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It's Daisy's night to pick the movie, and because it's the first week of December, and she's feeling extra sentimental, and she knows it's Jemma's favourite, she calls Anastasia.
Bobbi and Mack bicker in the kitchen over how much butter the popcorn needs, while Grant and Coulson portion out the hot chocolate. Daisy snitches a cookie from the tin May had just pulled the lid off, and ducks the mock glare May sends after her as she scuttles for the movie room.
Oatmeal lemon, one of May's best, and Daisy savours it as she claims her spot on the couch.
On the loveseat Fitz and Hunter appear to be watching a soccer match on Hunter's phone, while Jemma sits on the floor between Fitz's legs, resting her head against his knee, and smiling a little as she stares up at the Christmas lights. Samson, Tex, Lincoln, and Lia are draped over the odd assortment of chairs they have collected, and are talking... hair and skin care routines? Huh. Daisy smiles to herself.
“Hey, babe.”
Grant sinks down next to her, passes over the pawprint mug, and she smiles.
“With peppermint shavings, whipped cream, and almond?”
“Yes, though I don't know how you drink it with so many different flavours.” He shakes his head, drapes an arm over her shoulders.
“The compliment each other,” she insists, leaning into him.
“It's confusing,” he says firmly, takes a sip of his own, which she knows is the OG Coulson family recipe, made with milk chocolate and a dash of cinnamon.
There is a brown milk mustache left on his upper lip, and Daisy giggles, wipes it off with a finger. “It's December, buster, you can shave again.”
May comes next, sits on her other side, between her and the arm of the couch. “Want a cookie?” she asks, deadpan.
Daisy giggles, and then May grins back, a full, proper smile, and Daisy can't help it, she leans over, and quick as lightning kisses May's cheek.
There is no time for May to make startled faces, because Coulson is there, taking his seat beside Grant, and Mack tosses the TV remote at Daisy.
“Take it away, Tremors,” he says.
The funny thing is, she used to hate this movie. She'd seen it at several foster homes, and even at the orphanage, as if it were a given that every parentless child should love it. Only in the last few years has she come to enjoy it, to enjoy Anya's spirit and bravery, to sing along with the songs like Jemma, to watch the happy ending without feeling like she wants to throw up or destroy something.
“I was in Paris right before I found out Dad was still alive,” Grant mutters.
Daisy glances over, sees Coulson's hand move to squeeze Grant's knee.
“I've been everywhere but Paris,” Daisy says.
“Really.” Grant tilts his head, gives her a calculating look. “Good to know.”
A spark of curiosity and excitement stirs in Daisy's stomach, as she remembers Christmas coming. “Isn't Paris the romance capital of the world or something?” she whispers, and he smirks, before he leans down and kisses her.
“Oi!” Popcorn kernels pelt them, and Daisy hides her face in Grant's shoulder to escape the buttery splatters.
Jemma is hissing for them to be quiet, Fitz is snickering, and Bobbi is trying to scold her man. May flicks a finger at Daisy's feet, tucked up next to her thigh, and Daisy swallows her giggles. She does want everyone else to enjoy this movie too.
The grandmother giving up on searching for Anastasia brings a lump to Daisy's throat, and she tries not to sniff. She thinks of her parents, of the joy turned to horror, of the love shattered into fear. At least her father has something like a happy ending.
“Aw, come on, don't leave Pooka behind,” Grant mutters, and Daisy has to smile. Dogs in movies make him soft; he always cries over The Incredible Journey.
There's a lull; everyone watching, eating, breathing, quiet and easy, and Daisy glances around, struck with the fragility of this, right here.
Bobbi and Hunter curled on the loveseat, hands bickering over a popcorn bowl. Fitzsimmons on the floor, eating cookies, and leaning on each other like they used to. Mack slouched in an armchair with his feet propped on Tex's hip, and Tex stretched out half-asleep on the floor. Samson and Lia singing along with 'Paris Holds the Key'. Lincoln looking relaxed for once, licking butter off his fingers.
Ward leans away to catch Coulson's whisper, and they smile at each other, shoulders pressed together. Something warm covers Daisy's feet, and she glances over to see May has moved the blanket in her lap, sharing it without Daisy even asking.
Daisy realises she is holding her breath, holding time, holding this moment, like a crystal figurine balanced on a fingertip. Because it could shatter as easily as exhaling.
Their world is in constant turmoil. There could be a report of another Inhuman, or HYDRA or an explosion or people vanishing to other planets. Any day they could be shot or blown up or turned to stone.
Nights like these are things they have to fight for, to choose deliberately. And sometimes that's exhausting.
She bites back tears, even as she's forced to release her breath; a hard enough sigh that Grant slips his hand into hers, squeezes lightly.
I don't want this to end.
But the funny thing is... it doesn't. Not then, anyway. She breathes, and they eat popcorn and cookies, and Jemma has colour in her face again, and Lia passes Lincoln the cookies, and May stays exactly where she is, and Samson finishes the song with a flourish.
She breathes, and nothing shatters, nothing breaks, and she can feel herself mending, hairline fractures in her chest closing, as she lets herself come back into the moment.
“You okay?” Grant whispers.
She nods, lays her head on his shoulder.
This, right here, is the family she asked for, this is the place where she belongs. She mustn't be afraid of that.
On-screen Anastasia trembles as she waits for Dimitri to announce her to the Empress, and Daisy smiles. She knows how it ends, after all. Happy endings don't come easy, but in the movies at least, they do come. Maybe sometimes they do that in real-life too.