you want so badly to be pure again, you call yourself a doll, a lamb, an innocent little thing. but the color pink doesn’t wash away sin, and rosaries don’t make you any less scared of god.
throat as she anxiously awaited .
“ c'mon . . work . ”
it was whispered towards the pair of gloves — praying that the metal and fabric alleviated some of the pain from daisy's gift .
“ i've got you — i've got you . tell me how it feels . does it hurt ? ”
“ do not apologize . it's alright . ”
jemma's tone was quick—snappy even, as if annoyed that daisy was apologizing to her . nobody was hurt, the building hadn't collapsed . there were worse things .
her digits made quick work of the gloves once given the okay — slipping them
“ i 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 you. ”
daisy's response was involuntary. it slipped between trembling lips, quiet but without uncertainty when she looked into simmons' hopeful eyes.
the fear coursing through her body was unlike anything she'd 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 felt, and it was jemma's assuring voice -
over the woman's wrists, tightening them just enough . she hesitated , for a moment — worried that she might have made a mistake in the device . this was the only way to see — to test it .
her thumb smashed the button , turning the gloves on — waiting . her breath caught in her
shaking safe house . jemma slipped the gloves over daisy's finger tips — but did not pull them all the way on . giving her the choice — waiting , never forcing .
“ trust me — please daisy . ”
it was pleaded with the chemist's eyes widened — as if they were begging for
there’s blood on my hands & i can’t wash it off. there’s blood on my hands & i can’t wash it off. there’s blood on my hands & i can’t wash it off. there’s blood on my hands & i can’t wash it off.