nodded. “Knowing certain words for things can help you come to terms with some of the experiences-“
“Yeah.” Daisy pinched her eyes shut, rubbing her forehead. “Yeah, sorry, I know, I’m just being difficult.”
“You’re not being difficult, this is a difficult thing to talk about.”
“Yeah, and it’s perfectly natural to feel upset or defensive about it,” Fitz said. “It took me months at counseling before I would talk about it at all.”
“I just feel like-“ Daisy ran a hand through her long, dark hair, eyes finding the ceiling. “I feel like this is supposed to be like some Lifetime movie and we’re all supposed to spill our guts and bond through our deepest traumas or something, and I don’t know if I can do that.”
“You don’t have to,” Jemma assured her. “This is just whatever you both feel comfortable with. And this doesn’t have to be a one night conversation, these things take time. And we don’t mind giving it to you.”
“Yeah, however long you need.”
“So, like-“ Daisy waved her hand. “Whenever I feel like I’ve had enough we can just stop?”
“Absolutely,” Jemma said.
“Okay. Okay, yeah I can deal with that.”
Fitz looked like he was watching the tv, which Jemma knew meant he was trying to figure out how to phrase something. The distraction helped him gather his words.
“Who was it for you?” he eventually asked.
“When I was 5 it was both parents. And then when I was older it was the dad. And after a while their son, too. I don’t know if the parents knew, but I don’t think they would’ve stopped him if they did.”
“It was my dad, for me,” Fitz said. “He’d take stuff out on me and my mum. Or just cause he wanted to, sometimes. Didn’t always give a reason.”
“I noticed you never talk about him, I thought maybe he just wasn’t around or something.”
Fitz shook his head. “Mum found help and we got him kicked out when I was seven. He showed up at the house a few times after that but we just had to call the police on him and they’d take him away.”
“That must’ve been scary,” Daisy said, “him showing up like that.”
“At first I thought it meant he was back, that he’d found some loophole or something and we were stuck with him. But then I realized he was breaking the law, by being there. He showed up once when I was there by myself, cause he knew mum was at work. Tried to convince me to let him in.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“Yeah. And afterwards they told me I did the right thing, but it didn’t feel like it at the time.”
Jemma found his hand with hers and squeezed it.
“It was,” Daisy said, “that was the right thing. And really brave.” She was quiet for a few moments, but they could tell she was in thought and didn’t interrupt. “Was it always, with him? Or did something start it?”
“Pretty much always. Or since I was a toddler, at least. And for my mum it was even before that.”
Daisy hummed.
“How did it start for you?” Fitz asked.
“With the Cunningham’s—the first family—about three weeks after I first got there, we were all having dinner, and everything was fine. They’d been so good to me and I really liked them. And then I accidentally pushed a glass off the table, and it shattered. Mrs. Cunningham was closest to me and she just reached over and slapped me. I was shocked, I didn’t know what to do. And then they told me I’d been bad and that I needed to fix it, and they made me clean up the glass, and then sent me to my room. I just laid on my bed and sobbed, I didn’t know what else to do.
“And then a week later, I don’t remember, I think I talked back to them or something. Not really meaning to, but still in a way they thought was disrespectful. So I got two slaps, that time, backhanded, because it was ‘purposeful’. And that’s just kind of how they handled everything. At first it wasn’t often, but it got worse. Then the nuns came unexpectedly and I had a black eye and they put two and two together.”
“That’s awful,” Jemma said.
“Yeah. And with the Mullen’s, it was just kind of status quo. Whenever you did anything they didn’t like, or just didn’t do something they did like, you got a beating. Sometimes with their hands, sometimes with a paddle. A hairbrush, one time. And from their son, mostly just his fists.”
“My dad would use a belt,” Fitz said.
Daisy shook her head. “Never got the belt. Always seemed archaic to me, like a whip, you know?”
Fitz nodded. “The whole thing is archaic. Like, we as a human society should’ve outgrown this by now. But I guess there’s still a lot of bad things in the world I wish we’d outgrown.”
“Yeah.” Daisy tugged at the bottom of Jemma’s pajama pants. “But there’s a lot of good things, too. It’s hard to remember that sometimes, I get so caught up in everything that’s happened in the past.”
“Sometimes it feels like the past traps you,” Jemma said, running her tongue over her bottom lip, “when in reality it just builds a platform for who you can be. It lays the framework, but you’re the one who decides what to do with it.” She leaned forward so she could push a lock of hair behind Daisy’s ear. “For the record, I think what you’ve chosen to do is pretty damn amazing.”
Daisy smiled. “I’m just trying to keep afloat.”
“By helping a lot of people along the way. You didn’t have to, but it’s just in your nature to do good. To use your own struggles to fuel you to make other people’s easier. Not everyone could do what you do, Daisy.”
A blush tinged her cheeks. “Even with my fucked up brain?”
“Even with your perfectly amazing brain which I love very much.”
Daisy laughed, and then turned her attention to the tv. “Okay, well I think I’ve been depressing enough for one night. One more episode and then I’m going to bed.”
Jemma made herself comfortable against Fitz’s chest and then patted her leg. Daisy laid down on the couch and rested her head on Jemma’s thigh, sighing as Jemma ran her hands through Daisy’s hair.
“Thanks,” Daisy said, and left it at that.
“Anytime.”
Fitz rested his head on top of Jemma’s. “I don’t even know what episode this is.”
“Pretty patties!” Daisy sang happily.
“What are pretty patties?” Jemma asked, and then scoffed as the other two shushed her.
Daisy was almost asleep by the time the episode was over, and she rubbed her eyes as she sat up, swaying groggily. She pressed kisses onto both of their foreheads (“Don’t you dare wipe that off, Fitz.”) and then bid them goodnight.
Jemma turned around to snuggle against Fitz, no longer watching the tv. He rubbed her back in long, slow strokes.
“Thanks for talking to Daisy about what happened to you, I think it helped her feel more comfortable discussing it herself.”
He shrugged. “I just wanted her to know she’s not the only one struggling with this.”
“Still, it was really brave.”
Fitz snorted. “It was just talking, Jemma.”
“Talking can be brave,” she protested. “Talking can be one of the scariest things there is.”
He tilted his head back and forth. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You know I’m right.”
He huffed a laugh. “Aren’t you always?”
“Mm, of course.” She smiled, and placed a quick kiss against his lips. “I’m just glad you’re acknowledging it.”
Fitz was quiet for a few minutes, until the show went to commercial again. “Do you think she’ll keep talking to us about it?”
“I hope so,” Jemma said. “She’s been struggling with this by herself for a long time. It was probably even worse when she was all alone. I think it’ll help, but it’s up to her.”
Fitz nodded. “I’m glad I told you. Back at the Academy, I mean.”
She pulled away so she could look at him. “I’m glad you told me, too.”
“Do you-“ He cleared his throat. “Do you think we’d make good parents?”
She nodded. “You would make a great father, Fitz.”
His eyes darted to hers. “Yeah?”
“Definitely.”
Fitz twined their hands so he could play with the roll of her knuckles. “And Daisy can have the next house over.”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “And she’ll come over all the time. And babysit.”
“And we can have one big fenced in backyard, so we can share a dog.”
Jemma snorted. “Sure.”
“And our kids won’t grow up like I did.”
“No,” Jemma agreed. “They’ll be safe. And happy.”
Fitz nuzzled against her hair.
“I wish I could take it away from you, that you never would’ve had to go through it.”
“I wouldn’t wish it on anyone,” Fitz mumbled. “But like you said, it’s just something you have to carry.”
“Well, I’ll try to make the load a little lighter, if I can.”
“You already do, Jemma.” He kissed the top of her head.
A particularly annoying laugh came from the television, and Jemma rolled her eyes. “I don’t see how you like this show.”
“Five bucks says it’s all our kids will watch.”
Jemma groaned, and hid her smile against his neck. If she still had her family around her, if she still had Fitz and Daisy to ride it out with, she would take anything.