Your Skimmons prompt was so adorable! I loved it! Might I suggest another: Skimmons + 13. stroking hair
Jemma heard the hiss as she passed the open bathroom door, and had no trouble recognizing it. Because of that, she stopped and poked her head through the door.
Evidently still wary, Daisy immediately looked over and immediately relaxed. She was still rosy from a shower, dressed for the day, but her hair lay in tangles down past her shoulders. Wet like that, it was even longer. She really was committed to growing it out, Jemma saw.
“I’m fine,” she said, though Jemma hadn’t said a word. She shook her comb in Jemma’s direction. “Don’t give me that look.”
“Was there a look? I have no ‘look’ on my face.”
“Uh-huh.” Daisy snorted. “Worrywart.”
But she grimaced and hissed out another pained breath as she pulled the comb through her hair. Jemma only needed a brief glance to diagnose that the bullet wound in her shoulder was paining her again. Her left hand remained at her side, useless and purple as a result of her quaking a few Hydra agents. She’d done to it save Jemma’s life, but it still sent a quiet pang of hurt through Jemma that she’d had to do that.
Bringing that up would only lead to an argument, so Jemma put false cheer in her voice. “Why don’t I do that?”
“I can comb your hair for you.”
“I’ve got it.”
“It’ll go much faster if I do it, though.” Jemma plucked the comb from her hand and jerked her head for Daisy to follow her. Their temporary base had tiny bathrooms (one of the myriad problems, but certainly not as bad as the faint, pervasive odor of day-old fish), so she led the way out to the little lounge area that the woman’s floor afforded. God, it was like living in the SHIELD dorms again.
Daisy settled on the couch, holding her posture stiffly as Jemma gathered up the tangled waves of hair and pulled them off of her neck. “I really can brush my own hair,” she said.
“I know that. But it’s nice to be pampered a little on occasion. I know that much.” Plus, she liked Daisy’s hair. It wasn’t as thick as hers, but whatever shampoo Daisy used kept it silky soft. Jemma did her best to keep the tangles under control as she pulled the comb through it. She was positive she was only half-successful, but Daisy the stoic didn’t even flinch. “I can braid it, too, if you like.”
“That little fishtail thingie you do?” Daisy asked. “It always looks so cute and I have trouble with—“ she gestured “—the fiddly bits, you know?”
“Certainly,” Jemma said, her heart lightening a little. She stroked Daisy’s hair for a second before she began to work, glad for this tiny moment of tranquility in the middle of the chaos of their lives.