Oh, this party was about making appearances. It was dreadfully important that she got to witness the contours of Spider-man's package, and she would be kicking herself for not putting on a pair of proper heels and the latest Marchesa when the next Vanity Faire came out. Daisy took a long drink from her eggnog, glaring at Spider-man over the edge of her glass, not too fucking bothered by her Sub-Mariner eyebrows. Daintily, for appearances, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before saying, "If you accuse me of working for Nazis again I'll pull your little fucking legs off." He had to see his own logical fallacy in the comment. She went unrecognized, but was still in the Avengers' headquarters on Christmas Day, so she must have been, like, a level fucking 10 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent or something. But his face was so fucking dazzling that no one would ever be able to forget him and his dear, precious life would be in peril.