Archive of Our Own ^beta

Daisy isn’t entirely sure how long the ring has been burning a hole in Robbie’s pocket. She’d found it in the glove compartment of his car while searching for a flashlight, and there at the bottom was a small black box. She probably shouldn’t have opened it, just told herself it was something else and chastised herself for snooping, but she couldn’t help herself. The ring inside wasn’t anything flashy, just a thin band of white gold. Fiscally responsible and practical. Worrying about whether a stone would come loose is the last thing she’d need while punching some guy’s face in.

Busy admiring her discovery, she’d promptly hit her head on the door frame at hearing from behind her, “Guess I should’ve found a better place to stash that thing.”

She’d fumbled her way through a defense, but all he did was pluck the box out of her hands and put it right back where it was in the glove compartment. The what part of the engagement was lost, he’d said, but not the how, and she would just have to wait.

It’s been agonizing. Every time she gets in his car, she stares at the glove box, aware of what’s in there, and every time she does she can feel Robbie’s smug satisfaction. Learning he intended to propose hadn’t been a surprise-surprise. They’d talked about it before; impossible not to after years of dating. Still, they hadn’t put a specific date on it. Just a vague someday.

And someday was over a month ago.

Trying to narrow it down has proven impossible. The day they met, their anniversary, was weeks ago. There’s no holiday coming up. Her birthday’s even further away. She’s beginning to wonder whether he’s doing this on purpose and the day he’d planned on popping the question has passed already.

It doesn’t help that for the past several days he’s been quieter and grumpier than usual. Terse responses, delayed texts, postponed lunches, more nights spent at his house than their shared room at the base. She’d gone so far as to ask both Gabe and Mack if they knew anything, and struck out there, too. (Though both men did earn themselves a glare apiece after informing her that they not only have known about the proposal since the beginning, but had offered input on the ring.)

May might be able to help, to at least get a sense on whether Robbie’s emotional state has to do with her or not, but Daisy hasn’t yet wanted to resort to that level of invasiveness. Provided May would even agree to do it in the first place instead of telling Daisy to man up and ask her would-be fiancé what the problem is.

So, seven weeks after the Ring Incident, Daisy leans against the exterior of Robbie’s house waiting for him to return from his latest off-the-books assignment that protocol requires her to not ask about. The bloody chain she’s seen him hosing down more than once rather gives the game away, but Mack has endlessly pummeled the words “plausible deniability” into her ever since Robbie signed on to freelance. She knows, but she can’t know.

Robbie pulls into the driveway as she’s fine-tuning how to broach the topic. He’s in the middle of a conversation, the kind which, as always, sets her teeth on edge. If he were anyone else, she’d assume he was merely on the phone. But it’s rarely that simple when it comes to Robbie.

“— listen to me for once, you don’t think I’ve been doing this long enough?” A pause. “When have I ever said that?” Another pause. “Give me a fucking break, that is not —”

He stops mid-sentence when he shuts off the car and spots her. There is no phone or earpiece in sight, as expected. She’s come to terms with the fact that he finds it easier to carry a conversation with Ghost Rider by speaking his side aloud, but even after all this time it unnerves her to know he’s not talking to himself, he’s talking to the demon that possesses him.

“Hey, you,” she says as she unhitches herself from the siding. He accepts her kiss hello. If only that were the end of it. The darkness in his expression that’s taken root recently is unmissable, as is the tension in his stance. “I made dinner and picked up some wine. The good stuff.”

A flicker of mirth cuts through the gloom. “You made dinner? Is it edible?”

“You know, actually, it is.”

She’s come to terms with that, too, her inability to cook. It’s just as well; much less work to scrub dishes than make them.

“All right, let me change first. Work was messy.”

Daisy scrunches up her nose as she follows him into the house. “Do me a favor and keep that to yourself next time, Reyes.”

There’s a reason she didn’t object very hard to the plausible deniability protocol.

She prepares plates for them both while he showers, fingers restlessly drumming on the counter. Her mind whirls with what could be behind his behavior. She doesn’t think it’s his … work. She knows he doesn’t enjoy doing it, but there’s also no such thing as resigning from his particular position, so he’d made peace with it. She hasn’t heard of any disputes between him and anyone else either. (Any new disputes, at least. He and the interim regional director continue to drive the other up a wall.) Gabe is fine. Better than fine, what with his impending master’s degree conferral.

Which leaves it to be something to do with her. In a way, she’d much prefer the fear that he’s cheating on her or something equally as mundanely explainable. But of his fidelity she has no doubts, so mundane goes out the window. Trying to work up the courage to propose is improbable as well. She already knows he’s going to, she’s seen the ring, and if her answer wasn’t going to be yes, she’d have told him by now.

She manages only to wait until he’s halfway through his “not bad” dinner before losing her already weak grip on patience.

“Okay, I give up,” she says. “You win whatever game I didn’t realize we were playing here.”

Robbie blinks at her. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve been acting weird for days, Robbie.”

“I don’t know what you’re —”

“Oh, don’t even try it. If this is your leadup to a proposal, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Robbie sets his fork down, then takes a deep swig of wine. Unnervingly blank, he replies, “I’m not going to propose.”

“You mean not tonight?”

“I mean, maybe not at all.”

Daisy stares at him, blindsided at the sudden left turn the night has taken. “Am I having a stroke right now? Because it sounds like you’re breaking up with me.”

He looks her over, as though deciding whether to lie or not. Then, finally, “The Rider said something to me that I haven’t known how to tell you.”

“What the hell could Ghost Rider say that would make you —”

“Lincoln.”

Her breath stutters to a stop in her chest. She can’t say she was expecting that response. “Lincoln? What does Lincoln have to do with this?”

“The Rider can bring him back.”

“He … what?”

“One of the scores he still has to settle is with this spirit of resurrection. In exchange for having its debt wiped clean, it would bring Lincoln back to life for you.”

Daisy has seen a great many wonders since she joined S.H.I.E.L.D., phenomena at the farthest reaches of the universe, things Mary Shelley or H.P. Lovecraft could only dream of.

This? Would beat them all.

“No way. If a being like that existed, S.H.I.E.L.D. would know.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? Daisy, this is so far beyond S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Okay, even if that’s possible, why would the Rider offer?"

“Because marriage is a binding pact that would mean permanently splitting my loyalties.” Robbie leans back and gazes at her as though it’s the last time he’ll have the chance. “He believes that if you had the choice, you’d choose Lincoln.”

Blood pounds loud and heavy in her head. The Rider’s lied and twisted the truth before. Or maybe Robbie’s dramatizing it and the offer isn’t black and white.

Or maybe it’s exactly what Robbie claims, because it’s exactly the kind of thing the Rider would do. Having Robbie under his thrall is what he cares about most. To have Robbie make a deal with someone else? Forever? Unacceptable.

Which means that the offer must be legit. That someone really could … that Lincoln …

“Do you agree with the Rider?” Daisy asks. The pain in Robbie’s face suggests as much. “You think I’d leave you?”

Robbie gives a harsh laugh. “Daisy, the only reason you and I even met is because Lincoln died.”

She can still hear it in her head clear as day. She can still see it, the image of the quinjet floating unreachably in space before detonating with Lincoln inside it. She relives it every year on the day of his death, and with every check sent to Amanda. She’d long ago accepted his death, but she’s also had to accept that closure isn’t something she’ll get, not with the way they were separated.

She’s never had the want or need to compare Robbie and Lincoln. She’s a different person now than she was then, and there wouldn’t be a point. Why measure the living, breathing man she loves to a ghost?

But if the Rider really is true to his word, Lincoln could again be living and breathing, too. She would have to compare.

“Why would you make me do this?” she asks thickly. “Instead of a ring, I get this bullshit question?”

“You should know you have a choice.”

“A choice? This isn’t a choice. This is the Rider never learning how to share, so he’s pulling out all the stops to keep you to himself.”

“Seems like you’ve made it anyway, if you have to think about it.”

“Don’t you dare speak for me,” she snaps. “You don’t get to come in here and drop a bombshell like that then decide I’ve done something when I haven’t. I sure as hell am not the one so eager to give up on us. But thanks for letting me know you’ve had one foot out the door this entire fucking time.”

“You and Gabe are my entire world, Daisy. But I can see the writing on the wall.”

“What writing, that I don’t actually love you?”

“I know you love me, just … maybe not as much.”

Chair screeching, Daisy gets furiously to her feet. “I’m not doing this.”

“What am I supposed to tell the Rider?”

“Tell him to go screw himself, that’s what. And tell yourself the same thing while you’re at it.”

She slams the door on her way out.

For a very blissful few seconds after Daisy wakes the next morning, she forgets. The dinner had gone well, Robbie neatly, teasingly pretending he didn’t catch her hints about the proposal just to exasperate her, then they went to bed. Altogether a nice night. As the fog of sleep fades and she realizes she’s alone, however, it all comes flooding back.

She wishes it were a nightmare, but she knows it’s not. Robbie did, in fact, present her with an ultimatum. Him or Lincoln, like that’s a routine thing to ask someone. She doesn’t have anyone to seek out for commiseration either. May had never opened herself up again in that way after Coulson, Fitz and Simmons had never had anyone but each other, nor Mack and Yo-Yo. Well, Daisy allows, there was Agent Keller for a while. But she doubts the poor guy would come out on top if Yo-Yo had to choose between them.

Daisy stops herself. This is not helping. Whether it’d be a straightforward answer for Yo-Yo or not, that would mean there is an answer, which is a distressing prospect. She doesn’t have an Agent Keller; her love for Lincoln and Robbie is just different, not more or less.

What a banner start to the day.

She doesn’t bother hiding her dark mood as she goes to the kitchen to grab breakfast. She doesn’t have the energy. Neither does she have motivation to deal with the paperwork on her desk, of which there is plenty.

As she’s biting into an apple, her phone dings with a reminder. Great. She’d forgotten about Gabe flying in today for spring break. With Robbie having been scheduled for another mission, she’d volunteered to pick him up from the airport. She hadn’t thought twice about it. Now, she’s going to have to try to put on a front, or else drag Gabe into what happened.

Or, as per usual, Gabe would sense something’s off immediately. Indeed, two hours later on the ride back from the airport, he scrutinizes her ringless left hand. He lasts only until they’re on the freeway, then asks, “Did you say no?”

She doesn’t bother pretending she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “He didn’t ask.”

“No, he told me he was going to do it last week. We’re supposed to go to dinner on Wednesday to celebrate. It’s the reason I came out here.”

Add that to the list of things Robbie had neglected to mention.

“Guess you’ll have to cancel those reservations. Sorry to disappoint.” She takes a deep breath. Gabe isn’t at fault, she shouldn’t take it out on him.

“What happened?”

Oh, nothing much, he just told me his demon overlord could bring back my dead ex-boyfriend.

Gabe puts his hand on her arm when she doesn’t answer as she takes an exit off the freeway. “Daisy?”

“Ghost Rider couldn’t keep well enough alone,” she says, “and Robbie listened.”

“Why would the Rider care if you get married?”

“I don’t know all the details. Something about sacred pacts. Your brother felt it was worth grinding our entire relationship to a halt.”

“Okay, well, he’s being an idiot. I’m gonna talk to him.”

“No, you’re not. This is between me and him.” She glances over at Gabe with a wan smile. “Thanks for caring, though, kiddo.”

“’Course.”

“So,” Daisy says, wanting off the topic, “what have you been up to?”

When a third day passes without so much as a text from Robbie, Daisy decides to add another reason to be pissed at him. No, she doesn’t want to talk to him, not until she can get her own head around the situation, but she wants to be able to tell him to leave her alone.

Perhaps somehow, Ghost Rider picks up on that. The extent of his powers and how he uses them are still esoteric to her, who is she to assume limits where there aren’t any? Or maybe on top of a resurrection spirit, he knows a sandman, too, because she has no other explanation for how when she goes to sleep that night, Lincoln is front and center in her dreams.

Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t find that strange; but these aren’t normal circumstances, and tonight, it doesn’t feel like she’s asleep at all. Either the dream is disturbingly vivid or he really is here, in some form, standing at the foot of her bed. He looks as casual and put-together as he did in Afterlife, ripped from the pages of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. It’s a stark contrast to her final moments with him, bloody, pale, and scared. He also looks utterly confused, which adds to her own confusion about whether this is a dream or not.

“Lincoln?” she asks, slowly getting out of bed. “Is this really you?”

“I don’t know, I …” Lincoln examines at his hands, his body, her, growing ever more bewildered. “I don’t know.”

Only one way to find out. In three strides, Daisy wraps her arms around him and hugs solid flesh and bone. He even smells the same as he used to.

“I don’t understand,” Lincoln says against her hair. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know any more than you do,” she says, pulling out of the embrace to peer up at him. “I went to sleep and here you are.”

“You didn’t do anything?”

“No, I — well —”

She hadn’t done anything, but someone had. Of course this isn’t a coincidence or her brain acting up. Her luck isn’t good enough for that.

“Ghost Rider,” she seethes.

“Ghost Rider? Who the hell is Ghost Rider?”

Daisy wishes she could be so in the dark. She wishes she’d never met that goddamn spirit of vengeance. Granted, if she’d never met Ghost Rider, she’d never have met his host either, but that’s beside the point.

“He’s a demon. He made me an offer, and I’m guessing you’re here because he wants to force my hand. I haven’t given him a decision and he’s impatient. You’d think someone who’s been around for thousands of years would —”

“Demon? What, like Hive?”

If only.

“No, like an actual demon. Things have gotten a little more complicated since you …”

The word catches in her throat. It shouldn’t, not anymore, yet Lincoln has to fill in, “Since I died.”

“Yeah. Since then.”

Lincoln surveys the room, registering the changes. “You’re not in the same base. Where are you?”

“Upstate New York. It’s a place called the Lighthouse. I don’t have time to tell you everything.” That’d take longer than she assumes this dream — or whatever — will last, and frankly, she hasn’t a clue on how she’d begin to nutshell the past decade. The last Lincoln knew, quinjets couldn’t even maneuver in space, let alone travel across galaxies in a split second. Daisy slowly studies him, the way his expression seems to be one of peace despite the ongoing confusion. “How are you? Wherever you are.”

“Good,” he says. “There’s no supernatural shit to deal with or government indexing, I can just … be. It’s nice.”

She glances over at her bedside table, where a photo of her and Robbie rests. “And do you … I mean, are you able to see us down here? What we’re doing?”

Who we plan on marrying?

“Nothing specific,” Lincoln says. “It’s more like I can feel what you’re feeling. I can tell if you’re happy, or sad, or hurt. Or if something’s wrong, like now.”

“Yeah,” she says with a helpless laugh, “that about sums it up.”

Lincoln sits down on the edge of the bed and she follows suit. “Tell me.”

She wavers. She can’t explain the existence of the offer without explaining why there’s an offer. How would he react? Does it even matter? She owes him the truth. “The Rider said he could bring you back. No fine print or human sacrifices, just you.”

“How?” Lincoln looks about as dumbfounded as she’d been. “Why?”

“Magic.” Wearily, she goes to the nightstand to grab the photo and shows it to him. She’d taken the selfie of them two anniversaries ago, kissing on a planet of perpetual sunrise. Robbie’s not overly fond of space, but she is, and she’d promised him a place with a view. “This is Robbie Reyes. He was going to propose, and I was going to say yes.”

“Oh.” There’s sadness on Lincoln’s face, but not anger. “Can’t really blame the guy, can I?” As he hands the photo back to her, a frown slowly creases his brow. “Wait, what do you mean he was going to propose?”

“Uh, well, that’s where the deal comes in. Robbie’s sort of possessed.”

“Possessed?”

“Long story. It’s not his choice, but … anyway, the gist is, Ghost Rider said that if I end things with him, he would bring you back for me.”

“And you said no?”

“I haven’t said anything. That’s why you’re here, I think. He’s showing me what I could have if I agree to the deal.”

She studies the man in front of her once more, his immaculate clothes, the way he carries himself. He seems so content. It occurs to her only then that there’s a second part to the deal that, selfishly, she hadn’t considered. The way Robbie’d phrased the deal — the way it’d been phrased to him, too, no doubt — she’d thought it was aimed only at her life, nothing else. Who would she rather be with, Lincoln or Robbie?

But no, it’s not only her life, is it?

“He’s showing me what you could have,” she realizes.

If Lincoln comes back, healthy and whole, he wouldn’t have just her. He’d have the rest of his life, too. His sister. His powers. A career.

Fuck.

She doesn’t know how the Rider would plan on enforcing the deal, but she’s very sure that she wouldn’t be allowed to have both. Whatever the method, she wouldn’t get to be with Robbie and have Lincoln alive again.

Fuck.

“Do you want to come back?” Daisy asks. “If you could, would you?”

“I don’t think …”

“Answer me. Please.”

“Yeah, Daisy,” he says without hesitation. “Of course I would. I miss you, and Amanda. I miss breathing.”

“So … when you said the afterlife is nice …”

“It is nice. But it’s not living.”

Daisy shuts her eyes. It’d have been her answer, too, probably, if she were in his position.

“I’m not saying you should agree to the deal,” Lincoln urges. “It’s messed up.”

While he sounds earnest about that, there’s no putting the genie back in the bottle. She knows now what’s at stake. And he had saved the world from becoming Hive’s minions, he’d paid for her mistakes — shouldn’t he above all get a second chance?

“I have to go,” Lincoln says before she can formulate a response. “Time’s up.”

That figures. The second he adds another wrinkle to what’s going on, he’s yanked away.

Lincoln kisses her forehead, and a moment later, she gasps herself awake. He’s nowhere to be found, but their conversation is etched in her brain like goddamn hieroglyphics.

Hours later, she stands in the hallway awaiting the conclusion of Robbie’s debrief. She hopes her internal freakout isn’t visible to the handful of agents who’ve passed by in the last forty minutes. She deserves one thing to go right this week. Robbie, on the other hand, is not so easily fooled. The neutral expression on his face as he steps out of the meeting room changes the instant he sees her, and not only from surprise.

Mack’s face has plenty of concern as well, but they’ve been partners for long enough that he knows to let her deal with her own messes. If she needs him, she’ll find him.

“Got a minute?” Daisy asks once Mack leaves.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” There’s a gash on Robbie’s cheekbone held shut by butterfly strips, and he limps slightly as he follows her into what used to be a break room that now functions as glorified storage. She wonders what caused his injuries. Not that it matters; they’ll be gone by nightfall.

“Mission go okay?” she asks perfunctorily.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

I, she scoffs to herself. As if you were alone out there. You’re never alone.

She waits expectantly for him to bring up the dream. Maybe she can forgive him not texting or calling immediately, what with the mission and all, but right now there’s no excuse. Yet he doesn’t say anything, merely raises his eyebrows like she’s the one who has some explaining to do.

“Anything you want to tell me?” she prompts.

“Uh … no?”

“No? Nothing about my dead ex-boyfriend, maybe?”

“Lincoln?”

“No, Ward. Yes, of course Lincoln.”

If Robbie’s obliviousness is an act, it’s a very good one. “What are you accusing me of, exactly?”

“He came to me last night,” Daisy says. “I mean, it was a dream, but Ghost Rider was behind it.”

“What do you mean he was behind it?”

“He’s the only being I know with that kind of power. Or he cut a deal with a being who does. Either way, it was him.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Why do you think?”

“No, he wouldn’t do that without saying anything to me.”

“Since when does he have to answer to you? Go ahead, ask him.”

Robbie’s gaze goes from baffled to vacant as he consults his alter-ego. She sits there impatiently, wishing for once that he would speak his answers aloud. At least then she might have a slight idea of how the conversation is going. If Robbie’s angry or upset or if he doesn’t care at all. No, she admits reluctantly, that’s unfair. She knows more than most how deeply he cares. The situation, however, is a bitch and a half.

Just as her patience is reaching its limit, Robbie returns to himself. His lips draw into a thin line and a muscle in his jaw jumps. That answers that question, then.

“Well?”

“He’s sick of waiting,” Robbie confirms. “Since I wasn’t pressing the issue, he did. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Clearly, it is.”

“Did it make a difference?” Robbie asks. “The Rider said he could only set up the … meeting, not listen to it.”

She wants to tell Robbie an emphatic no. That the Rider’s stunt was just that, a meaningless stunt. But she can’t. It made a hell of a difference.

“Lincoln said some things that I hadn’t thought about before,” she understates. “I want to know if you had anything to do with it.”

Robbie narrows his eyes. “You really think I’d manipulate you like that?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore. You sprung that deal on me because Ghost Rider threw a tantrum. I don’t know how far you’ll go.”

“I didn’t want that. I fought with the bastard for a week until you forced the conversation.”

“You’re blaming me for this?”

“No, just — I was hoping I could change the Rider’s mind, or wait him out. But that only made him commit to the idea more.” Robbie approaches her slowly, as though afraid she’ll shove him away. A valid fear, admittedly. Their last interaction hadn’t gone well, nor has this one. “I was a dick before, I’m sorry. But the way Lincoln was taken, you’d have every right to want him back, and I’m fucking terrified of losing you.”

“Insecure, you mean.”

“Sue me.”

“Tell me what the terms are,” she says irritably. She’d been too stunned when first he’d presented the deal to stick around for the details. She doesn’t want them now either, but she needs to see the full playing field. “You said I’d have to give you up?”

“You’d never be able to see me again,” Robbie says. “Literally. I could be standing two feet from you and you wouldn’t know it. I’d be like …” he snorts, “a ghost.”

“Okay, so like your night job.” Robbie’s score-settling and S.H.I.E.L.D. contracting had long since ceased to be considered a night job by any stretch, but using the euphemism recalls a much simpler time. How clueless they’d both been for where they’d end up.

“No, it’d be like if I came home from the night job and told everyone I was back except you.”

“Everyone else would be able to see you?” They wouldn’t be caught up in the Rider’s games, then. Gabe wouldn’t suffer, or the team. “Fine, so we could just … I don’t know, do letters or voice notes or something. Unless you’re telling me he could restrict that, too.”

“He might. Even if he couldn’t, come on, Daisy. We’d never be able to keep that up. And I wouldn’t want you to.” He sets his hands on her hips and slides his fingers just beneath the hem of her shirt. Not far, but enough to send goosebumps across her skin and drive his point home. “You deserve someone who can be with you.”

She wants to tell him to bury that line of thinking six feet under. She’s not with him because he can touch her. But to have no trace of him, left with nothing but memories and the constant wondering if he’s in the same room, she can’t say it’s not a lonely prospect.

“Why the fuck does he care about you so much? He’s willing to wipe out someone’s debt and warp reality to keep you his slave? Why can’t he just leave us alone?”

“It’s not about me, or you. It’s about power.”

With more conviction than she feels, she declares, “It’s all just some sick test. He’s bluffing.”

“It’s not a bluff.”

“How do you know?”

“Because after fifteen years of this, I know.”

She looks away. What does she have to counter that? If anyone could suss out whether the Rider’s lying or not, it’d be the man who’s housed him for half his life.

“I’ll buy you some more time,” Robbie says quietly. “I’ll keep him down as long as I can.”

Not long enough.