Chapter Text
She couldn't touch Trip.
It's the thought that haunts her all the way through the tunnels, all the way through the crumbling rocks that once made up a city. At least half the place has caved in, and every step sends dust flying, but her mind is a million miles from the destruction.
She couldn't touch Trip. The pile of ashes that he became. She should have checked - she could've gathered up the ashes, maybe, and done - done something - maybe even made sure he was dead and not just - just -
Skye stops suddenly, leaning against a broken pillar and breathing in deep, dizzying gasps. She can't seem to get enough air. The whole temple feels like it's buzzing, everything from the walls around her to the pebbles beneath her feet, and she wishes they would be still for a minute, just long enough to make sense of what the hell is happening to her.
Because something is happening. She can feel it. There's an awareness to her now, an energy underneath her skin. She feels every part of her body from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She feels like she's vibrating.
It's exhilarating.
It scares the hell out of her.
"Coulson?" she yells, stumbling her way into a shaft of light. She can see a patch of blue from the sky above her, which must mean the entire building has crumbled, and that means LEOs and EMTs are about to swarm the scene like ants. Fuck. She needs to get out of here, and fast, before the locals come to gawk. Where is everyone? Did the team make it out?
Oh, God, did the team make it out?
Skye takes a deep breath, ignoring the way the oxygen practically sings as it travels through her bloodstream, lighting up her nerves and her veins and everything else.
"Coulson?" she tries again. "May? Can anyone hear me?"
There's a sudden noise from the shadows. She whirls around, hand dropping to where she usually keeps her sidearm, but of course her gun isn't there when she actually needs it. She doesn't have a flashlight, either. There are bad days, and then there are bad days for SHIELD agents.
"Who's there?" she demands loudly, hoping volume makes up for courage. The thought occurs to her that it could be father, that he might have come back for her, and she's torn by a half-wild longing so intense that she almost misses a flash of yellow from the darkness.
It's an eye. An eye and a crouched form, still hidden in the shadows, covered in something that looks like quills or needles.
For a second, Skye can only stare.
Then she makes herself say, "Raina?"
Raina doesn't respond with words, but at the sound of her name she emits a long, high wailing noise, something that makes the hair on Skye's arms stand straight up. Then she turns, still wailing, and bolts around a pillar with a skit-skit-skit noise until she's gone.
A tail whips around the corner after her.
Skye swallows hard. Her heart is pounding and her skin is on fire, but it doesn't hurt; it's more like waves of warmth emitting from her insides and lapping up and down her body. She can feel everything in the tunnel, every rock and every cranny, and the sunlight is still streaming down from the hole in the ceiling and it feels absolutely amazing, and -
Enough. She has to get out of this place. She has to reconnect with her team, and she has to report that the obelisk has been destroyed, and she has to tell them about Raina and Trip and everything else that's happened.
Skye looks at the wall in front of her.
Did the team make it out?
Somehow, instinctively, she knows which parts of the rubble will support her weight.
Did her father make it out?
Skye puts her hands on the wall and starts to climb.
Did Ward?
*
By the time she emerges from the hole, panting and streaked with dirt, the surrounding area is crawling with cop cars and ambulances. No one can see her among the debris, but it's only a matter of time, so Skye quickly hauls herself up and into a crouch. There's still no sign of SHIELD, and the worry is almost enough to bring her to her knees right there in the middle of a disaster zone, because what if they were caught in the collapse? Trip followed her. What if the others did too? What if they were right behind him before the temple walls sealed them in? What if their corpses are already rotting down there?
Blood surges through her body, making her feel hyper-aware and almost buoyant.
A group of medics bustle by, and Skye uses them for cover to escape the scene. First things first: she needs to disguise herself. She's sweaty, dirty and her hair is a mess, so she'll stick out like a sore thumb among the locals. SHIELD protocol six for disastrous missions: Do not draw attention to agency actions or operatives even when waiting for extraction.
A disguise first, Skye tells herself, and then she'll swipe someone's cellphone and get in touch with the team. And everything will be okay. No sweat.
Hustling through the crowd and then veering away from it, she gets incredibly lucky down a paved side street leading into the greater San Juan area. Someone has left their jacket on the back of a chair at an outdoor cafe, and she lifts it easily, not looking around in guilt and nervousness like she would've done just six months ago. This time she picks it up without breaking stride, one hand smoothing out her hair and obscuring her face from the people inside the windows. No one calls after her. No one notices her at all.
I can be ninja, she'd told May once, who'd responded with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raise that said you are an infant.
God, if she got May killed -
No. No. Everything will be fine.
She snags a hat from a street vendor two blocks away, and a cellphone a few blocks after that, staggering the thefts as an extra precaution. She wishes desperately for a gun but no one's stance says they're packing. She starts punching in Coulson's number by memory as she hurries down the street, and it suddenly occurs to her that she's moving faster than usual, not just running-from-the-scene-of-the-crime fast but inhumanly so, quickly enough that heads are turning in curiosity as she passes.
She forces herself to slow down. It seems harder than it should be, like her body wants to keep flying, keep testing its limits. She gives a tight, not-at-all-reassuring smile to a woman staring at her and clutching her groceries.
Then the woman's eyes move to something behind her, and panic explodes in Skye's stomach.
"¡Alto!" a police officer barks.
He's a large, heavyset man with a moustache. He grips her upper arm so hard it's painful. He looks at her with suspicion and distrust.
All of this goes through Skye's brain in a matter of seconds, and then the street explodes.
Screams erupt from all sides. Chunks of asphalt go flying into the air. The ground heaves, moving up and down as though taking a big breath, and then people are yelling in frantic Spanish, the words no! and dios Mio! and help, help! mixing interchangeably with diablo.
There are bodies on the ground, dozens of them.
Skye knows this because she's standing in the eye of the storm, perfectly unhurt, watching wide-eyed as the moustached police officer looks at her with confusion and blood pouring out of his mouth. It only takes a few moments for him to die, but Skye knows the exact second he does, because she can feel the vibrations of his brain and heart and lungs and she can feel them all fall gently still.
Her blood sings.
Her stomach lurches.
Before anyone can notice her, she turns and runs from the chaos, eyes blinded by tears. In her hand, Coulson says "Hello? Hello?" until she crushes the phone like tissue paper, her sobs just loud enough to mask him saying, "Sk- ?"