[ S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, Washington DC ]
Nick Fury fell into one of his classic brooding silences. Just when Daisy wondered if she should take her leave, the director suddenly asked, "That island in the middle of the lake in Costa Rica—any chance it's causing particle diffusion? Any mutant bugs still crawling around? Hill and the others can't be involved directly. You're a fresh face. Wrap up the loose ends, and then you can head to Yale."
His tone left no room for negotiation. Daisy hesitated but eventually nodded. This wasn't like her solo trip to Puerto Rico—this time she had the mighty banner of S.H.I.E.L.D. behind her. If things went sideways, the fallout was theirs, but the connections and clout she could gain? All hers. Not a bad trade.
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Back in her room, Daisy found Maria waiting.
Though they weren't quite Nick-and-Frank level buddies, Daisy and Maria had developed a quiet camaraderie. Daisy didn't make a fuss—she poured herself some water and waited.
"About the scar treatment... from last time?" Maria's voice held a rare uncertainty.
Daisy blinked, a little caught off guard. Talking about old injuries—especially those in delicate areas—wasn't exactly cocktail conversation.
"There are still two scars. Could you treat them too?"
"Sure."
"Can you come to my room?"
Daisy agreed with a casualness she didn't feel. Several passing students gave her that slow-blinked, knowing look as she followed Hill down the hall. She ignored them with every ounce of fake confidence she could muster.
Hill's room was a study in military discipline. Everything had its place. Books on warfare, biographies, linguistics, and even etiquette—all sorted with razor-sharp precision. Daisy felt like a cat walking into a naval officer's office. Compared to her own chaos-laced den, this was a museum.
"So... how should we—" Daisy trailed off, catching sight of Hill already unbuttoning her shirt. Daisy nearly choked on her own spit.
This wasn't just fanservice. This was ambush fanservice.
Hill, in nothing but her underwear, sat with her back to Daisy. The shoulder scar had completely healed, but the gunshot wound near her waist was still prominent.
Daisy hesitated. That spot was dangerously close to Hill's nerve center—not to mention her... well, ahem. Also, were these walls soundproof? She wasn't sure. If Hill made any loud noises, people would definitely talk.
Daisy had half a mind to stuff a towel in Hill's mouth, but this wasn't an underground surgery—it was scar treatment.
"I'm going to start," she said softly.
Hill nodded, visibly composed but clearly tense.
Daisy focused and sent a subtle vibration through her fingertips—targeted, gentle, precise.
"Mmmf—" Hill's hands flew to her mouth as the sensations rocketed through her body. The vibrations were meant to disrupt scar tissue, but they had a side effect of... tickling deep neurological nerves. Very deep.
Hill's breathing hitched. Her face flushed red. She gritted her teeth and clung to the chair like it was keeping her tethered to Earth.
Daisy kept going, completely innocent, but Hill's legs suddenly jerked. A full-body tremor shook her as her muscles contracted, her vision briefly blanked, and all higher thought was replaced by pure sensation.
When it ended, she sat still, panting, unable to move.
Daisy, still wide-eyed and clutching her vibrating hand like a dangerous artifact, took a cautious step back. "I think... we should finish the rest another day. The director has an assignment."
"Y-yes. Thank you," Hill managed, not moving from the chair.
As soon as Daisy left, she collapsed in embarrassment.
Outside the door, Daisy inspected her fingers as if they were WMDs. "Was my vibration frequency too high?" she mumbled. "I swear, I was only trying to heal her. Maybe I should test it on the maid when I get back to New York..."
Shaking her head clear, Daisy headed for the archives. She needed to prepare for Costa Rica. There were a few standard playbooks for dealing with weird mutations: gas leaks, industrial accidents, alien mushrooms—blame anything but the truth. The fallback excuse? Terrorists.
Terrorists were the ultimate scapegoat. They blew up everything from the World Trade Center to kindergarten sandboxes. They were the Marvel Universe's customer service for supernatural disasters.
But Daisy wasn't planning to play it safe. This was her chance to flex some muscle and build connections. If she played her cards right, she might gain more than just clearance—maybe even influence.
She needed help.
Enter Leo Fitz, the engineering wunderkind who once modded her pistol. Not quite a Tony Stark, but a solid junior varsity version. Fitz had a good heart, sharp brain, and the charming awkwardness of a golden retriever trapped in a lab coat.
"Costa Rica?" Fitz blinked. "Why would you want me for—"
Daisy cut in with a half-true story about particle diffusion and mutant bugs.
"Wait, wait... so the Director asked for me specifically?" Fitz's eyes lit up like it was prom night.
Daisy chuckled. "Sure. The Director. Definitely not me."
Fitz tried to play it cool but puffed up like a peacock. Daisy smirked, letting him bask in the fake glory.
"Isn't your girlfriend, Jemma Simmons, a biochem genius? Bring her too. We'll make a team of it."
Fitz sputtered, "She's not my girlfriend!"
"Right. Not yet," Daisy teased, giving him a knowing look.
Simmons was more composed when she arrived, holding two encyclopedic tomes that looked capable of deflecting bullets. Her long flaxen hair bounced with every step, and though she was clearly a nerd's nerd, she handled Daisy's presence with grace.
With the team assembled, Daisy muttered something about direct orders from the top and herded them onto the Quinjet.
As they soared off, she glanced at her fingers again.
"Seriously, maybe I should recalibrate... or maybe Maria should be my test subject next time... for science."
To be continued...
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[ POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS ]