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After being on the Bus for a few months, Skye thought she had a pretty good understanding of her fellow teammates. You know, how they behaved, what they did in their free time and what not. Apparently, she was a little off base and maybe her previous life experiences had clouded her judgement somewhat.
That morning, having arrived at a local base for their day of leave, Skye had found her leg to be a bit stiff. Which was fine, nothing to worry about; it happened occasionally. The brunette had been told by her doctor that the best thing to sooth it was to swim in fresh water – oddly specific, but hey, he had medical degree so who was she to argue? So, Skye thanked the powers that be that there was a fresh water lake not three miles from the base.
It took a bit longer than it normally would have to get there, what with the dull ache every step she took, but she eventually got there, once again checking that she did actually text Coulson saying she was going off for the day, then stripping and diving into the secluded lake.
Three lazy, paddling hours later, Skye was drying herself off on the shore and realised, just as she had her trousers fastened, that this was the quietest her life had been for quite some time; the birds faintly calling in the distance, the water gently lapping at the sandy bank and the warm sun beaming down through the gap in the trees. So the young hacker decided that here was a good a place as any to waste away the day on her laptop.
It took her remarkably less time to get back to the base than the original journey did, but that was to be expected. Not even the long, painful process of checking her credentials at the base entrance couldn’t take away the new lightness she felt in her chest. She hadn’t felt this free and happy since, well, since her last skype call with Natasha, but Skye didn’t think she had ever felt it on her own.
It was odd and pleasant and felt like the sleepy comfort of hot chocolate under a warm blanket in winter.
Because of this, she barely even stuttered in her walking when she strode up the ramp into the Bus and FitzSimmons weren’t pottering in their lab as they usually did every afternoon. Or was it evening? Skye checked her watch and was surprised to see it read almost seven o’clock.
Instead of uselessly pondering to the whereabouts of her favourite nerds – assuming, quite logically, that someone would have told her if something had happened – Skye headed straight for the showers and her spare set of leisure wear she kept there. God, she loved sweatpants. So easy.
She leaned heavily against the wall as the clean water pounded what was left of the tension out of her muscles. She was seriously prepared to collapse into her bunk by the time she turned off the water stream. In fact, she almost did when she lost her concentration trying to get her sweatpants on. It wouldn’t do well to get a head injury now. Half-naked, at that.
After that, Skye focussed on not passing out in the middle of the bathroom.
Slowly, and with an embarrassing amount of effort, Skye trudged up the spiral stairs, pushing heavily off the handrails. Therefore, it was unsurprising when pretty much all Skye was focussed on when she got upstairs was making it to her bed.
Just as she got to her bunk door, the brunette was startled by a loud, “Even I’ve got better than that.” It was distinctly Scottish and, if Skye wasn’t mistaken, slightly slurred.
Her curiosity piqued, Skye shuffled around the corner to sneak a look at the common room.
Suddenly, all vestiges of tiredness flew out of her mind when she saw a shock of bright, fiery red hair sat on one of the couches set around in a circle. Her stomach dropped and heart threatened to break out of her rib cage, then she tilted her head in confusion when she caught sight of Ward pulling up his trousers and sending Fitz a sour look.
What the hell was going on here?
She trudged forward, confusion clearly etched on her face, intent on finding out why exactly Ward had his pants down while Fitz said he had better. Maybe she really misjudged this agency.
The first person to notice her arrival was, completely unsurprisingly, Natasha. Her head spun around and a smile bloomed across her face upon seeing Skye and the brunette couldn’t help reciprocate with her own goofy smile. She really didn’t have the energy not to look love struck so she just shuffled around to the other end of the couch that Natasha was settled on, swinging her legs onto the assassin’s lap with a contented expression.
Natasha looked at Skye faux admonishingly for a couple of seconds, before focussing back on the rest of the circle who all studied the duo in astonishment.
“Go on then, Fitz, show us yours.”
Skye looked at her girlfriend in horror. What ungodly comparison was about to happen? Skye was but an innocent young woman who really didn’t want to witness anyone’s wang.
Thank the lord, Natasha just smirked and Fitz untucked the corner of his shirt, shuffling around on his seat, to show everyone gathered the sizeable acid burn across the top of his hip bone.
Oh thank everything holy, Skye thought, they were comparing war wounds.
“The one and only time I participated in one of Jemma’s academy experiments.” He explained.
“Oh please, you were only unconscious for a few hours!” Jemma rebuffed.
“Out of pain, Jemma!” The Scot near squealed.
Skye felt her feet lift up and down slightly with Natasha’s silent chuckles and couldn’t help but laugh as well. No matter how long she knew them, FitzSimmons’s interactions were always hilarious.
“How long have you been playing this game?” Skye asked as the laughter died down a little, then startled when a tumbler of whiskey appeared inches in front of his face. She trailed her eyes up the strong arm holding it and was pleasantly surprised to see Clint’s gentle face smiling down at her. She took the drink with a smile and then scowled as the archer ruffled her hair affectionately, batting his rough hands away from her damp hair.
“Not long, kiddo. We haven’t got to the good ones yet. Coulson, yet again, showed us his disgusting death scar.” The Avenger visibly cringed at the image and, yeah, Skye understood. She had walked in on him doing up his shirt; it was gnarly. “Ward has a three inch scar on his upper thigh and Simmons is missing a little toe.” He shrugged and settled into his arm chair with a comfortable sigh.
“So… Whose turn is it?”
“Clint’s.” Natasha informed her, absentmindedly stroking her hand up and down Skye’s leg. It was lulling.
“That’s got to be an obvious one, right?” Skye questioned.
“Deafness isn’t really a good one in this game, kiddo. Doesn’t give off a scarred warrior vibe.” The blond told her.
“Warrior?” She scoffed, “Please, Big Bird, you prance around shooting arrows from building tops.”
“Hey!” He whined as Natasha, Coulson and even May pursed their lips to stop from laughing outright. “Whatever.” He mumbled.
Natasha nudged his thigh with her foot, “Just get on with it, you child.”
“Fine.” He huffed as he rose from his seat, pulling his t-shirt over his head, revealing a large, rugged scar stretching from his left shoulder to below his pants on his right hip.
“Don’t fuck with pissed off samurais.” Is all he said, a faraway look in his eyes, before flopping back into his chair. He forewent putting his shirt back on, instead letting it flutter to a puddle on the ground next to his chair.
May tutted and, too, lifted her shirt to just below her bra, showing a similar texture scar to Barton’s, but this one going straight across her middle.
“Don’t go on missions with idiots who don’t know when to shut their mouth around pissed off samurais.”
Skye guffawed loudly, vividly remembering the way Clint would flinch away at the very mention of May’s name a few years ago. She didn’t understand it back then, but now, having met her and experienced her grudge holding skills, Skye definitely understood.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw May smirk victoriously as Clint cringed.
Suddenly everyone fell quiet and looked at Natasha. The atmosphere was tense, as if waiting for horrific tales of bloody duels and cruel punishments. But Skye knew her body and mind intimately. She knew Natasha only had a rare blemish if you were to study her naked body – as Skye had done many times. She was too good a spy to let anyone get a proper hit on her and she knew the Red Room preferred mental torture to physical; it was more effective and left the assets more desirable to their marks.
So when Natasha raised her arm, rolling down her sleeve in the process, Skye was confused. She smiled a self-deprecating smile as she showed a patch of vivid red skin on her inner forearm.
“I may have tried baking a couple of days ago.”
Skye rolled her eyes. Despite her efficiency and mastery in pretty much every other field, Natasha was absolutely terrible at cooking, to the point where she almost burnt down Clint and Laura’s farmhouse the one time she tried to make supper there.
From that point on, Laura kept her well away from kitchen and was completely unsubtle in her behaviour. Much to Natasha’s chagrin, Skye found it absolutely hilarious.
“I thought we talked about this.” The hacker said teasingly.
Baking? Ward mouthed to FitzSimmons as the pair sat, stunned by their wayward hacker’s easy rapport with two superheroes.
“Your turn, Skye.” Jemma piped up finally. Curious to see what they could find out about their mystery of a consultant.
“Is it too soon for the…” Skye trailed off, gesturing vaguely to her abdomen. Referencing her shooting less than a month ago.
Clint looked at her curiously and Skye guessed Natasha had failed to tell him about her little ‘incident’. One look at Natasha pointedly avoiding her eyes confirmed it for the brunette.
With a roll of her eyes, Skye lifted her baggy sweater to reveal toned abs and two puckered bullet scars, an inch apart.
“Billionaires are wankers.” She said succinctly with a nod and smirked when she saw Natasha stare hungrily at her bare midriff.
It had been over a month since they had last seen each other in person.
“Frankly,” Clint started, “for the sake of my sanity, I’m not gonna ask.”
“That’s probably for the best.” Skye decided as she dropped her shirt. She could see the moment Natasha came back to the room.
“Did I tell you about the time I was captured by a Thai crime ring and whipped for information?” Grant chimed, with odd boyish enthusiasm for such a dark subject.
Ward stood and turned, enthusiastically tugging his shirt up. Skye shared an amused glance with Natasha and was taken slightly off-guard when her girlfriend darted forward press a quick, passionate kiss to her lips, slipping back to the other end before the brunette could even respond.
Natasha turned back to Ward happily pointing out the order of the scars on his back and how many stitches he had needed. Skye stared at her with a dazed smile.
Two bottles of whiskey and a few hours later, there was an odd amount of stripping going on. May and Natasha, who had both consumed most of the alcohol and were both infuriatingly sober, and bowed out long ago, their most grievous scars not being on their skin.
Ward was still revealing new wounds, stripped to his boxers, while Coulson was doggedly fighting that having been dead for days was obviously the winner thank you very much. Clint had long ago fallen asleep spread-eagle on his chair. Fitz hadn’t officially quit, but was finding it more difficult to find any more actually visible scars. Simmons was practically draped over Fitz to get closer to Coulson to argue that missing a vital body part permanently was worse than being ‘a bit dead for a while’.
“It was your little toe, Simmons! You would have been slightly off balance for a week. I died for longer than you were slightly wonky!” He slurred passionately.
Skye laughed to herself. Or maybe aloud if the disapproving look Natasha sent her was any indication.
“I’m sorry to ruin your fun, but you’re all wrong.” Skye slurred, wobbling as she got to her feet. She wind milled her arms to keep her balance, her tumbler still in hand. It was always harder to navigate her leg when she was tired.
Maybe it didn’t help that she was about three glasses past slightly tipsy.
“Hold my drink.” The drunk brunette commanded, sloppily swinging her mostly empty glass towards her girlfriend.
Natasha sighed as she caught the glass inches before it hit her in the face; she knew exactly where this was going. Though she couldn’t argue it was somewhat of a show stopper.
Skye unceremoniously dropped her sweatpants, leaving only her baggie sweater only just covering her panties. With that action, though, she had garnered everyone’s attention from their own arguments.
Coulson and Fitz both blushed and quickly averted their eyes and Ward gaped as May shot Romanoff a questioning glance. The redhead only nodded towards the half-naked girl who was currently fumbling with some straps at the stop of her left thigh. Jemma was watching with an intensity Natasha had thought would be impossible for her level of inebriation.
Suddenly, with a loud, jarring thump, Skye raised her arms triumphantly as her whole freaking leg fell off. Now everyone was gaping, even May and the hacker felt inordinately pleased to invoke that kind of response.
Clint's ringing snore rang out through the quiet room and Skye wobbled so violently that Natasha quickly wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled the younger girl onto her lap.
Skye turned her head and gave Natasha a dreamy smile and a surprisingly controlled kiss, given how sloppy she was in all of her other movements so far.
“Where is your leg?!” Coulson gasped, staring unabashedly at the stump that stopped half way down where her thigh should have been.
She wiggled said stump around a little and FitzSimmons watched the movement with morbid intensity.
“Somewhere in a desert in Afghanistan. A fiery piece of armoured vehicle sliced through it like butter when a rocket attacked my convoy as I saved his slow ass.” Skye waved at the archer snoring loudly on the arm chair to her left, though she said the words with an affectionate smile. “A joint mission between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the U.S. Marines that went tits up almost immediately. I was honourably discharged after that. For obvious reasons.”
Natasha actually witnessed everyone seeing Skye in a new light, it was visible. Whilst the team had pretty much gotten over past grievances and learned to appreciate their teammates, discovering that one had a whole hidden military career certainly painted them in a new, heroic, respect.
“Fucking ruined my plan for an easy life long career with an amazing pension.” Skye mumbled.
“Babe,” Natasha laughed at her pouting girlfriend, “you literally get monthly payments from the government for not having a leg.”
“But I could have been a captain!” The twenty-four year old whined, “I would have been an even betterer one than the star spangled man with a fan!”
“It’s man with a plan, and I’m sure you could get him to sign your leg if you really wanted. He’s a sucker for big, soulful eyes.”
Skye smirked at Natasha and she instantly knew that a meeting between two war heroes was going to occur in in her very near future, so she smiled back. Skye had once confided, late at night, having jolted awake – sweaty and fearful – from a PTSD dream, that as a child, Captain America had always been her idol. A beaten down weedy little orphan from New York who wanted so badly just to help others, how could she not identify with that?
Coulson watched the exchange with wide, boyishly innocent eyes and seemed to have only taken one thing from it.
“You get to see Captain Rogers! I saw him once, he was sleeping. Then I saw him again and I died.”
May rolled her eyes at her obviously wasted commanding officer then turned her appraising eyes to Skye, who was grinning lovingly at the redhead that May had had a certain kinship with ever since she defected to S.H.I.E.L.D.
“Your fighting ability is a little bit more impressive now.” She said shortly and did a firm nod. And that tiny bit of praise, which was masses in May terms was enough to make Skye’s heart feel fit to burst with happiness.
Here, she had her big brother, her girlfriend and her family and they all loved her even without her leg and with her occasional nightmares and biting sarcasm and even, it appeared, off her face on single malt whiskey.
It didn’t take long after that for FitzSimmons to retire to their respective bunks, the competition for worst war injury having been comprehensively won the moment Skye’s prosthetic leg hit the floor. Ward followed not long after them, walking into his door twice before remembering he needed to enter his code into the control panel next to the door, which took another two minutes.
When May dumped all of the collected glasses in the sink with a loud clink, Clint snorted awake, darting his eyes dazedly around the room, saw Skye and grinned toothily.
“It’s Stumpy!” He cheered jovially.
“I would insult you, but you wouldn’t even hear me.” She shot back. Natasha had cut her off soon after the leg reveal and she had started sobering at her usual rapid rate; she was pretty much back to pleasantly tipsy.
“Ow, Stumpy,” Clint pouted, clutching his chest dramatically, “that hurt.”
Then he burst into giggles and completely ruined the effect. Skye followed suit and Natasha let an amused smirk tug at her lips.
Less than half an hour later found Skye with her left arm wrapped around Natasha’s shoulders as she hopped to her bunk, laughing at May’s efforts to get Coulson into his office – where his bed was – and Clint into a spare cubby across the room. It was a mess and no-one had bothered to move Skye’s leg from the middle of the room so Clint tripped over it face first when he finally managed to get some semblance of balance.
Finally – finally, seven hours after originally planning it – Skye collapsed onto her bed and Natasha followed tiredly after. They shuffled until they faced each other, noses touching and eyes locked, and revelled in the silence and the feeling of just them. There were a few more muted thumps from outside, before Clint finally managed to get to a soft surface he deemed good enough to sleep on and then there was silence.
“Hey.” Skye whispered and Natasha grinned, “I missed you.”
The redhead kissed her, short and sweet and everything Skye had been missing for the last month.
“I love you.” Natasha whispered reverently back; not ashamed of her feelings, Skye had taught her not to be, that they were hers to do with as she pleased. Skye was always telling her to be herself, instilling in her the belief that she was in charge of her own life and no-one else could tell her how to live it anymore.
It was one of the reasons she fell in love with a beautifully broken soldier and continued to love her as an equally beautiful hacker with big dreams and an even bigger heart. She was still a little broken, there were days where she would stare at her absent leg and damn everything that made her live through it and there were days she wouldn’t eat or would cry in bed. But they were few and far between now and they were broken in just the right ways to mend each other.
So much so that Natasha always felt whole around her. She loved this girl and nothing could stop her.
“I love you too, Tash, so much.” Skye whispered sleepily back, her eyelids fluttering and finally closing.
Natasha pressed one last gentle kiss to her beloved’s forehead and gave into the pull of sleep herself.
In the morning they would find Clint sprawled out on a shag carpet just outside the spare cubby and Skye would giggly whisper into Natasha’s ear “So near, yet so far.” And Natasha would laugh at the corny joke, because Skye told it and because she loved Skye.