bakerstreet | Jingle bells, Batman smells

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Jingle bells, Batman smells—!

Happy Holidays Meme

It's the most wonderful time of the year! Wherever your character is, whatever their feelings on the plethora of holidays found in December, they're bound to be caught up in the festivities. It's up to you what kind of holiday they'll experience! (Feel free to exchange Christmas for whatever holiday your character celebrates.)

Directions
1. Comment with your character, series, preferences, etc.
2. Roll a number between 1-17 (gen) or 1-4 (smut) for a prompt.
3. Reply to others and play out the scenario!

Gen Prompts
1. Tree Shopping — There's nothing like a freshly cut tree at Christmas. Do you go out into the woods to find one yourself, or do you stroll through a lot while it's snowing, looking for the perfect tree?

2. Ice Skating — Do you skate at rink or out on a frozen pond? Have you ever skated before? ~~How many times do you fall?~~

3. Pinterest Fails — You're set on making your own gifts this year, so you try out some adorable Pinterest ideas... And fail miserably. How do you salvage Christmas?

4. Secret Santa — The names have been drawn and now you're tasked with finding the right gift for someone who you may hardly know. Is it easy, or do you have to do some reconnaissance before making your decision?

5. Christmas Market — There are stalls of handcrafts and delicious goodies lining the streets, with crowds of people out walking in the snow and drinking mulled wine.

6. Decorating the Tree — How will the two of you decorate the tree? Do you spend a half hour untangling the twinkle lights, make popcorn strings while listening to carols, argue over who gets to put the star on top?

7. Road Trip — The snacks are packed and you’re ready to go to grandma’s house. But what happens when you lose GPS signal and get lost in the middle of nowhere or the car breaks down?

8. Stuck in the Airport — You’re snowed in and the hotels are full of fellow delayed passengers. Why don’t they make these chairs more comfortable for sleeping in?

9. Avoiding the Family — You’re obligated to go home for the holiday, but there’s only so much you can take of your family. Go for a walk, stop by the bar, whatever it takes for a little peace and quiet - and meet someone along the way.

10. Christmas Party — Are you hosting the event, or just bringing an extra bottle of wine? Is it a work function? How many glasses of spiked eggnog have you had?

11. Baking Shenanigans — How long does it take for the two of you to destroy the kitchen, either with forgetting to put the lid on the blender or simply starting a food fight?

12. Burned the Turkey — Well, the main course is a little blackened. Time for Chinese food, or is it pizza this year?

13. Mistletoe — The little sprig of green strikes again! Are you the one stuck under it, or the lucky finder ready to claim your prize?

14. Last Minute Shopping — Are you out fighting the crowds for the best deals? Or are you behind one of the counters, stuck in the annual retail holiday hell?

16. Turbo Man — You have one last thing on your shopping list, but it's the hottest of the season and everywhere is sold out. There's only one left — but they've spotted it too! Who will walk away victorious?

17. Taking in a Show — Who doesn't love going to the theater during the holiday season? The shows always seem a little more magical this time of year, and that new musical sounds like just what you need to get in the spirit.

18. Write-in Option — Is there something we missed? Is there another scenario you want to play out? Go for it!

Smut Prompts
1. Present Under the Tree — You've wrapped yourself up and are waiting for that special someone.

2. Sneaking Away at a Party — No, you can't wait until you get home or the guests leave, you need them now.

3. Keeping Warm During a Snowstorm — The power's gone out and you have to stay warm somehow...

4. Baking Surprise — How on earth did you get chocolate there? Oh well, can't let it go to waste!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Good. He's a wily one, I could probably do with the backup.

[ Into the auditorium, slinking their way down the aisle, the audience still taking their seats with the hum and buzz of conversation all around them. They find SHIELD's section and then Bucky squeezes himself into the narrow row, taking that seat next to the aisle. He shoots an apologetic smile at the agent on the other side; a man who looks a little startled to realise who's sat down beside him. But Bucky's already not paying him much mind, his attention sliding back to Daisy. The seats are narrow and his knee jostles hers a little as they settle in.

But his gaze drifts over, and he finds himself looking to the mezzanine. The boxes on the side. The lighting and rigging up top. The technicians' area. Bucky's automatically noting all the entrances and exits and sightlines, and he doesn't really like what he sees. They're so exposed where they're sitting in the orchestra, and there's a dozen different spots where a sniper could take up residence—

It's just the theater, Barnes, he tells himself. He takes a massive swig of the cocktail in the hopes of it ironing out his nerves a little. ]

I haven't been to a show in decades, [ he confesses after a second. ] Oklahoma was huge back in my day. I guess that one's still around.

[ It's second nature to take note of the exits and map out a half dozen escape routes; Daisy doesn't even stop to consider how weird 'normal' people would find that way of thinking. Her life is dangerous and she's had too many close calls to resist her instincts like that. Still, she settles easily into the seat she'd claimed, only vaguely noting the row of agents on the other side of Bucky who seem awfully surprised by their presence. She's used to it, and her attention would much rather focus on just how close Bucky is now that they're sitting down.

It's impossible to miss the drink he takes, too much of the liquid monstrosity consumed in one go to be anything but an attempt at bracing himself. Whiskey probably would have done an infinitely better job but she understands the necessity of working with what you've got. She also understands the feeling of being overwhelmed and a little bit desperate — at least, she's guessing that might be what he's experiencing. The source isn't something she can easily assume, not when she knows all too well how even the smallest thing can trigger a memory or instinct, but she doesn't need to know the specifics to help distract him. ]

Yeah, it is. I've never seen it myself but I know it's still performed at schools and local theaters all the time. [ She vividly remembers seeing the posters being hung around the high school by the theater club. But before the production opened, she'd been sent back to Saint Agnes. Shaking herself out of the memory, she shifts slightly in her seat, her knee bumping his again as she turns enough to better look at him since he's probably a little too squished in the small seat to do the same. ] You know, I grew up in the city, but I've never been to a show. This is kind of exciting.

Really?

[ That right there is a welcome distraction, in the way it makes him arch an eyebrow in surprise, shifting in his seat to look at her more head-on too. ]

Shit, then I'm glad to get to be here for your first one. I must've been spoiled from growing up in the city. Most of these old theaters look exactly the same as they used to, at least in the auditorium.

[ It was a nice and unexpected little touchstone. He'd seen the decades changing as the Winter Soldier, but coming back to New York and finding it so new and different had still been a shock — but then Broadway was still here, comfortingly familiar, the same neon lights playing the same shows. Some things didn't change. ]

So. You got any idea if you might be more of a musical person or a play person?

[ There's the reaction she was hoping for. Daisy might not share a lot about her past with people who aren't in her close circle, but she's willing to open up a little faster if it'll help Bucky get through the tougher moments of the day. He deserves to have someone in his corner after all he's been through.

Tilting her head slightly to the side, she considers the options for a moment before answering with a one-shouldered shrug. ]

Probably plays? I think I could enjoy some musicals but most of the ones I've heard about are a bit too out there for me. Kind of like this one. [ She gestures to the theater around them. ] Our lives are weird enough without someone singing about it.

Oh, this one doesn't count for anything. This one's an exception to musicals as a whole. We're not counting this one.

So, what were you saying about being in space—

[ But before he can ask about it, the orchestra starts to play the first stirrings of the overture, the last audience members hustle into their seats, and the lights start to dim. Bucky mouths, 'Later,' at her, and settles in to watch... whatever the hell this is.

And it is one hundred percent terrible.

He'd kind of hoped the story would open on Steve first waking up in present day, but of course they would touch on the origin story in the opening scene in an inspirational song — the skinny weedy kid, the failed army enlistment, the serum, everybody loves that story. There's even a short wisecracking sidekick named Jimmy Barnes, and Bucky sinks further and further down into his seat out of pure mortification, and tries not to meet Daisy's eye during that part.

It gets a little easier after the timejump, and once his own half-fictionalised self is out of the picture. The guy who's supposed to be Steve Rogers fits the image in that he's handsome, blond, and has a thousand-watt smile, but it isn't Steve, and so it's uncanny: like seeing his best friend through a glass, darkly. Something clenches in Bucky's chest, even when he starts laughing so hard at one point that he flat-out chokes on his drink. He wishes Steve were here to suffer this, too. Some of it is fun, in a stupidly earnest kind of way; most of it is cheesy as hell.

He manages to stay tactfully silent through most of the first half, slugging down his drink, but when 'Steve' finishes recruiting the team at the end of act one, Bucky squints incredulously at one of the Avengers, before nudging Daisy with an elbow. He leans over, whispers into her ear, finally unable to hold it in any longer: ]

Scott Lang?? That guy wasn't around until ages later. I should know, I was there when he joined and we were on the run together. The guy snores.

[ Later. It amuses Daisy to no end that Bucky wants the story of her time in space, that he hasn't even been able to wait an hour before asking about it. And he'd asked it so casually too, in a way that was definitely interested and not just making small talk. She finds herself very much looking forward to later when she can regale him with tales of her year traipsing across galaxies and star clusters, hopping from one ridiculous planet to the next, making a name for herself that had people quaking in their boots.

(Yes, she will absolutely be using that pun when she tells it.)

It's a good thing they're not counting this musical because it is bad. The costumes, the lyrics, the acting — she wishes Coulson were here more than ever so that he could correct all the inaccuracies, of which she's sure there are many more than the few dozen she's spotted on her own.

Who thought this was a good idea? Who wrote this and how did it ever make it onto Broadway? Isn't this place supposed to have standards? (She does find Jimmy Barnes to be a nice bit of actual comedic relief, though, and you bet she's going to bring that up with Bucky later when he can't try to disappear into the floor.)

By the time intermission blissfully rolls around, Daisy isn't sure if she's in actual physical pain or if it's just some mental coping mechanism, but her face definitely hurts from the grimace she's worn for half the night. That nudge at her elbow gets her to turn, eyebrows raised as Bucky leans in—

And then she lets out a sudden laugh that's so loud, at least six people turn to look at her. Whoops. Lowering her voice to match his, she's struggling to keep the rest of the laughter in as she replies. ]

That's the thing you have a problem with?

Scott operates on the west coast! There's no goddamn reason Ant-Man would've been in the Battle of New York. [ Okay, but he was there for the fight in Germany, but let's just skim right over that particular detail. Bucky keeps going, mock-aggrieved and amused: ]

Also, they're really playing up 'Steve assembling the Avengers', but he told me he didn't really have all that much to do with it. It was mainly Fury. Although I guess you of all people should know, since it was SHIELD's pet project at first.

[ It's more fun to nitpick the inaccuracies, the costumes — why is Hulk just in a green hoodie? — than to ruminate on the missing faces that were parading across stage like funhouse mirror versions of themselves. Steve and Nat, mostly, are the cause of that sharp twinge under his breastbone.

God, and there's a whole second act of this. He glances into the empty dregs of his drink, which just consists of melted ice now; he sighs, decides he doesn't want to fight the crowds to get back in line at the bar again. He should've been out of his seat while the applause was still going if he'd wanted a shot at a refill.

Maybe there should be drinks after the movie.

That idea starts to percolate. ]

Anyway, point being, this isn't a good example of a musical, from what I know of them. Most of them have better costumes. Jesus, you'd think they'd have a bigger budget for the uniforms, at the very least.

[ Old man yells at cloud! ]

[ Exactly how bad would it be if Daisy let it be know how cute Bucky is when he's ranting like this? Friends comment on that kind of stuff all the time, right? It wouldn't be weird. (It would totally be weird, don't do it, Johnson.) ]

I dunno, maybe there's some sort of aesthetic plan here that we're just totally missing. They could be appealing to all the fans who make their own costumes out of things in their closets.

[ Which does not count as cosplay in her book, not when compared to the incredible things she's seen fans create with their own hands. But she keeps that comment to herself because she's not ready to expose her own cosplay history just yet — that will require a great deal more alcohol. (He's not the only one mourning the emptiness of his cup, but she swears she can see the line for the bar from their seats.)

Turning to face him, she rests an arm on the back of her seat and props her head on her hand. ] You're right about SHIELD's involvement, though. Fury had apparently been working on the project for a few decades and the battle gave him the green light to bring them together, but it was Coulson who really got them to be a team.

[ By dying. Glancing over at the stage, her expression shifts into something darker. She hadn't considered the possibility of a version of those events being in the show until this exact moment, but now that the possibility has occurred to her... ]

Do you want to get out of here? [ Daisy tries to hide the thread of desperation in her voice by offering Bucky a slightly mischievous smile. ] I don't know that I can survive another hour of this trainwreck.

[ Oh. Right. There's an answering flicker in Bucky's expression, his voice softening as he says, ] I never met him, but Steve said he was a good man.

[ That mischievous smile is like a lifeline offered to a drowning man, and Bucky seizes on it. ]

Y'know what, Johnson? You read my mind. Great idea. [ He shoots a glance down the row. His seatmate on the other side had beelined off to the restroom, which leaves a little gap where the other agents aren't paying full attention to them. Which means it's easy enough for them both to scoot out and then hurry down the aisle towards the exit, like two schoolchildren playing hooky and sneaking away from class. Bucky's steps unconsciously speed up, even if he's not accountable to any of the managers or handlers in their group. Nobody gives a shit what he does.

And yet, it still feels a bit like an escape, as they duck the ushers and the crowds and step outside into the brisk wintry air with their breath steaming. He exhales, rolls his shoulders in his leather jacket, shoots her a relieved smile. ]

You wanna grab a drink or something?

[ It bothers her more than she can say that Steve Rogers never got to know that Coulson was still alive. The whole thing was a complicated mess, from Fury insisting it be kept a secret to the time never being quite right to thinking there would be more time. None of them could have foreseen the Captain's choices; maybe if they had, different decisions would have been made.

When they step out into the cold New York night, Daisy pulling on her own leather jacket that she'd had stashed at her seat, she feels like a weight has been lifted from her chest — and it's thanks to the man beside her. She's so incredibly grateful to him for going along with her little getaway plan and so energized by the way they'd darted out like a pair of ridiculous teenagers that she can't stop a grin from tugging at her lips in response to his question. ]

Yeah, I would. You have someplace in mind? [ And then, quickly: ] Please nothing fancy.

All my favourite watering holes closed down, but I'm learning some new ones. I got an idea.

[ He can't go back to the place where he used to drink with Yori, but there are other bars — and Bucky's maybe been spending a bit too much time in them over the last few months. That metabolism means that it's practically an exercise in futility, and he doesn't really talk much to the people around him, so it's mostly just a way to kill a few hours.

But this time, he actually has company. So he leads the way, gloved hands curled in his pockets, and walks Daisy over a few avenues to get away from the theater district. When he reaches his destination, it turns out to be yet another one of those dime-a-dozen Irish pubs which litter the city, and he holds the door open for her as they head inside. Four-leaf clover memorabilia everywhere, creaking wooden floors, old black and white photographs of NYC on the walls. ]

Okay, so it looks kitschy as hell, but trust me. The servers are actually Irish, and they're nice. Free shot with your first beer of the night. Great curly fries, too.

[ He's never really articulated it to anyone, but he's particularly fond of pubs. Reminds him of being on leave in London. ]

[ Walking through the streets of New York with Bucky is... really nice, actually. Not once does she feel any sort of pressure to make small talk or put forth any sort of performance like she does with some of the other agents or even her friends. Despite the thrill of nerves in her stomach at the idea of getting to spend more one-on-one time with this man, Daisy doesn't feel like he has any expectations of her.

(How her traitorous brain hasn't latched onto this situation and twisted it beyond recognition yet is a mystery, to be honest, but she's not going to question the good fortune of not being overwhelmed by her own neuroses yet.)

His choice for the evening has her smiling even before they step inside, and she has to hold back a laugh as he gives his endorsement of the place. It really does look like the stereotypical Irish pub, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. ]

Well, it's a good thing I'm starving, then. I couldn't possibly pass up curly fries. [ It's 100% the truth but she's also teasing him a little. ] And a beer sounds amazing. Not sure about the shot, but hey, we already established that I need to live a little more dangerously, right?

Just a bit. And appropriate, 'cause I dunno what the liquor actually is, besides sometimes sweet as hell. A shot of what? No clue.

[ It turns out that Bucky, even if he's a quiet barfly, is still something of a regular, as they enter and settle in at some bar stools in the back. The bartender recognises him and says hello, and a chatty Irish waitress comes over, cheerfully schmoozes them both, deposits a pub menu in front of them. Bucky's already shoved his stool back against the wall, to where he can get a good view of the exits (some habits don't die), but where he can also survey Daisy over the beer-sticky table. ]

So. How about a pint, a shot, and your story about space?

[ Oh yeah, she can definitely tell that he comes here with decent frequency. The bartender knows him and the waitress seems to as well, but more than that, he seems comfortable here. Sure, he still scopes out the exits, but she does the same before settling onto her own stool. (She trusts him to have her back, so she doesn't fight him for the spot against the wall.)

Daisy can't help the laugh that bubbles up at his proposal. Leaning her still jacket-clad arms against that sticky tabletop, she shakes her head in good-natured bemusement. ]

You really want to hear that story, don't you? [ But she just grins and nods her agreement. ] Okay, Barnes, you've got a deal. But I have to warn you, it's kind of a crazy one.

You're talking to a man who was officially declared K.I.A. during World War II but who's still walking around and talking today. So, I'm all in for crazy.

[ The waitress comes back, and they put in their orders for their own beers plus the curly fries to split, and she deposits the two shot glasses in front of them. The drinks are— dark murky greenish? maybe? it's hard to tell what's even in the glasses except that it smells cloyingly sweet, and Bucky shoots an I told you so look at her, before taking one glass. ]

Bottoms up, Johnson.

[ He slams it back. It tastes like very, very boozy juice; it's strong, whatever it is, but sweet enough that it goes down smooth. Maybe it'll help grease up Daisy's storytelling wheels, too. ]

[ Hearing Bucky talk about his life and the level of crazy that is his reality reminds Daisy of how much they have in common. Too much, she thinks sometimes, but also maybe enough to... Well. Better not to get ahead of herself.

But he is in for a wild ride with her story. ]

If this kills me, I'm absolutely haunting your ass.

[ She tips the shot back enough to get a brief taste and, when it's not utter poison, tips it the rest of the way before she can have second thoughts. It is definitely strong and she can't hide the comical grimace at how sweet it is, but she survives it mostly intact. So... a win? ]

Oh wow, that was... Yep. [ She clears her throat and swallows thickly, trying (and failing) to get the taste out of her mouth. Hopefully, the waitress returns with their beers soon and saves her from this terrible fate. ]

Okay, so space. I can't actually start with the space story, I have to start with the part where we were kidnapped and sent into the post-apocalyptic future where the Earth was kinda torn apart and what was left of humanity was enslaved by the Kree. [ And all of it said with a completely straight face. ]

[ It's still just the prelude, the prologue, when the waitress drops off their beers and Bucky lets it sit a few extra moments while he stares at Daisy, trying to take in that starter. If she weren't an agent of SHIELD, he'd suspect her of pulling his leg. But his life is full of batshit insanity and he knows time travel is possible — it's how he's back in the world of the living, after all — and his own best friend vanished into the past. Still, he has to repeat it: ]

Time travel. You went to the future? You literally got sent to the future?

[ He sounds baffled, but not disbelieving. He does reach for the beer and take a deep swig, though. He might need more than a few drinks by the time this is done. ]

[ Oh, he's definitely gonna need a few more drinks. And she might need a few more than that. ]

About 70 years into the future by a goddamn alien monolith. I hate those things. [ He might have absolutely no idea what she's talking about but there's no missing the very tired irritation of someone for whom this is a chronic problem. ]

Anyway, it wasn't all of us who were sent there — Fitz was left behind. I've mentioned him before, he's married to my best friend, Jemma. They retired a few years ago but still work with us on a consulting basis.

[ Taking a sip of her beer, she reaches up to tuck her hair back behind her ear. ] So, since Fitz wasn't with us, he took the long way to get to the future and spent the time in cryo. He showed up, convinced the guy in charge I should fight to the death in their messed up Inhuman gladiator ring (that's a whole other story), we all almost died a few times, and eventually, we got back to our own time and stopped the horrible, very bad future.

[ There's a lot more to how they stopped it and why it needed to be stopped at all. Like her supposedly being the Destroyer of Worlds, or how they'd had to let Coulson die to finally stop the time loop. But she'd much rather focus on every other part of the story than those. ]

Seventy years in cryo. Sounds familiar. But, so... your friend Fitz can't be in cryo any longer today, right? But him not staying in cryo didn't like, undo and reset everything? Like the grandfather paradox.

[ Time travel is a fucking headache. Bucky's squinting at her with a furrow in his brow as he tries to parse the details, and then keeps drinking. Maybe he has to ask the wizard about how it all works sometime. ]

Also, you can't just throw in a line like "messed up Inhuman gladiator ring" and not elaborate on that particular grenade, Johnson. [ He hesitates: elbows propped against the edge of the table, gloved hands curled around his pint of beer, the glass sweating with condensation. The tone of the retelling is like it's a wild tale, swapping war stories, but he himself knows how delicate that line can be. The way the Howling Commandos and the other soldiers would puff themselves up, try to make the stories sound grandiose and courageous and not at all like the terrified, fucked-up missions they'd actually been. It was a way of coping. Smoothing over the worse details, polishing it to a smooth — or at least palatable — shine. ]

Unless you don't want to get into it.

[ That hesitation speaks louder than anything else could. He knows, it's clear as day. Maybe not what she has to say but certainly the weight behind whatever it might be. And of course, he does — it would be like her asking him about what happened after he was free from HYDRA. Both of them could pretend that they're fine but deep down... sometimes they really aren't.

But maybe it's better he knows he's not alone in the fucked up backstory club. ]

No, it's uhm... It's not...

[ She's suddenly wishing this were a diner, that there were containers with sugar packets on every table so she could grab a few, but they're not at a diner and she'll have to manage without her usual coping mechanism. Pressing the fingertips of one hand to her mouth for a moment, she savors the feeling of the cold drops of condensation that smear across her lips. ]

They sold Inhumans as slaves. Fighters. They were entertainment for whatever rich alien bought them. [ If only she could just leave it at that. She really wishes she could, but she knows so much of his story already that it doesn't feel fair to keep hers from him. But she does take a large swallow of beer before continuing. ] I was going to fetch the highest price... because they believed I was the one who ripped the Earth apart. I was the Destroyer of Worlds.

[ Oh. Well.

There's so many angles here, and Bucky finds himself going still and careful, like stepping out onto a frozen lake, mindful to not step on a hairline fracture which might splinter into a crack which might rip the ground right open beneath them. Alien gladiator rings— Thor and Banner had mentioned something like that once. The Grandmaster on Sakaar. It had sounded lighter than this, though: an actual riproaring tale of galactic adventure and derring-do, before it all went so wrong. Daisy's... seems different.

And something feels horrifically rude about simply asking, Were you? The Destroyer of Worlds?

So Bucky swallows that question. Asks something else instead: solemn, his expression thoughtful and attentive. Gathering details, as is his habit. He'll circle back to that sold as a slave thing in a few. ]

What made them think that?

[ Of all the things he could have said, she appreciates that he chooses that particular question to ask. He doesn't seem to be assuming the worst, nor is he prying at still open wounds. She can't blame him for wanting to know more and she isn't going to let the question go unanswered. ]

There was evidence that I was involved, and when you consider my abilities... [ A shiver runs through her and she shifts in her seat to try to cover it up. She's not actually cold, the room is a perfectly reasonable temperature, it's the psychological stress convincing her body. It happens all the time now, ever since the last battle with the Chronicoms, but she's absolutely not ready to tell him about this particular part of her traumatic baggage. ]

I believed it. I believed it so strongly that I was ready to stay behind when my team came home, just to make sure history couldn't repeat itself. [ She shrugs one shoulder and takes another sip of her drink. ] Obviously that didn't happen, though.

Hey, don't forget: you're not the only person out there with powers. And time travel is above my paygrade, but don't you figure that even if — say, if — it was an actual risk, then just knowing about that possible future means you're prepared to prevent it from happening in present-day? Knowing is half the battle, and whatever.

[ It's an attempt at consoling her in whatever way he can, before he takes a beat to take another sip of his drink. God, time travel makes his head ache. But Bucky then adds, slowly, still trying to wrap his head around it, with an eyebrow half-arched as he focuses on the positive: ]

So, technically, you saved our entire planet from being torn apart and all of humanity being enslaved by aliens?

[ Knowing is half the battle. She can see feel that churn of emotions as she argued with Coulson, so certain she was doing the right thing by insisting she be left behind. And then she remembers the absolute terror when Fitz had removed the blocker and they'd all slid closer to the future coming true. ]

Yeah, technically, I did. [ By letting Coulson die. But she can't think about that right now, nor is she ready to tell Bucky about all of that, so she barrels onward. ] But uh, back to the point of this story. Months passed in between us going to the future and saving the world, so when Fitz died during the final battle... Well, one version of him was dead. The Fitz who slept for seventy years, who came back with us to the past, who married Jemma. But the Fitz who was in cryo was out there somewhere in space still. So we went to find him.

[ He's completely absorbed in the story as it unfurls, fixed on the details even as Daisy hop-skip-jumps to the next part — and he gets that, too. There's entire decades that he'd like to fast forward through his own life story. Shaking his head, he murmurs, ]

And here I thought me meeting one space raccoon and one talking tree was special. I've really got to re-evaluate my standards.

Go on.

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