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Chapter Text

"Next."

Tony was sick of these interviews. Sure, some of them were pretty hot, but none of them were worthy to be the assistant to the CEO of Stark Industries. They were all so pretentious. Take that Hannah girl for instance: gushing all over him and his inventions, not knowing an inkling on Stark Industries. Or that Lily: acting so nonchalant in a bid to stand out from the crowd.

They all wore the same thing to him. All black and white. He could not see colour, not yet, and he doubted he ever would. One hear stories of living forever in greys, never once touching their soulmate. He had long gave up finding his soulmate, and stuck to a routine of one night stands with strangers.

Tony was not looking for love when he demanded to do interviews personally. He was looking for a capable person who could assist him. But when a tall, slim woman entered his office, and shook his hand, he could see her strawberry blonde hair, her impeccable white suit, her six inched black patent leather stacked heels, her cherry red lips.

He blinked in surprise, more at the woman in front of him, than at his knowledge of colours despite never knowing them. Tony forced himself to stop staring, and glanced at the screen in front of him.

"Take a seat, Miss Potts."

***

"Virginia Potts."

Pepper heard her name called out by the receptionist. Smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her suit, she stood up. Her heel caught on the woolen carpet. Howbeit, she regained her composure and strutted into the room.

This was her fifth interview in the same day, and every last one of them was the same. Same questions, same answers, same replies. She laid eyes on the infamous inventor, and saw what she expected: hubris and arrogance. She crossed the expansive marble floor. Extending a perfectly manicured hand, she shook his hand.

What warm brown eyes he has. Wait. She could see his dark brown hair, his royal blue double breasted suit, his cream and blue striped tie, his white silk shirt.

She caught his look of surprise, but assumed nothing. He might be her soulmate, but he was still her potential boss. Giving a small shake of her head, she took a seat in the forest green leather club chair. Pepper tucked an ankle carefully behind another elegantly.

"Thank you, Mr Stark."

Chapter Text

"Shut it down!"

And they did not. To her relief, though, Steve made it, and for that, Peggy was glad.

She could see the bleakness of the environment, contrasting with the colorful situation they were stuck in. Peggy had agreed to marry Fred, even though she was fully aware they were not each other's soulmate. They shared the same view that the way they saw the world should not dictate who they should be with. So living in a world of greys, they got engaged, for they loved each other.

Who were they kidding? This system was in place for a reason. It came to no one as a surprise when she broke it off. But this did not mean that she would go around searching for her soulmate. She poured herself into the war effort.

The scrawny boy from Brooklyn came out, different in appearance, but same in heart. He was definitely taller, and a lot bigger. She reached out and touched him, briefly.

Later, she would blame it on the need to confirm that the person who stepped out was real, was Steve. But deep down, she wanted to test it, the possibility that they were soulmates.

For once, her hand was not a bland grey, but rather a colour she could not care to identify. The dreamy blue of Steve's eyes were boring into hers, the blonde hair he had, the warm tone of his skin. It was overwhelming her. Peggy looked away.

"How do you feel?"

* * *

"No! Don't! I can do this!"

And he did, do this. Steve did go through whatever Project Rebirth was classified as. He finally found his purpose in life, not his soulmate, but something close enough. For years he had floated around, taking whatever was given to him, and trying to steal more.

He was a stark contrast to his best friend, but they worked well together, although they did not even know why. If you told Steve that he would be a part of something so important, so crucial, even a mere two weeks ago, he would never had believed you. But now, he was almost, almost (damn it), a foot taller, and definitely more that twice the weight.

And all this because he was patriotic and wanted to do his part in the ongoing war.

Unlike Bucky, he never went from one girl to another to find his soulmate. Given his level of appeal, or lack thereof, he had long been resigned to the fate that no women would ever make body contact with him. He could not have been more wrong.

He stepped out of the module he was in, and was greeted promptly by Agent Carter. Unconsciously, it appeared to him, she reached out and touched him lightly. It appeared that the mere light touch was enough to trigger his photoreceptors.

The chestnut brown of her perfectly styled hair, the deep red of her lips, the dark brown of her eyes, the fairness of her skin. Steve would have seen the colours of her uniform if he had been able to take his eyes off her face.

"Taller."

Chapter Text

"I- I'll get Howard on the phone, he will know what to do."

Instantly, her heart broke into various fragments, fragments that she would spend the rest of her life picking up. Peggy would build herself back up, but for now, just surviving would have to make do.

She did not notice it at first, but her world was slowing turning into blacks and greys and a little something else. It started with something as small as having the colour of her green blouse turning a subtle shade of light grey. Peggy had shook her head and blamed it on her age. Then it got worse.

Her colour coded way of arrangement was indecipherable. Almost. There were still some colours, if deep enough, she could see. Her cherry red lipstick was still very red, thank you very much.

Ironically, the colours that were mostly visible were colours of the American flag, colours of the Captain America, colours of Steve. Reds and blues and whites mingled with blacks and greys, giving Peggy a constant headache.

Peggy had never heard a definite, standardized version of what would happen if one's soulmate passed. They were always whispers your hear in the streets, passing from a pair of lips to eager ears.

She had had been extremely hopeful at first, predicting accurately that her ability to see certain colours meant that Steve was not yet dead. But as the years passed, she moved on. Peggy would had seen reds and blues and whites and blacks and greys on her wedding day.

"I do."

* * *

"She's gone. In her sleep."

The feeling came before the colours vanished. The text came not long after. It had felt as though air was sucked out of him, taking whatever was left in him life with it, but Steve kept his composure as much as he possibly could.

What with the Sokovia Accords, he could not think well, could not mourn well, could not breathe well. He had spent most of his close-to-one-century life with perfect, coloured vision. And now, in mere seconds, it was all gone.

In the world of blacks and greys, Steve could not see the orange of gunshots, nor the blue of water. The serenity he once found in just looking around him, all gone. The colours of his own damned uniform were indecipherable.

He did his best to not let this affect his feelings and decisions made during what the media termed as "Civil War". He did not know if anyone noticed, but honestly, he did not care. Steve had never let anyone get in his way.

Focused on his views of the Accords, and protecting Bucky, he managed to ignore how different his world was. Miraculously, he managed to be able to colour coordinate. Or maybe not all the people around him had found their soulmates.

Time it took, for him to get used to the changed world. Time was needed, for him to heal. But time, he did not have. Steve had to focus, focus on being the best version of him.

"So no matter what, I promise you, if you need us, if you need me, I'll be there."

Chapter Text

"Look, such a small girl in such a big place."

It was Melinda's first time in the campus gym. And the unkind remarks had started to fly, some over her head, some into. She rolled her eyes, their words as blank and bleak as her world. As a innocent, naïve child, fresh in the world, shielded from the horrors it contained, she would always dreamed of a world in bright colours.

Colours. A word she did not, could not even understand its fundamental meaning. But the thought of it? It was picture perfect to her younger self. But for now, she was content in her black and white and grey world.

The minute she had finished stretching, the moment her left foot touched the mat, a newbie, like her, challenged her to a spar. She took him out within seconds. Her day ruined, she left the gym.

Outside, she bumped into yet another guy. This one, she noted, was much shorter, eyes bluer, skin warmer. Melinda mumbled a hurried apology and left. She might spent only a split second looking at him, but his image was already ingrained in he mind.

She was seven precise steps away from the gym when she was hit with realization. The colour had come at once upon contact, but its inherent meaning? It came seven precise steps away. She turned around.

"Sorry."

* * *

"They let nerds in now?"

The unkind remarks may have flew by, but Phil was a people person. This was not going to affect him. He turned down the invitation, from a guy named John, to go hang out. Instead, he beelined for the gym the moment he could.

He was a dreamer. Pragmatic, but still a dreamer. He dreamt of a world engulfed in vivid shades, scintillating and rich. He went to high school with hopes of ardour and passion. But alas, it was not to be. Still, he was barely into his adult years. Howbeit, he still had hopes.

He joined S.H.I.E.L.D without even thinking about colours.

He stood by the glass doors, peering in. There were people gathered around the centre of the large room. A gym mat was laid out and from the looks of it? A challenge was going on. He managed to get a glimpse of an Asian cadet, probably about his age, or younger, flipping over another recruit. But he was not focusing on the latter.

The former had hurried out of the gym, seemingly in annoyance. And in her eagerness to get away, she had walked right into him. Something muffled came out of those rosy lips of hers. Her chestnut brown eyes bored into his for a split second before she turned to leave, leaving him to frown at her peculiar behavior.

The gym had returned to the state of buzz it had been in previously. He was twelve seconds into his stretching when he was hit with realization. The colour had come at once upon contact, but its inherent meaning? It came twelve seconds later. He stopped moving.

"Oh god."

Chapter Text

"This is big, real big. I will tell you all about it when I get back. Promise."

She did not even reply. Not in the verbal way, anyway, just with a curt nod, and a stern look. But it conveyed everything. Stay safe. That was the last of him she saw. Melinda felt it before the news came.

After being ordered to head home (read: the apartment she had been using since Bahrain, but still did not feel like home), to avoid New York at all costs, to stay safe, she had taken her time to heat up some leftover mac and cheese, followed by pushing those warm yellow little things around. In the next moment, they were not so yellow anymore.

Before she could react, Melinda was pushed forward by an unseen force, the bowl and fork clattering onto the floor. Her lungs were struggling to function without oxygen, her heart pumping blood to her motionless body, her head splitting, her vision dulled. Just a moment ago, she could have confirmed that her table was a dark, chocolatey brown. It appeared more grey than ever.

She willed herself to stand, but found herself crumbling to the floor instead, tears she did not even know she was capable to generating flowing freely down her face. Despite that, she did not cry. Wiping the tears off her face, Melinda tried not to think about all the times she could have told him (about her feelings, though she would never admit it).

For the next three months, Melinda dealt with the paperwork that was the aftermath of the Battle of New York, albeit monotonously. No one in administration knew why she was more cold than ever, they assumed it was because she lost her best friend, but it was so much more.

The day the phone call came was also the first day she had woken up without a nightmare. Shortly after brushing her teeth, a familiar sound rang out. She was not sure which came first, joy or anger, but it was mostly fear. Fear of what it would mean for them. She remembered shouting at Fury in that wretched operation room, Coulson but a few feet from her. She refused to touch the motionless body, not wanting to know what would happen, at least not until he was awake.

"Why would you do something so horrendous to him?"

* * *

"The CDC's at a dead end. Unless we take some kind of drastic measure, we'll lose her."

That did not sound particularly optimistic, seeing as it came from Simmons. Maybe if it was some other doctor who told him, he would have doubted them. But this was Simmons, the biochemist who had been with him since a time that felt so long ago. And Phil trusted her.

Come on May, fight this. She was a fighter, she had to fight it, whatever it was. Meanwhile, he had a job to do. Some Watchdogs had been able to cause a power outage in Miami, and it was there when it happened. Colour started fading out of his vision. It was so slow that Phil had not been able to pinpoint when it started.

He only noticed it when the whole thing EMP ordeal in Miami was dealt with. He only noticed it when there was no need to solve a crisis. He only noticed it when he allowed himself to remember what could possibly happen to her. And in that moment, he panicked.

The eyes he saw in his reflection was no longer blue, the depth in them was gone, vanquished like an unworthy opponent. His surroundings was greys and blacks, bleak and bland. The world became so flat and dull, the details diminished.

Phil tried, and failed, to convince himself that the reason why he did not notice the change was not because he did not care for her enough, not because he did not lo- no, he would not admit it. She probably did not feel the same way.

Then, the phone call came. He always knew he could trust Jemma. But to actually kill and save a person? That was not something even two PhDs could help with. The relief, and pure joy, that he felt came first. He should probably start a 'died and revived' club. Then came the disgust. He knew what it felt like to, well, die. He knew the horrors it came with. No, it was different. She did not get any GH 325. And in that moment, he felt relief.

"Thank you Sim- no, I don't care that you kil- you saved her Jemma."

Chapter Text

"You won't believe what happened during the mission."

He had just come back from some far flung place, probably somewhere in Asia, and he was already rambling on about what she was sure was classified information. In the office that she shared with three other agents. Who were definitely of a lower clearance level than her. Melinda still could not understand how he was not stripped of his level eight clearance yet.

It has been a good six months since his resurrection, and she had been actively avoiding him. Not that he had noticed. She had been like this since what seemed like forever. It had been a good six months since she had not had colour in her life, and goddammit, was it annoying.

There were days where she would get weird, judgemental stares from people who, unlike her, had colour in her vision. Melinda could honestly care less, but she knew it was probably because she paired the wrong colours together. Most of her stuff were black, but there was the occasional splash of colour that she could not identify. Mostly, however, she had gotten used to it. Life without colour was fine, so long as Phil was alive.

She nodded her head absently to his monologue, vaguely aware of his presence. Sitting in front of a desk for eight hours, doing administrative work no less, was not really her thing. Her back was aching and she could not remember the last time she stepped into a gym (probably a week, ago, god, was she out of shape).

She cleared up the last of her things, putting folder after folder into their respective trays. Everyone else had already packed up and left. Melinda liked the peace of being alone, but there was someone else with her. It was not unwelcome, although she would never have admitted it.

Pushing in her chair, her hand brushed Phil's. It was the first body contact they had since his ungodly resurrection, not that she had noticed. No, she was focused on the blue of his eyes, the warmth of his skin. It took every little drip of willpower in her to not just hang onto him and never let go.

"You're leaving? See you tomorrow then, May."

* * *

"I don't know what to do without you."

She would have woken up at that, but Simmons had fed her painkillers- secretly, of course. She would never let herself become vulnerable, at least not willingly. But he did not need her to hear that, she would know.

The whole EMP crap had ended, and he had slipped off to Radcliffe's place, where he noticed two things: one, either he was really good sneaking in or two, someone had expected him to come and reduced security. Phil had found her asleep. He stood by the door for a moment, mesmerized; it was rare to see her so unguarded, and beautifully calm, serene even.

It pained him that he could no longer see the colour of his world, their world, but never mind that. She was alive, and that was all that mattered. It had only been a few hours, at most, but it felt like a decade had already passed; Phil could barely remember colour.

The rest had not said anything, if they had noticed something amiss with him on their way back to base. He was hoping that no one would notice his absence, and if they did, that they would cover for him. Forget about Mace, he needed to be elsewhere. The Director could wait.

He invited himself in and sat on a chair next to the bed. This was the umpteenth time he had almost lost her, for good. He shuddered at the thought of a world without May. He was not joking about not knowing what to do without her. Indeed, she was the guiding light in his life, to say the least.

Hearing the door open elsewhere, the sign that Radcliffe was back, Phil stood up quickly. He was about to leave when he rushed back to the bed, and hurriedly, planted a kiss on her forehead. He was already outside the building when he noticed the blue sky and white clouds. It took every little drip of willpower in him to not just rush back to her side and never leave.

"She's alive, she's alive, she's alive."

Chapter Text

"Such a obsequious, teacher's pet."

She actually understood their sentiments; way younger than any of them, Jemma had never managed to blend in when she was meant to stand out. So stood out, she did.

Equipped with two PhDs, she had applied for the S.H.I.E.L.D Academy of Science and Technology; mistakenly applied for, she sometimes felt. She was not cut out for this whole secret agent thing, Jemma thought often. Even then, she never had it in her to pull out, to quit.

Seated in the large auditorium, sure felt more alone than ever, rereading the notes that she had prepared. Some high level agent was supposed to give them a speech, a certain Agent Hill, but she was not here yet. She would have colour coded her notes, but all she saw was bleakness and emptiness in her vision.

As a scientist, she had always believed that there was a, well, scientific explanation to the whole soulmate colour thing. But she had never found a proper explanation (read: proper = something that she was satisfied with). There were all but one type of explanation: magic (but since magic was just science that was not yet understood, there was no actual explanation). For centuries, scientists had been trying to understand this complexity; Jemma would have followed in their footsteps, had she not felt that there was more she could do, other than chasing what seemed to be a lost cost.

Ever since joining S.H.I.E.L.D, even if she was not an agent yet, not technically anyway, she had kind of given up searching for an answer, let alone her soulmate (she would still dream about a coloured vision, during long nights, not that she would ever admit it). Someone had just grabbed her hand (well the arm rest was probably the goal, but her hand was on the arm rest), jerking her out of her thoughts.

Jemma raised her head to see a young man in front of her, trying to squeeze his way through the tightly packed seats. His dark brown hair was curly and messy. A red vest was worn over a cream shirt, finished off with a simple navy blue tie. Before she could register his matching pants, he turned around and offered an apologetic smile. His brown eyes seemed to pour its soul in her, before he turned abruptly. Her vision was coloured.

"I'm fine, really. It's no big deal."

* * *

"Now look, is this not that monkey-wanting smart ass?"

He did his best not to roll his eyes at them. Sure, he was at Sci-Tech, where there were no running tracks or gyms, but Fitz was still sure that any one of the older guys could still kill him. Groaning internally, he continued about his way.

What did these people had against monkeys, anyway? In theory, they could work, if given the chance, but that did not seem likely. If there were dwarves, Fitz would try to convince one of them to stand in, but in this world, there were no such creature.

As he tried to hold onto the huge arch file that was under his arm, while running towards the auditorium, he hoped against hope that he had taken the right file. He had not had the chance to label those ridiculous, same coloured files. During such moments, he cursed at his soulmate for not materializing. If he had colour in his vision, he would not have to suffer from the fate of taking the wrong item.

Fitz had long since gave up his idea of creating glasses, contact lenses, goggles, or something that would enable those who had not yet met their soulmate to see colour. In theory, that would mean simulating whatever it was that soulmates could do to each other to trigger their ability to see colour. It sounded simple, but he would have to find out what that something was.

Not one to give up so easily, Fitz convinced himself that he could always go back to this, after someone had found out what that something was. He struggled to open the door to the auditorium with his file in one hand, but managed anyway, letting out a sigh of relief. But this relief was short lived. The auditorium was nearly full. Heck the only seat left was right in the middle of the third row. Shaking his head and cursing under his breath, Fitz attempted to make his way through. All was well until he lost his balance.

He tried to grab the nearest arm rest, but grabbed someone's hand instead. He looked up to apologize, but instead, saw the most beautiful girl he had ever met, with the dreamiest brown eyes, and matching light brown hair. Her white flannel was paired with denim blue jeans. His vision was coloured.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it. Are you okay?"

Chapter Text

There were colours even in her first memories: the blues of the sky and the sea on her first trip to the beach, the golds and the oranges of her first sunset when her father brought her out hiking (she did not actually hike; her father carried her the entire time), the creams and yellows of camping in her sister's room when she refused to return to her own room. Nico could see all of the colours in the world, and yet she did not know who allowed her to.  
  
The first time her parents had realised she could see colour was when giggles escaped her lips as Amy walked into the kitchen with a bright, merigold shirt and electric blue leggings. Her father was not as quick to catch on, but her mother had dropped the spoon she was holding. The reverberation of the ensuing clash brought her father up to date. The next thing she could remember was her father sending Amy back to her room, her mother picking her up and putting her on the counter, and a lot of grilling.  
  
It started with simple questions first. Her father would point to the table, then the walls, then her mother's necklace, then the flowers on the counter, then the cabinet and ask her what colour it was. She must have identified fifty over items that morning, before her mother cut the questions off. Nico cannot remember exactly what her mother said, but it was something along the lines of "Why did you not tell us?" or "When did it start?", both of which Nico had no answer to. The next few days were filled with confusing explanations of how not everyone could see colours yet, why she could see them, and how she must try to remember when she started seeing them.  
  
All this were a little too much for young Nico.  
  
Robert and Tina Minoru eventually stopped trying to figure out who their youngest's soulmate was. Amy continued trying.  
  
* * *

There were colours in her first memories: the creams of the walls of church, the whites of all the clothes worn in church, the rainbows of the Gibborim paintings. Karolina could see all of the colours in the world, and yet she did not know who allowed her to.  
  
The first time her parents had realised she could see colour was when she asked her dad why he was wearing dark forest green to church when she had to wear so much white. Her father's jaw had dropped while her mum promptly decided that no more questions would be asked until they got back. She tried asking more in the car, but they would be met with silence from her mother, and patronizing grins from her father. Karolina shut her mouth once they entered the building that was too bright.  
  
Once they were done, and her father could take her home, however, she was grilled for details. "When did the colours appear?" or "Why did we not know sooner?" were pressed by her father, but she had no answers for neither questions. When her mother finally returned home, she was seated on the sofa and her mother began telling her this whole story of how someone could see colour, and why it was imperative for her to remember who she had touched when the colours replaced the greys.  
  
All this were a little too much for young Karolina.  
  
Frank and Leslie Dean eventually stopped trying to figure out who their daughter's soulmate was.

* * *  

When they were fourteen and twelve, Amy dragged Nico into her room in the dead of the night. Nico had protested, not wanting to get into trouble, but mainly wanting the warmth of her own bed to engulf her again. Once she was shoved onto the bed, Amy plopped herself down next to her.  
  
"Well? Why are we awake at-"  
  
"It has to be one of the PRIDE kids."  
 
"Why are we talking about PRIDE?"  
  
Amy pushed past Nico, annoyed, and retrieved her laptop from the side of her bed. Nico stared at her sister, expectantly, and yet she recieved no answers to her question.  
  
"Oh come on, be patient, Nico."  

"You sound like mummy."  
  
They sat in the dark, the only light coming from the screen of the Amy's laptop, the only sound coming from the tips of her fingers typing aay furiously. Nico was about to threaten to leave when Amy finally found what she was looking for.  
  
"Why are we watching one of dad's videos?"  
  
"Its not just any other video, Nic, look."  
  
Amy jammed one side of her earpiece into Nico's ear, and the other into her own, before pressing play.  
  
"Is this thing on?"

"Robert Minoru, you are telling me that you can't operate a video camera? Perhaps your time at Wizard is over."

"There it is. The time to fire me has not yet come, Tina."

The screen went from black to a blinding shot of the Robert, who was holding baby Nico. Amy's voice could be heard as she whined about spending the day with a bunch of babies.

"I don't know why you insisted on bringing the girls. They shouldn't even be interacting with PRIDE."
  
"Alright, this isn't the part I wanted to show you," Amy frowned before pulling cursor to the part in question.

"What is this anyway?"  

"The first PRIDE meeting since you were born. Dad didn't want to bring us, but mum said that we would have to meet the other kids eventually."  

Nico could not understand why her father did not want them to meet the rest; their parents met each other *all* the time. She had to shelve that thought, however, as the video started playing again.  

"Nico, meet Alex and Karolina."

Nico was placed on the floor, beside Alex and Karolina. She stared at the other babies curiously, before stretching her hands out, touching Alex's nose and Karolina's cheek. Without any warning, baby Nico burst into loud wails.

The image shook, clearly abandoned by its user, before ending with a shot of Robert picking up Nico.

Nico turned to face Amy, who, in turn, stared at Nico with the widest, most expectant smile Nico had ever seen.  

"What?"  

"Did you see that?"  

"Did I see that I cried the first time I met Karol and Alex? Yeah, I saw that pretty clearly."  

That promptly earned her a frustrated eyeroll.  
  
"No, you idiot, look at where your hands were."  
  
Nico squinted, and saw her pudgy hands covering her eyes in that last shot. But she still could not tell what Amy was so desperately wanting her to realise.  
  
"And?"  
  
"One of them has to be your soulmate, Nico. See, you started crying and covering your eyes when you touched them, which means you started seeing colours, and because you were a baby, you didn't know what was going on."  
  
Amy looked like she had just discovered a new element while Nico just stared at her.  
  
"Can't we just see who I touched first?"  
  
"You touched them at the exact same time, silly."  
  
That was the end of their conversation. Nico was feeling just ever so slightly overwhelmed. Even when curled up on her bed, sleep seemed to escape her grasp. Amy, on the other hand, was bubbling with excitement. She was sure that her sister and her best friend were soulmates; why else would Alex have a crush on Nico?  
  
* * *

Amy had died, Alex had skipped the funeral, and the rest of them had grown apart. What else could have happened?  

* * *

When Alex had kissed her before he left, she felt nothing, despite the crush she had on him in the years before Amy's passing. And he had left like everything was right in the world. Frustrated, she asked him for the colour of her eyes in the middle of the night. Her message was responded to with a 'I can't see colours Nico, but that does not make my feelings for you any less real.' She might have been able to love Alex, but knowing what she did? That was impossible.  
  
The next time she saw Karolina, on that beach, her heart skipped a little.  
  
* * *

Karolina paced her room for a good ten minutes before sending that text. It was just as invitation to get ready for the gala together. Why was she so damned nervous? When Nico accepted, she felt the weight lifted off of her shoulders. And when Nico arrived? She felt as if she could fly.  
  
She took every opportunity she could to get close to Nico, whether it was helping her with her blush, or brushing her hand with hers while choosing jewelry, or asking her to help with her zipper. Karolina was this close to allowing Nico to remove her bracelet, just to feel her fingers on her wrist, before she decided that that was not worth the price. What ensued was easily the most vulnerable conversation she had ever had in her life. Before Gert and Molly had showed up, obviously.  
  
* * *

Gert might have thought that she was not being true to herself, but she had her doubts way before Gert noticed her weird behaviour around Nico. There might have been no real way for her to confirm that Nico gave her colours, but she honestly could not care less. For once in her life, Karolina was certain that her feelings were true and all hers, not instilled into her by her mum or the church. That kiss in that empty hallway merely confirmed it.  
  
* * *
  
It would be much later on, when they were forced to go on the run, that Nico would show Karolina the fateful home video.

Chapter Text

"Gordon, help."

Her hands alone could simulate the shifts in tectonic plates. Converging, diverging, slipping past each other because they could not hold the tensions any longer. Skye was a walking earthquake, what was new? The only regret she had was that she could not create mountains or deep ocean trenches, rift valleys or volcanos. Stratovolcanos would be cool, but what Skye wanted was shield volcanos, just for the sake of irony.

Digging out past geography lessons from years long gone was the only thing she could do to distract herself. She did it so much that she even dreamt about it. The safe house, May's call, nearly killing Bobbi and that other guy, Gordon, it was all too much. She wanted to keep her eyes closed forever, but Skye was becoming painfully aware of something, many things, pricking at her skin.

Willing herself to stop procrastinating, she opened her eyes, albeit reluctantly, suddenly. The first thing she noticed was the odd white things she was wearing; the second, the warm orange glow of the candles; the third, the off black shirt Gordon was wearing. Wait, Gordon was not her soulmate, right?

To her relief (sorry, Gordon), there was someone else with them, her soulmate, her thankfully hot soulmate. This Lincoln, her transitioner, her soulmate, her current source of annoyance, was not helping with her situation at all.

Her mind was a mess: why would May have called her if something serious had not happened? Why were there so much red in the room? Where exactly was she? Confused, she wanted to look to Lincoln for help, for clarification, but he dumped a load of useless information on her. And reminded her of the one thing she wanted to forget.

"You're the one that's in danger, Skye. Remember? You're being hunted."

* * *

"She called- said she was in trouble- could you just transition her now?"

Gordon had just appeared right in front of him and his perfect evening. He had no work that night, so obviously, Gordon had to come and give him some. Lincoln had heard much about this Skye. A S.H.I.E.L.D agent, of all things. Gordon seemed to have taken a liking to her.

He knew she was caught in the same mist as Raina, although that was a story he would probably not get to hear. And now, here she was, right in front of him. She looked so tranquil, with her eyes closed. There was something about the woman that caused him to be unable to stop staring. Heck, he could just stare at her all day, but there was too much work to be done. She was too late in starting her transition.

Some of the female transitioners had removed her clothes and replaced them with those cloths that Jiaying insisted they use. He had paced outside the room impatiently, eager to start her transition as soon as possible. Who would know what would happen to her if he started too late?

Barely aware that the teleporter had left, he set to work the moment he was allowed in. He took out all the acupuncture needles he had and started putting them on her, one by one, all the while hoping that she was not afraid of needles, and that she would not rip them all out the moment she awoke. His fingers brushed ever so lightly against her skin, when he was done.

Suddenly aware of the brown of her skin, the stark white her clothes and the sheets, Lincoln tried not to panic. He looked down at himself, and saw nothing but the maroon of his shirt and black of his pants. The rest of the two days she was asleep was pure torture. Not that it got any better when she woke.

"You're healing. Leaving now wouldn't exactly be... You've ever made microwave popcorn? Leave them too long and it's charcoal, take them out too soon and it's a bag of kernels."

Chapter Text

"Saving the girl that I love and the world at the same time? Feels pretty right to me."

Everything has led to this.

When she first saw it, she was not quite sure what Charles Hinton's vision meant, only that one of them will die.

It can't be Coulson, the first person who ever truly believed in her. It can't be May, who was everything she ever wished for in a mother. It can't be Jemma, her best friend, her sister. It can't be Fitz, her protector, the one who helped her keep her powers a secret. It can't be Mack, her partner. It can't Yo-Yo, or Joey, her team. And it can't be Lincoln, sweet Lincoln, her soulmate.

It wasn't until she lost her connection to Hive that Daisy realised she should be the one on the quinjet. She blew up the base, nearly killed all of them. They were the only real family she ever knew, and she tried to kill them. Killing Hive was the only she could pay for her mistakes. And she was close to succeeding, too.

But Lincoln-

Lincoln shouldn't be the one on board. It's wrong.

Her vision was already flickering. The red lights in the Zephyr was becoming duller with every passing second. Daisy might be able to trick herself into thinking that it was her tears that caused her rapidly changing vision, but that would be disrespectful to the the bond that she shared with Lincoln.

Her connection to Lincoln cut off as the quinjet left the atmosphere, and Daisy never had and never will have the chance to say "I love you" back to him. Coulson said that Lincoln was paying for all of their mistakes, not just hers. But he doesn't understand that if she had done it properly, done it right, Lincoln would never have been able to get on board the quinjet. She had so much she wanted to tell him, but there was just not enough time. They barely had any time together at all and she was going to lose him.

As the quinjet erupted into a million tiny pieces, Daisy sank to the ground, now living in a world of endless blacks, whites, and greys.

"Come to think of it, I just did. I mean, I tried, and we didn't even realize it."

"Realize what?"

"A moment ago. The first time I said I lo-"

* * *

After, Daisy will hack into the security system at the base; she will leave quietly, unannounced, in the middle of the night.

After, Daisy will become Quake, Destroyer of Worlds. After, Daisy will be transported to places she cannot even begin to comprehend, the Framework, the future, the past. After, Daisy will hurt and be hurt, love and be loved. After, Daisy will reunite with her family again and again and again. After, Daisy will fall in love with someone new, with herself, with life.

After, Daisy will live in space; she will still look out the window and think of the vision, of the jacket and the cross necklace, of Lincoln, and it will not hurt as much as it used to.

But for now, she grieves.