Work Text:
It's in Leiden, of all places, a city that ranks something like #20 on a list of Dutch cities by population. It has a university, but there's also a windmill, and inner-city traffic consists pretty much of bicycles going along canals.
That's hyperbole, of course, but also the reason why Daisy has chosen this place for her retirement. It's nice to just be a waitress at a café, just that, and nothing else. The most action she gets these days is almost burning waffles. Which is good.
Then she screeches to a very abrupt halt in front of a cyclist who's going to deny he forgot to look left in just a second. She's seen these guys so many times. Businessmen in suits, talking on the phone while cycling to work, courier bag swung onto their back, thinking the lane belongs to them.
At least he's wearing a helmet. For some reason, even without seeing his face, Daisy thinks he kind of looks like he's probably a nice person.
But he's looking up now after his own braking manoeuver, and it isn't one of those guys. It's Coulson.
Daisy swallows.
This shouldn't be possible. But it's Phil.
"Hi," she whispers, and he echoes it. She's pretty sure she's making the exact same face she's seeing on him.
Maybe if she closed her mouth?
The next five seconds are excruciatingly long, and she finds herself thinking they'd probably hug if they weren't stuck with bikes between their thighs and helmets on their heads, looking like little bugs. Probably the only two people wearing helmets in Zuid-Holland right now. She smiles.
Coulson seems to feel embarrassed first, suddenly taking his helmet off quite hastily, touching the back of his head. For a moment, Daisy ponders doing the same, but, eh. It is what it is. And maybe she's hoping just a little bit that he finds it cute.
His cheeks seem a little pink.
Preludes and explanations aren't necessary. This is probably the last place he would have expected to see her. And with their agency past, there's always a story. Maybe they'll get to that later, but for now, Phil shyly asks, "Would you ... like some coffee?"
Daisy's had at least three cups today, but she doesn't even think about it for a moment. She gets off her bike, as does he.
It feels a little weird not to have hugged, but that's the risk that comes with cycling everywhere, probably.
Without even discussing it, they start walking into the same direction, Daisy kind of leading after a moment so they end up at the café. The sign above the window says "De Bruine Boon", the brown bean.
"Lovely," he says, and it sounds so weighted and meaningful and big that Daisy has to remember to breathe. This must be in her head. Or the fact that she hasn't had breakfast yet.
"I work here now," she says, and she hopes it sounds a little bit like she's proud, because she is. It may seem ridiculous to people who've always had a stable job, devoid of thrill and danger and clues and fighting. To be honest, she would never have thought she'd be able to do this. Pour milk foam, adjust chairs, take out the bins and stare at chamomiles in the café's backyard.
"Wow." It's a genuine response. She smiles again.
Phil goes to lock his bike, and she does the same without thinking about it, takes her helmet off. She unlocks the entrance, flips the sign, makes a vague gesture for him to sit anywhere he likes.
She hurries behind the counter, crouches to flip all the switches, lights are turning on, the espresso machine is making familiar sounds.
When she resurfaces, he's followed her to sit next to where she is, on the stool closest to where she's just reappeared. Yet, it seems so careful, like he wants her to have space. He's pushed his stuff away a little bit so that it doesn't sit on the counter between them.
"I like your helmet," she finally manages to say.
He blushes a little bit. Like he's a little bit out of breath, actually.
"Thanks."
And then she sees it, Phil's smile, and she feels so accomplished, she's outright beaming at him.
"I've missed you," she says, and there it is. That same hug it's always been.