Chapter Text
Skye tossed and turned that night. She couldn’t feel her mother’s comforting presence next to her anymore, which didn’t help, and her father… She checked the backyard. He was still in the guest house. That was weird.
Her body hurt all over, just as it’d been doing for the past few days, with an itch at the base of her skull, trying— and failing— to remind her of something.
Skye sat up and turned the lamp on. She lifted the hem of her shirt and poked at where her stomach hurt, wondering what could be the cause. It probably wasn’t appendicitis. It wasn’t cramps. It wasn’t anything she’d ever felt before. But it hurt.
She heard voices in the hallway, ones that seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place a name on them. She stumbled out of bed and crept out of her door that was left slightly ajar, but she couldn’t see anyone.
“Hello?”
No answer. Strange, but only her parents lived with her, so maybe not so strange after all.
“Skye!” She turned to see her mother in the kitchen, a warm smile on her face.
Skye couldn’t remember how she got downstairs.
“Angel, do you want breakfast?” her mother asked, taking out the cereal. “How much?”
She sank down onto one of the stools. “Just a little, but Mom…” Skye tilted her head, confused. “It’s the middle of the night. Right? Why are we having breakfast?”
Her mother didn’t answer, but looked behind her. “She’s not doing so good. Just give it to her. What’s the worst it can do?”
Skye turned around, but before she could process anything she saw, she fell off the stool to the ground. Her vision blurred, but she couldn’t seem to get back to normal. Her chest hurt so very much, like someone was pressing on it with their entire body weight. It was strange. It felt like someone was making her heart beat for her, and she didn’t like what that meant.
“Mom?” she rasped. Her throat felt weird. There was something blocking it. She felt like vomiting. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She was so… dizzy…
And Skye felt like she was falling through air, suddenly reminded of the time she skydived to save Simmons.
Wait. Who’s Simmons? And Skye had gone skydiving?
Skye? Skydiving?
That’s hilarious.
She heard someone calling her name, and Skye tried to crawl towards it. The front door was open, light spilling from outside. She could hear voices from just beyond the point, her mother, her father, her family…
Skye tried, but her arms and her legs and her eyelids were so heavy, and she was so tired…
No. Voices. She had to go towards the voices. And the light. Can’t forget that.
Wait… why the hell was she going towards the light? That sounded so stupid. Never mind that her family was calling her from behind it. That was a trick. An elaborate scheme to get her to die.
But why was she dying in the first place? Skye tried to remember, but everything was foggy. Her mind was… grey. Dark. The house was dark. It was night. Was it?
You’ve come so far, Skye. You can’t stop now. Don’t stop.
She wanted to stop. She was so tired. Skye thought she didn’t mind dying. She didn’t really have anything to live for, not that she knew of. She had a family, and she had this house…
Don’t stop.
Should she even be crawling towards the light? It felt like a sunspot. It felt warm. Familiar. It felt like home.
Skye wanted to go home.
Don’t stop.
She’ll go towards the light. She wanted to rest. She deserved the rest. She was done. She could go home. She could go…
Home?
... Home.
May. Coulson. They could all go home.
Don’t stop now. You’re almost there.
Skye reached towards the open door, feeling the warmth on her hand. She was almost there. She was so close she could taste it. Sweet, sweet death. Quinn could suck it.
Quinn?
Oh, hell.
Everything flooded back, but the light drew her in. No, no, no, no, wait, she couldn’t go yet.
Skye! She was about to be a SHIELD agent. She was May and Coulson’s daughter. She was looking for the douchebag who called himself the Clairvoyant. She got shot… a while ago. She was bleeding out on the ground the last thing she could remember. She was dying.
Wait. Don’t. Stop.
She had to go back. She needed to go back. She needed to get the Clairvoyant. She knew something they didn’t
But the light was so welcoming.
Don’t. Stop.
She was so tired. It was so warm. It felt so much like May’s hugs and it smelled like Coulson’s cookies. It sounded like someone singing. Not May. Not Coulson. Who was it?
Don’t… Stop…
Singing… that voice. It was so familiar. What was she singing?
Skye was so curious. She reached out for the door. She’ll just be a minute. She’ll run right back. She won’t even let go of the door. She’d just be taking one quick peek.
She looked through the door and fell forward, and suddenly, she felt tiny. She was nestled in the crook of someone’s arm. She felt safe.
She hadn’t felt like that for a long time.
Someone, the someone who was holding her, was singing softly. A nursery rhyme, one of those old songs that every little kid knew. Which one was it? The tune was at the tip of her tongue until Skye was abruptly yanked back through the doorway and into the dark house. She was falling…
Falling…
Falling?
“Skye?” A gentle hand covered hers, warm, real, familiar. Her mother. Her mom. Her May.
Skye tried to reply, but there was something stuck in her throat. She couldn’t open her eyes. She was still in the dark. She wanted to tell May she was okay.
Then careful fingers squeezed Skye’s hand, and gratefully, she tried to return the gesture. She found a surface that felt like skin and tapped once, waited, and tapped twice.
I’m sorry.
I love you.
May let out a soft gasp of relief when she felt Skye’s finger pat the skin of her hand, and her heart thudded to the rhythm set by her daughter’s heart monitor.
It was nightfall now. Garrett and his team had already escorted the offending stain that was Ian Quinn off of her plane. Simmons was hovering between the pod and the lab, checking Skye’s vitals every half-hour. She’d brought May dinner from upstairs and a pitcher of water, and May was grateful, even if she’d’ve appreciated a bottle of something stronger.
And Skye…
She was asleep for the rest of the night. May watched as the clock ticked on by, listened to the heart monitor beep, and around 3 in the morning, the pod door slid open. She glanced up to see Phil standing in the doorway. They hadn’t had the chance to talk since they saved Skye, so she was grateful he showed up here instead. She couldn’t bear to leave her daughter’s bedside.
“Hey,” May said quietly, watching him drop into the chair next to her. “Can’t sleep?”
Phil hummed in the back of his throat. “No. It’s a little harder when you’re not next to me. I think I’m too used to it by now.” He smiled slightly. “I’ve gone soft.”
May rolled her eyes. She sighed. “You did the impossible today,” she told him. “You saved Skye’s life. Why aren’t you happy about it? You came in here, yelling at us not to give her the drug. Why? What changed your mind?”
Phil let out a breath, eyes unfocused as he turned his gaze to their daughter.
May reached out to touch his cheek to bring him back. “Phil?” she murmured. “Phil. You all right?”
He shook his head. “Being down there... seeing where I came from...” Phil covered her hand with his own, bringing it down so he could hold it gently. “I just got really scared that she would suffer the way that I did. But she didn’t. For whatever reason, she didn’t. So I’m curious. Grateful, of course, but a little curious.”
May gave him a look, and he seemed to understand it.
“I know, I know. I’ll tell her, I promise.” Phil brushed back a stray strand of Skye’s hair. “I’m just glad she’s okay.”
She stirred under her father’s touch and coughed slightly. “Momma?” Skye croaked. “Dad?”
May stood up and grasped her daughter’s hand gingerly. “Hey, angel, we’re right here,” she told the girl. “We’re right here.”
“Hmm.” Skye blinked her eyes open. “Hey.”
Phil chuckled quietly. “Hey, angel eyes,” he said. “You gave us quite the scare back there.”
Skye squinted at him. “You’re back from the guest house already?”
May looked at her, brows drawn together in confusion. How could she possibly have known…
“Weird dreams, I guess, judging by the look on your face.” Skye rubbed her eyes. “You guys probably talked about it here.” She reached out lazily for her mother and received a hug for her efforts. “What I really want now is to get the Clairvoyant.”
May exchanged a glance with Phil. “It’s important to let yourself heal and rest, too, okay?” She patted Skye’s hands. “You almost died. Hell, I think you did die for a couple of seconds there. Get better first. Then, we’ll talk about you going back on the field.”
Skye pouted and, as if struck by a sudden thought, she reached down her shirt to feel her stomach. “There are scars,” she remarked blandly. “I wonder if there are any on my back.” She shrugged. “Well, I guess I’ll see.”
Phil sat at the edge of his daughter’s bed. “I have a scar, too,” he told her. He unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. “See?”
Skye glanced at him for permission before reaching out to trace her fingers along the ridges of his scar. “It’s big,” she said.
“Yeah, but every guy looks hotter with scars,” Phil joked. “Or so I’m told.”
Skye wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Gross.”
May just drank in the image of her daughter and her best friend laughing and joking, the both of them healthy and alive. There.
Skye had the colour back in her cheeks, and Phil just looked so... relieved. May was too, and she was grateful that everything had fallen in place just well enough so that everyone she loved was safe.
May sat back in the chair. Her family was okay. Her daughter was okay.
All was well.
Or, as well as it could be. She’d take what she could get.
