Chapter Text
She doesn’t have anybody to tell anymore, except her rooms full of plants and her geriatric cat, Old Man Rodgers, and the night after she found out, Old Man Rodgers got scrambled eggs and a bowl full of his favorite wet food as a treat.
Because that was her name right there. Daisy, engineer/botanist. Sixth egress.
Daisy, astronaut! If Grant were still in her life, she’d shove that single line of text in his face so hard, but that fucker is long gone. Thankfully.
Anyways. Old Man Rodgers gets a smooch on the head the next morning before she runs out of her apartment to head over to Johnson Space Center, her nerves buzzing with excitement. Out of all the thousands of applicants, they picked her! It’s still mind-blowing. She debated for a while last night on whether or not to be offended by sixth egress, but the fact of the matter is that she’ll still be egressing, and that’s really the only thing she cares about.
Inside JSC, Daisy swipes her ID and trots over to the elevator. Right before the doors close, a hand thrusts in between them.
“Sorry, sorry,” says a new voice, “that makes things awkward. Sorry.”
Daisy restrains a smile. A tall, well-built bald man with dark skin and a close-shorn beard steps into the elevator with an apologetic smile on his face.
“Don’t worry about it,” Daisy says, “what floor?”
“Four.”
“Oh, I’m going there too. Cool.”
The man adjusts the backpack slung over one of his shoulders and offers her another smile. He’s got on jeans and a teeshirt, and there’s a gold ring on his left ring finger.
“I’m Mack, by the way,” he says, “I just got the news that I’m going to Mars, so I’m pretty excited about it, hence the awkward entrance.”
Daisy’s eyes go wide and she brushes her hair out of her face.
“Really? Me too! I’m Daisy! You must be Alphonso Mackenzie, chemical engineer-slash-astrodynamics!” A faint blush touches Daisy’s cheeks. “I couldn’t help memorizing the list. You’re a lot bigger than I imagined, for some reason.”
It’s true. The top of Daisy’s head just barely hits Mack’s shoulder. The elevator door opens, and the two head out onto the fourth floor in search of the designated meeting room together.
“And you’re a lot younger than I imagined, for some reason,” Mack says, smiling, “it’s great to meet you, Daisy. Any idea where we’re going?”
Daisy pauses in the hallway as they both realize that they’re lost. It’s a floor full of offices and meeting spaces. An emblem on the door to Daisy’s left reads 154, and they’re due to meet in room 192 in five minutes. Despite the excess of rooms on that floor, they’re arranged sensibly, so it’s a few minutes later that the two walk into room 192.
There are already four people in the room, but only one does Daisy recognize on sight. Doctor Maria Hill, director of Mars Operations, a tall, beautiful woman with dark hair in an elegant French twist. She’s standing at the head of the table, one eyebrow raised as a man with curly hair and a lilting Irish brogue talks animatedly. Standing next to him is a woman of similar height, talking just as animatedly.
The door shuts behind Daisy and Mack, and the couple falls silent.
“Fitzsimmons,” says Doctor Hill patiently, “that became TMI about three minutes ago.”
The man blushes and ducks his head.
“Sorry.”
Hill waves it off and looks towards Daisy and Mack.
“Ah, Doctors Mackenzie and Daisy. Good. We’re just waiting for Commander Coulson and Major May.”
Mack turns to Daisy, his brows raised.
“You’re a doctor?” He inspects her face, and Daisy blushes automatically, “You’re…so fresh faced, though. How old are you?”
Daisy straightens her shoulders.
“Twenty-five.”
“Oh, my god. A child.” Mack’s smile is playful and his eyes are glinting, softening any offense behind the words as he turns to the other two, “Only my students need to address me so formally. I’m Mack. And you two are?”
“Fitz,” says the man.
“Simmons,” says the woman, pointing to herself.
Mack strides around the table and fits his hand to Simmons’s first, and then Fitz’s. He sees the wedding bands glinting on each of their fingers.
“You two married?”
Simmons nods, offering a smile to Daisy as she approaches to greet them.
“Two years in July. Hi, Jemma Simmons.”
Daisy smiles. Jemma has a gentle British accent, a soft smile, and shining brown hair. She’s about the same height as Daisy, and two years older.
“Daisy,” says Daisy, “you don’t have to call me doctor, either. Feels weird. What’s your mission specialty?”
“Ship surgeon,” says Jemma proudly, “Fitz is the electrical engineer and sysop.”
Daisy shakes Fitz’s proffered hand.
“Leo Fitz,” he says, offering a crooked and warm smile, “pleasure to meet you, Daisy. What’s your specialty?”
“Mechanical engineer and botanist,” says Daisy automatically, feeling a flush of pride, “my doctorate is in botany. If it’s broke, I can probably fix it.”
Mack nudges in between the two and claps both of their shoulders.
“Well, between the three of us, we have most of engineering covered. I heard Hill call you two Fitzsimmons?”
“Mmhm,” Jemma links her arm through Fitz’s, “when we married, neither of us wanted to take the other’s last name, so we smushed it together and called it a day.”
Daisy laughs lightly.
“That’s awesome.”
Hill, standing a few feet away, smiles to herself. The four are already getting along, which bodes well for the future. The door behind the meeting table opens again, and three more people walk in. Darcy Lewis, the youngest flight controller ever, eternally unpredictable in manner yet entirely predictable where it counts. Behind her, Navy Commander Phillip “Phil” Coulson, a weathered veteran astronaut with four ISS missions under his belt. He’s got kind eyes, terrible dad jokes, and an unflappably calm demeanor. He’s the mission commander. And finally, Major May, pilot. Unreadable, intimidating as all hell, and yet a crack pilot for the Air Force. Average height, first generation Asian immigrant, with dark hair and a knowing, razor-sharp gaze, she’s got five tours under her belt and can fly almost anything, with the notable exception of an Osprey V-22 helicopter. Don’t ask. It’s a very long story, and she’s liable to punch you if you ask.
“What’s up, Hill!” Darcy exclaims, heading up to the front of the table, “Are we the last to arrive? Sorry. Coulson was just telling us the coolest story about how he did a spacewalk up on the ISS and saw a hurricane forming over the Pacific.”
“It was spectacular,” says Coulson, smiling, “sit, sit, let’s sit.”
Everyone chooses a seat. Feeling rather like she’s that weird loner in high school again, Daisy looks towards Jemma, who thankfully smiles and gestures to the seat next to her. Mack sits on Daisy’s other side, and Fitz sits next to his wife. Across the deep reddish-brown mahogany table sits Coulson, May, and Lewis. Maria Hill is still standing at the front of the table.
“Alright, alright, I presume you all have put together why you’re here.” Hill braces her hands on the table and offers a smile to the seven people sitting there. “May I introduce the Ares III crew officially to you all. Congratulations. Let’s go around the table for official introductions. Your name, mission role, science role, where you’re from, your background. The usual.”
“Add in your favorite candy bar if you really want to embrace the icebreaker thing,” says Darcy, propping her feet on the table and grinning.
Hill sends Darcy a dirty look, but Darcy primly ignores it.
“I’m Darcy Lewis,” she says smugly, “I’m the flight director for your mission. Youngest ever, thank you very much. You all can call me Darcy. I was backup flight director for Ares II and did a great job, so now I get to wrangle all of you. I’m from Virginia, went to Culver University for orbital dynamics, I’m thirty-one, and my favorite candy bar is Snickers. You, scary lady with the cool jacket, go next.”
May looks over and raises one eyebrow, but Darcy seems impervious to the danger radiating off of her.
“Major Melinda May. Forty-four. Pilot. From upstate New York.” May leans back in her seat, nonverbally daring anybody to tell her to speak more.
Darcy twirls a piece of hair around her finger.
“That’s about what I expected. Coulson, you next.”
Coulson seems amused. He’s taken off his sport jacket and draped it over the chair next to him, leaving him in a dark blue button down with the first three buttons undone. He waves and meets Daisy’s eye for a moment, the skin around his eyes crinkling in a smile.
“I’m Coulson. Just Coulson. Commander Coulson if you’re feeling extra formal, but people only tend to call me that when they’ve done something wrong, so…proceed with caution, I guess.” He smiles. “I’m from Wisconsin, enlisted in the Navy right out of high school just to get out of my small town. My science role will be Geology—I got my doctorate from Cal Tech. You could say I like to rock and roll. I turned fifty last July.”
Darcy lets out a hoot, and Daisy rolls her eyes.
“My god,” she says, “they’re even worse than I was expecting.”
“Who are you kidding, girl?” Darcy demands playfully, leaning over to give Coulson a high-five. He slaps it, grinning back.
Darcy looks over at Fitzsimmons, who sit across from her.
“You two, the not Americans,” she says, gesturing vaguely.
Fitz raises a brow, but Simmons smiles, amused.
“I’m Simmons, and that’s Fitz,” she says, “we both work for the ESA now and were terribly excited to be chosen for Ares III. We’ll be married two years next July. Coulson, when is your birthday?”
“July eighth.”
“Ah! We were married July seventh! How lovely.” She smiles sweetly at Fitz, who blushes. “I am the ship surgeon. I went to medical school in Scotland, which is where I met Leopold, and I worked in Dublin for seven years before signing onto the ESA. I am thirty.”
“Hold up,” Coulson raises a brow, “you have that much experience and you’re thirty?”
Jemma blushes modestly.
“I graduated medical school at nineteen and finished my residency at twenty-one.”
“She’s very smart,” Leo supplies helpfully, “we both are. I got my engineering doctorates concurrently. Hi. Leo. Thirty-one, from Dundee, doctorates in electrical and software engineering. I’ll be your sysop, Major May. Looking forward to it.”
While Leo has a smile on his face and seems genuine, there’s also that lingering sense of pure fear hat May creates. Her reputation precedes her, and she knows it and isn’t unafraid to use it.
“Well, I feel simultaneously grateful and very old surrounded by such young geniuses,” Mack says affably, “I’m Mack, chemical engineer and EVA specialist. Forty-six, from Houston. I have thirteen space walks under my belt, and I’m a decent hand at repairing most suits, though I imagine our mechanical engineer over here is an apt hand at it already.”
Daisy, who’d been absently tracing the winding ivy tattoo on her left arm, looks up.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. I’ve fixed space suits in my time. I’m Daisy. My science role is botany, and my mission role is mechanical engineering, basically your girl Friday. I can fix most anything I get my hands on. I’m twenty-five, originally from Galveston.”
Coulson is watching her with an unreadable look on his face.
“Daisy what?”
She looks up at him, brows furrowed.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been introduced several times as just Daisy. What’s your last name?”
“Don’t have one.” Her tone is casual but her eyes are sharp. “Just Daisy.”
Darcy throws a pen at Daisy, who catches it.
“Ooh! Nice! Favorite candy bar, go!”
The line between Daisy’s brows smoothes out.
“Butterfingers.”