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The control room hummed with a steady, familiar rhythm. Servers whispered, monitors flickered, and soft blue light washed across the walls of the Zephyr’s tech bay. Daisy Johnson leaned forward in her chair, fingers flying across the keyboard as lines of data scrolled across three separate screens.
Facial recognition software ran through thousands of security feeds across Los Angeles.
Arcades. Bars. Street cameras. Parking garages.
Somewhere in that mess of footage were the two men who had grabbed Billy Koenig less than an hour ago.
Behind her, a fourth monitor replayed grainy surveillance footage from the arcade bar where it happened. Billy and Sam Koenig—identical down to the slightly awkward posture and the matching graphic tees—were leaning over a pinball machine when two large men approached.
The clip ended where Billy disappeared through the back door.
Daisy zoomed in on one of the kidnappers’ faces.
Across from her, Sam Koenig sat stiffly in his chair, hands folded in his lap like someone trying very hard not to touch anything in a very expensive museum.
And staring.
Very obviously staring.
Daisy didn’t look up from the screen.
“You’re staring at me.”
Sam jolted slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I just… I can’t believe I’m sitting here with Quake! You know, this is… Oh, somebody pinch me.”
Daisy sighed, finally glancing sideways at him.
“Sam, stop. We’ve known each other for three years.”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “I knew Skye. But you’re… you’re Quake.”
He gestured vaguely at her like that explained everything.
“She’s different.”
Daisy turned back to the monitors.
“No, she’s not. And she doesn’t love the name ‘Quake.’”
Sam nodded rapidly.
“But you’re… you’re a superhero!” he continued, enthusiasm spilling out faster than his brain could filter it. “I mean, that’s so awesome! Did you know that online there’s a whole library of fan fiction about Quake?”
Daisy froze mid-keystroke.
“…Did not need to know that.”
“Oh—well—you should Google it,” Sam said.
Then he immediately reconsidered.
“Actually no. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Forget I said that. Some of it is a little on the steamier side. Not that I’ve read it! You— I mean—you hear things.”
Daisy slowly turned her head toward him.
Sam continued digging his own grave.
“Wow, I mean they’ve got you ‘shipping with Black Widow. Some of the drawings are— I mean— they— they call you Quack.”
Daisy stared at him.
Long.
Silently.
Her expression settled somewhere between disbelief and deep secondhand embarrassment.
She close her eyes.
For one very long second, the only sound was the hum of electronics and Sam’s ragged attempt at breathing like a normal human being.
“I’m going to pretend,” she said carefully, “that you didn’t just say any of that.”
Before Sam could attempt a recovery, one of the monitors beeped sharply.
Daisy spun back to the monitor, grateful for the interruption. Lines of data cascaded down the screen before locking into a profile beside the paused surveillance image.
“Oh,” she muttered. “Good timing.”
At that exact moment, Coulson and May walks towards them.
Daisy pointed at the screen. “We have a match.”
A dossier expanded across the monitor.
LEO BABIKOV
Former SVR – Russian Foreign Intelligence Service
Special Operations Division
Coulson’s expression sharpened immediately.
Daisy continued. “Ex-SVR. Special Ops. Same division as the two guys who tried to assassinate you.”
Coulson nodded slowly. “And there’s our link to Nadeer.”
May folded her arms, studying the file.
Daisy scrolled further.
“Get this,” she added. “They all have ties to Prime Minister Olshenko.”
May looked up. “The Russian Prime Minister who was attacked by an Inhuman.”
Coulson finished the thought. “And then threw Bobbi and Hunter under the bus after they saved his life.”
He exhaled through his nose. “This is bad.”
The pieces were clicking together too neatly.
“We’ve got Nadeer,” Coulson continued, pacing slowly. “International Watchdogs. And Russian spies.”
He stopped.
“All united because…”
Daisy didn’t hesitate. “Because they hate Inhumans.”
The room went quiet.
Sam shifted slightly in his chair.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s why they want the Darkhold.”
Three heads turned toward him.
Sam blinked. “…What?”
Coulson’s voice dropped half an octave. “You knew Billy had the Darkhold?”
Sam shrugged awkwardly. “Well, yeah. I couldn’t say anything with all the Red Shirts hanging around.”
May raised an eyebrow. “Red Shirts?”
“Background agents,” Sam clarified quickly. “Statistically doomed.”
Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sam.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know what Billy did with it?”
Sam nodded confidently. “It is secure.”
Silence.
Daisy slowly turned in her chair. “Define secure.”
Sam gave a small, proud smile. “The Koenig Secure Protocol.”
That did not reassure anyone.
Coulson sighed. “Which means?”
Sam leaned forward conspiratorially. “That even S.H.I.E.L.D. probably can’t find it.”
May’s gaze sharpened. “Probably?”
“…Okay, definitely.”
Daisy groaned and leaned back in her chair. “Great.”
She turned back to the screens, fingers already moving again.
“Because apparently we’re racing Russian special forces, a radical anti-Inhuman senator, and a terrorist militia to find your brother.”
Sam brightened slightly. “Technically my brother, brothers, and brother.”
Daisy stopped typing. “…What.”
Sam nodded proudly. “Quadruplets.”
Coulson looked mildly alarmed. “There are four of you?”
“Yup.”
May muttered under her breath. “That explains a lot.”
Daisy sighed, reopening the surveillance feed.
On the screen, Leo Babikov’s face stared back at them.
Russian Special Ops.
Working with the Watchdogs.
Backed by a government that wanted Inhumans erased.
And somewhere out there, Billy Koenig was sitting on the most dangerous book on the planet.
Daisy cracked her knuckles over the keyboard.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go find Billy.”
The Aftermath
Back on the Playground, the energy had shifted.
Not quieter exactly—S.H.I.E.L.D. bases never really were—but the frantic edge had dulled. The adrenaline spike from the exchange, the chase, the realization that the Darkhold had slipped through their fingers… all of it had settled into the dull, simmering frustration that came after a mission went sideways.
Agents moved through the corridors with tired efficiency. Monitors glowed. Someone in the lab dropped a wrench with a metallic clank that echoed down the hallway.
Coulson was in his office reviewing contingencies. May was in the gym, hitting the heavy bag with measured, punishing precision.
In the common room, Daisy Johnson sat sideways on the couch, one leg tucked under her, phone in hand.
Across the room, Sam Koenig was enthusiastically explaining the Koenig Secure Protocol to a deeply exhausted Mack, who looked like he regretted asking even a single follow-up question.
Daisy tuned them out.
Her thumbs moved quickly across the screen.
Daisy:
you can’t believe what i just heard from sam.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Natasha:
Should I be concerned or amused?
Daisy smirked faintly.
Daisy:
both.
A pause.
Natasha:
That sounds promising.
Daisy hesitated for half a second, then typed:
Daisy:
facecall? easier to explain.
Another pause. Longer this time.
Natasha:
Give me thirty seconds.
Daisy stood and slipped out into the hallway, heading to her bunk.
Before connecting, she ran a quick sweep—old habits. Signal bounce, layered encryption, double relay through two dead servers she’d set up months ago.
Untraceable.
Safe.
She tapped call.
The screen flickered.
Then Natasha Romanoff appeared.
Soft lamplight illuminated part of her face. She looked relaxed—dangerously so—in a dark tank top, blonde hair pulled loosely over one shoulder. Wherever she was, it wasn’t a battlefield.
Natasha tilted her head slightly as the connection stabilized.
A slow, knowing smile curved across her lips.
“Well,” she said.
Daisy felt the very familiar tug in her chest at hearing her voice.
Natasha leaned closer to the camera.
“You just wanted to see me,” she added casually. “And not really talk about this.”
Daisy’s mouth twitched.
“I mean,” she replied, adjusting the angle of her phone, “why can’t I have both?”
Natasha’s lips curved—slow, knowing. “Fair.”
She shifted, propping her chin lightly against her knuckles. “Okay. What did Koenig tell you?”
Daisy groaned softly and leaned back in her chair.
“First of all, we rescued Billy. Sort of. Then we traded him for Darkhold. Then Radcliffe stole Darkhold anyway in the middle of our fight with Billy’s kidnappers.”
Natasha blinked once. “Efficient.”
“Right? That’s what I said.”
“And the part you texted me about?”
Daisy dragged a hand down her face. “Sam decided to inform me that there’s an entire online library of fan fiction about us.”
Natasha’s expression did not change.
That was worse.
Daisy squinted suspiciously. “You already knew.”
“I might have heard rumors." Natasha’s mouth twitched.
“They ‘ship’ me with you,” Daisy continued flatly. “Some of it are kinda steamy, and they even have drawings too!”
Natasha pressed her lips together, barely containing a smile.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, that’s the truth. We are together.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But, I mean, they—” she pointed vaguely at the screen. “—they call us ‘Quack.’”
That did it.
Natasha laughed.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a soft, genuine sound that made Daisy’s stomach do something inconvenient.
“Quack?” Natasha repeated.
“I know.”
“And you are upset because…?”
“Because that is definitely not weird and does not give intimidating vibes. At all.”
Natasha’s eyes gleamed. “I don’t know. Ducks can be aggressive.”
Daisy tried very hard not to smile.
“It gets worse,” she said. “Sam was panicking mid-explanation and told me not to Google it. Which obviously means—”
Natasha arched a brow. “You definitely looked it up.”
Daisy hesitated.
That was answer enough.
Natasha’s smile widened just a fraction. “You did.”
“I was curious,” Daisy defended. “Scientifically.”
“Of course.”
Daisy rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
“Okay, first of all,” she said, lifting a finger like she was presenting evidence in court, “half of them think I’m some reckless chaos gremlin who breaks buildings every five minutes.”
Natasha tilted her head slightly. “You did collapse many buildings.”
“That was strategic,” Daisy argued. “And it was justified.”
Natasha didn’t comment. The silence was very loud.
Daisy continued anyway. “And second, they write you like you’re permanently lurking in shadows.”
Natasha’s expression stayed calm. “I do enjoy shadows.”
“Yeah, but not that much,” Daisy muttered. “One of them had you appear dramatically on top of a moving helicopter for no reason.”
“That sounds efficient.”
“There wasn’t even a mission!” Daisy said. “You just appeared to brood.”
Natasha smiled faintly.
Daisy waved a hand in frustration.
“And don’t even get me started on the tactical stuff. One story had me quake a building while you were still inside it.”
Natasha blinked slowly. “That would be inconvenient.”
“Exactly.”
Daisy leaned forward, lowering her voice slightly even though she is all alone in her soundproof bunk.
“And the relationship stuff,” she added, “they act like we’re constantly trying to kill each other.”
Natasha’s eyebrow lifted. “We spar.”
“That’s different.”
A quiet moment passed.
Then Daisy muttered, almost reluctantly. “And some of them are just… wrong.”
Natasha’s gaze sharpened slightly with amusement. “Oh?”
Daisy rubbed the back of her neck.
“They write the whole dynamic weird,” she said. “Like I’m either completely clueless or… I don’t know. Way more reckless than I actually am.”
Natasha watched her patiently.
Daisy hesitated.
“And the… other stuff,” she added vaguely.
“The other stuff,” Natasha repeated.
Daisy gestured helplessly.
“You know. That stuff. Bedroom stuff.”
Natasha’s smile turned slow and dangerously entertained. “Ah.”
Daisy sighed. “They make it sound like I’m constantly trying to start something.”
Natasha leaned a little closer to the camera.
“And you are not?”
“Not like that,” Daisy said quickly. “Also some of them think you’re the intimidating one all the time.”
Natasha’s lips curved.
Daisy crossed her arms. “And a lot of them think you’re the one in charge.”
Natasha didn’t respond right away, which immediately made Daisy suspicious.
“…What?”
Natasha’s green eyes glinted. “Are you sure that part is inaccurate?”
Daisy squinted at her.
Natasha rested her chin against her knuckles again, studying her through the screen like she was enjoying this far too much.
“From what I see,” Natasha continued calmly, “it is actually quite true.”
Daisy stared.
Natasha’s voice dropped just slightly, teasing. “You are definitely the tamer one.”
A small pause.
Then she added with perfect composure, “And much more obedient.”
Daisy nearly choked. “Oh my god.”
Natasha laughed softly again.
Daisy pointed at the screen, scandalized. “That is slander.”
Natasha tilted her head. “Is it?”
“Yes!”
“You are very confident about that.”
“I am!”
Natasha’s smile deepened. “Interesting.”
Daisy is half-glaring at the screen and says stubbornly, “I am not obedient.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I am not.”
Natasha’s eyebrow lifted. “Agent Johnson.”
Daisy froze slightly.
That tone.
Natasha watched her reaction with clear satisfaction.
“…See?” Natasha said.
Daisy groaned loudly. “I hate you.”
Natasha’s smile softened just a little. “No you don’t.”
Daisy groaned, dragging both hands down her face. “I can’t believe I called you.”
“Yet you did.”
“Because I thought you’d be supportive!”
“I am supportive,” Natasha said smoothly. “I am supporting the writers’ accuracy.”
Daisy narrowed her eyes. “I regret even looking into Quack.”
Natasha looked entirely unconvinced. “You saved some of the stories, didn’t you.”
“…Maybe.”
“How many?”
Daisy muttered something unintelligible.
Natasha leaned closer to the screen. “How many, Agent Johnson?”
Daisy sighed dramatically. “…Under fifty. Just like, forty one.”
Natasha’s grin widened. “And you claim you regret it.”
“I am,” Daisy insisted, dropping her head back against the wall behind her. “Because now I can’t delete the memories of some images and scenes they made.”
Natasha’s eyebrow rose slowly, interest sharpening.
“Very talented artists and writers on the internet,” Daisy added quickly, like that somehow made the situation better. “Too talented, actually.”
Natasha watched her with the quiet patience of someone who knew the full story would come out eventually.
Daisy groaned. “You know what, never mind. Forget I said anything.”
“No,” Natasha said calmly. “Please continue.”
Daisy pointed accusingly at the screen. “You are enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe.”
Daisy exhaled dramatically.
“Okay, imagine opening a page expecting, I don’t know, bad writing and dramatic slow-burn tension,” she said. “And instead you’re immediately hit with extremely detailed artwork of—”
She stopped herself.
Natasha’s expression was dangerously neutral.
“Of?” she prompted.
Daisy squinted at her. “You’re baiting me.”
“Yes.”
Daisy shook her head. “I’m not describing it.”
“Pity.”
“They drew us,” Daisy said finally, rubbing her temple. “In… situations.”
Natasha hummed thoughtfully. “That sounds flattering.”
“It was very… anatomically confident,” Daisy muttered.
Natasha’s lips twitched again.
“And the stories,” Daisy continued, now unable to stop venting, “they write you like this unstoppable seduction machine.”
Natasha looked amused. “Pretty sure that part is accurate.”
“And they write me like I’m completely helpless against it.”
Natasha’s smile returned slowly. “Also accurate.”
Daisy shook her head quickly. “No. No. See, that’s the problem. They exaggerate everything.”
Natasha leaned back slightly in her chair on the other end of the call, studying her.
“Give me an example.”
Daisy hesitated. “That is a trap.”
“Possibly.”
Daisy sighed.
“Okay. One of them wrote this whole scene where we’re arguing during a mission,” she said. “And somehow it turns into this… very dramatic moment where you pin me against a wall.”
Natasha did not react outwardly, but her eyes definitely brightened. “And?”
“And that’s it,” Daisy said quickly. “That’s where I stopped reading.”
Natasha was silent for a moment.
Then she asked very calmly, “Did you?”
“…Eventually.”
Natasha laughed softly.
Daisy pointed at her again. “Don’t encourage them!”
“I’m not encouraging anyone,” Natasha said smoothly. “I’m simply impressed by their observational skills.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Then Daisy muttered, “Honestly, some were surprisingly well written.”
Natasha laughed softly. “And some were accurate.”
Daisy groaned. “I walked right into that.”
“You really did.”
Daisy slid further down in the chair, defeated.
“I swear, if Coulson ever finds out the internet named our relationship after a duck, I’m transferring to another planet.”
Natasha’s shoulders shook slightly with quiet laughter.
“Relax,” she said. “Coulson barely understands modern memes. Fanfiction is far beyond his threat assessment.”
“That is not reassuring.”
Natasha studied her for another second.
Then her voice softened just slightly.
“So,” she said, “after forty one stories…”
Daisy groaned again.
“…which story was your favorite?”
Daisy’s eyes widened. “Favorite?!”
“You saved forty-one,” Natasha reminded her.
“That was research.”
“Mm.”
For a moment they just looked at each other through the screen.
The teasing settled into something softer, quieter.
Natasha rested her chin on her hand again.
“You had a long day,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Russian special forces, ancient dark magic books, internet fanfiction.”
Daisy sighed. “Not exactly in that order, but yeah.”
Natasha smiled faintly.
“Next time,” she said, “just call me first when you want to open the fanfic.”
Daisy narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why.”
Natasha’s expression turned thoughtful.
“Because,” she said lightly, “then you wouldn’t need forty-one stories to imagine things.”
Daisy groaned. “Oh my god.”
Natasha smiled, unrepentant. “Quality control is important, dorogaya.”
Daisy shook her head, but she was smiling now, tension easing from her shoulders.
She lowered her voice slightly. “You still with Rogers and Wilson?”
Natasha nodded. “For now.”
“Europe?”
“Syria, actually.”
“Ah.”
Daisy tapped her fingers lightly against the phone.
Natasha noticed. “You’re thinking.”
Daisy hesitated.
Then she said, “You should come visit.”
Natasha’s eyebrow lifted.“The Playground?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a very official invitation.”
“Technically I didn’t say officially.”
Natasha smirked faintly.
Daisy shrugged. “We’ve got spare rooms.”
“I doubt Coulson would appreciate me dropping in unannounced.”
Daisy grinned slightly. “Coulson would absolutely appreciate it.”
Natasha considered that. “…He would.”
Daisy rested her chin on her knees.
“Also,” she added casually, “if you show up, Sam will short-circuit.”
Natasha laughed softly. “That is tempting.”
“Right?”
Natasha studied her for another moment. “You just want to try some of the things you read on the fanfiction.”
Daisy’ eyes widens. “Oh my god, definitely not that.”
“Sure.”
A comfortable silence followed.
Then Natasha leaned slightly closer to the camera again.
“But if I visit,” she added thoughtfully, “you’re showing me the forty-one stories.”
Daisy’s head snapped up. “Absolutely not.”
Natasha’s smile turned wicked. “You saved them.”
“For myself!”
“So you admit you enjoy them.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Johnson.”
“No.”
Natasha leaned back again, clearly entertained. “We’ll negotiate later.”
Daisy groaned. “You are the worst.”
Natasha’s eyes warmed slightly. “But you love me.”
“…Yeah.”
For a moment neither of them said anything again.
Just the quiet connection between two screens, two places, two people who had both survived too many battles to pretend the small moments didn’t matter.
Then Daisy glanced toward the end of the hallway. “I should probably get back before someone thinks I’m kidnapped.”
Natasha nodded. “Probably wise.”
Daisy shifted the phone, preparing to end the call.
But she paused.
“…Hey.”
Natasha looked back up. “Yeah?”
Daisy hesitated just a fraction.
Then she said quietly, “Miss you.”
Natasha didn’t answer right away.
But the look on her face softened in a way very few people ever got to see.
“Yeah,” she said gently. “Me too.”