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The mood at the Playground was unusually subdued.
Sky wasn’t herself. That much was clear.
She still showed up. Still ran diagnostics. But something was off .
It started small. A missed quip. A joke half-smiled at instead of laughed at.
Skye wasn’t herself.
She moved through the Playground like a shadow of the girl who she once was. Always jittering, tapping her fingers on tabletops, eyes glassy, distant, like she was only halfway present.
The others noticed.
They didn’t say anything at first—not directly. But they noticed.
✦✦✦✦
Coulson watched her with that subtle intensity that only someone like him could master.
She was distracted in a briefing, nodding at the right moments, but not really there .
She dropped her pen three times. Fidgeted with her bracelet. When he asked a question, she blinked twice like she didn’t hear it the first time.
“Skye, you okay?”
“Huh? Yeah. Just tired.”
Coulson didn’t press. He just gave her a quiet nod.
But later, he stared at the surveillance footage of that briefing. Rewatched the moment she zoned out. Her foot tapping. The way her hand trembled just slightly when she reached for her water.
✦✦✦✦
May noticed next.
She noticed the shift in Skye’s stance. Her sparring form was loose.
Not bad. Just… not tight . Not focused.
“Again,” May said after Skye missed a punch combo.
They went three more rounds. Skye barely landed a hit. She kept apologizing every time she got knocked back.
“You’re distracted.”
“I’m fine, just off today,” she said quickly, too quickly, cheeks flushed with something that wasn’t embarrassment.
May stared. “Your right cross is sloppy.”
Skye smiled, too wide. “Guess I’m just tired.”
May didn’t believe her. But she let it go—for now.
Later, when she found Coulson in his office, she talked to him about Skye.
“She’s not sleeping,” May said. “Or she’s overthinking. Or both.”
Coulson sighed. “I know.”
✦✦✦✦
Bobbi noticed the shaking.
She and Skye are in the lab one evening and Bobbi helps check her after a mission.
Skye’s scans are fine. Heart rate normal.
But she’s dropped two beakers today. Her hands shake when she’s pipetting.
Bobbi also notices how Skye keeps checking her phone when she thinks no one’s looking. Like she’s waiting for bad news.
The blonde glances up. “You’re not okay, are you?”
Skye flinched. Just a little.
“I’m fine,” she said, voice way too chipper. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You tell me.”
Silence.
“I’m just tired,” Skye added after a beat. “Long week.”
Bobbi tilted her head. “You’ve had long weeks before. You didn’t shut down like this.”
Skye forced a smile. Bobbi didn’t buy it. But she let her have it. For now.
✦✦✦✦
Hunter noticed it in the little things.
Skye usually teased him. Called him “007 Knockoff” and other British-themed jabs.
But lately? Barely a word. Not even a side-glance when he made some over-the-top joke.
So when he passed her in the hallway, headphones on, shoulders tense, he turned around and followed her.
“Oi,” he called. “You alright?”
She pulled off one earbud. “Yeah.”
“You’ve said exactly seven words to me this week. I counted.”
“Maybe I’m just tired of your voice.”
“See, that’s more like it,” Hunter said. But even with the sass, her eyes didn’t light up. He saw it. She was acting like she thought she was fooling them. Like pretending she was okay would make it true.
It made his stomach twist. He hated seeing people haunted.
And Skye looked like a damn ghost.
Later, Bobbi finds Hunter in the armory.
“She’s spiraling,” Bobbi says.
“Yeah,” Hunter agrees, adjusting a weapon. “But she’s got that ‘don’t ask me’ look in her eyes. You know?”
Bobbi nods. “She’s pretending too hard. Something’s eating her.”
✦✦✦✦
Mack noticed it when they were working on some gear together.
Skye usually poked her head in when he was fixing up the vehicles or working in the garage—curious, talkative, sometimes snarky. But today she hovered.
Didn’t say anything. Just stood there, watching him work with a distracted look on her face, like she wasn’t really seeing anything at all.
“You good, Tremors?” He asked gently, not even looking up from the wrench in his hand.
“Yeah,” she said quickly, too quickly.
“Because I got three torque wrenches and you just handed me a flathead screwdriver.”
Skye blinked at the tool in her hand, confused, like it had appeared there without her knowing.
“Oh,” she said softly, setting it down. "Sorry, got distracted."
Mack didn’t press. He just nodded and kept working. But his gaze flicked to her every few seconds, protective and deeply concerned.
✦✦✦✦
Jemma noticed the details.
The untouched breakfast, the bitten fingernails, the caffeine intake that tripled overnight.
She approached Skye in the hallway one morning. “You haven’t eaten anything today.”
Skye gave her a look that aimed for light-hearted but fell flat. “Not hungry.”
Jemma tilted her head, assessing. “Are you feeling unwell? I can run some tests.”
“No,” Skye said quickly. “No tests. I’m just... off. It’s nothing.”
But Jemma didn’t believe her. Not for a second.
“You know,” Jemma said gently, “when you say that, it’s rarely nothing. ”
Skye looked at her for a long moment, eyes glassy, but just shook her head. “I’m fine, Jemma. Really.”
One night, she found Skye sitting alone in the common room, curled up, arms around her knees.
Jemma sat beside her. Didn’t speak. Just pulled a blanket over both of them.
After a while, Skye whispered, “You’re being weird.”
“I know,” Jemma said. “But so are you.”
And neither of them moved.
✦✦✦✦
Fitz was awkward about it—he noticed but didn’t know how to do anything about it.
He ran diagnostics twice on her gauntlets even though there was nothing wrong.
He hovered in the lab, pretending to fiddle with things, hoping she’d bring it up.
Eventually, he just blurted out, “If something’s wrong, I’d rather know than guess.”
Skye blinked. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Fitz frowned. “I may not be great with people, but I’m not blind.”
Silence.
She offered a broken little grin. “Guess I need to work on my acting.”
Fitz shook his head, and this time, he didn’t leave the lab.
✦✦✦✦
By the end of the day, everyone’s talking—but not in front of her.
There’s a quiet agreement: something’s wrong.
None of them believe her “I’m fine.”
Coulson pulls May aside. “Keep an eye on her. If this keeps up, we’re pulling her from field duty.”
May nods. “Already on it.”
Simmons messages Coulson privately.
“She’s checking her phone every five minutes. That’s not Skye. She’s waiting on something. A call, a message… maybe news.”
✦✦✦✦
Back in her room, Skye sits on the floor with her back to the bed. Her phone is face-up. Still no notification.
She rubs her thumb over a scar on her wrist—old, not from her powers or from her time with SHIELD. The kind of scar no one asks about. The kind that never had a story anyone wanted to hear.
She doesn’t want to talk about it now, either. Doesn’t want them to look at her differently. Doesn’t want to tell them that the man who had haunted her childhood, who she put away for a crime that wasn’t what he did to her, was trying to get out.
The parole hearing was this week.
There was a very real chance he’d walk free.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
So she fidgeted. And stared. And lied.
And the team—her family—didn’t believe her for a second.
But they stayed.
They watched.
They waited.
They’ll find out what it is—sooner or later.
✦✦✦✦
They found out on a normal Tuesday.
Skye got the email alone in her room—a sterile message with a government seal, buried in her inbox like a trap.
As soon as she sees the email, she can’t breathe.
Parole Approved – Inmate #458320
Release scheduled: Pending final processing
The words blurred.
Suddenly, she was thirteen again, hiding behind a broken door, holding her breath, praying it would be over quickly.
Her hands trembled as she dropped the tablet. The walls felt too close. Her chest tightened. A sound built behind her ribs—like a scream but quieter, deeper. Ancient.
She stood up so fast her chair toppled over behind her.
Then the humming started.
Low at first. Subtle vibrations beneath her skin. But they grew — the walls began to shudder , loose bolts rattled, light fixtures swayed. Her powers, always tied to her emotions, were unraveling.
She tried to calm herself down.
Tried to breathe.
But she was spiraling.
Not again. Not again. He can’t be out. He can’t—
The table in her room cracked in half.
The glass on her desk shattered .
And then the walls of the Playground shook . Lights flickered. Coffee mugs rattled off desks. Cracks spiderwebbed along the floor like something deep beneath the base was clawing to get out.
And they all knew.
Mack dropped his wrench.
He bolted upright from beneath Lola, eyes wide as the walls shivered. Tools clattered to the floor.
“No,” he whispered. “Turbo.”
Bobbi and Hunter were in the training room when the mats rolled under their feet like ocean waves.
Hunter stopped mid-spar. “That’s not an earthquake, right?”
Bobbi was already halfway to the door. “That’s Skye.”
Jemma’s microscope cracked.
The lab lights burst in a pop of sparks.
She clutched the bench for balance, heart racing. “Skye…”
May reacted first.
She’s already sprinting to Skye’s room.
The hallway pulsed with energy.
Air shimmered with static. Light buzzed and flickered in erratic spasms, casting sharp shadows on the concrete walls. The humming—low, guttural, bone-deep—grew stronger the closer May got to Skye’s room.
She didn’t hesitate.
She reached the door and twisted the handle.
It didn’t budge.
The entire frame was vibrating under pressure, a steady quake thrumming through it like a warning.
May took one step back and kicked it open.
The force of it blasted her hair back—like walking into a storm. A table lay split in two. Shards of glass were embedded in the walls. The air was thick, almost syrupy with power, and in the middle of it all was Skye.
She stood shaking, arms clutched tightly around herself like she was holding something in—and she was. Her whole body trembled, like it might crack open and release something catastrophic. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, face pale and soaked with sweat. The floor around her rippled like water under her feet.
“Skye,” May called, voice low but firm.
Skye flinched. “No—no, don’t—”
Her voice was raw, panicked, barely human. “I can’t—I’m trying to stop it—please, don’t come close. ”
May didn’t listen.
She stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.
Each step closer made the air vibrate harder. May could feel it rattling her bones. Her ears rang. A hairline crack sliced across the ceiling above them.
Skye squeezed her eyes shut, fists clenching. “I can’t —I’m trying to pull it back in, I swear—I can’t—I can’t let it go—”
She doubled over suddenly, a sound tearing from her throat—not a scream, not quite, but the kind of noise someone makes when something inside breaks.
The tremors intensified.
And then she gasped.
Her knees buckled. Blood dripped from her nose.
Her arms—small, quiet fractures danced across her skin like lightning spiderwebs, the recoil of her power eating itself alive.
May ran to her.
Wrapped both arms around her from behind, grounding her like a lightning rod. She pulled Skye back against her chest, strong and unyielding. The hum cracked, then wavered.
“No—May, get away—I’ll hurt you—I can’t hold it—”
“You are holding it,” May whispered fiercely into her ear, not letting go. “You're here. You're in control.”
But Skye shook her head violently. Her voice broke.
“He’s out— he got out —he got out, he got out—”
May’s grip tightened. Her heart dropped into her stomach.
“Who,” she asked quietly, her voice sharper now. “Skye. Who ?”
Skye’s breath hitched. Her hands clutched at her sides like she was physically holding herself together. “My foster dad,” she choked. “He—he’s out. They approved it. I put him in for fraud because I couldn’t—because they didn’t believe me about what he did. Not really. They let him out anyway.”
Her power flared again—sharp like a whipcrack—but May didn’t flinch.
“I was thirteen ,” Skye cried, voice cracking. “I hid in closets. I counted his footsteps. I used to sleep with a fork in my hand in case he—”
Another burst of seismic force rattled the walls, the room groaning around them.
May’s voice cut through the storm.
“Look at me.”
Skye shook her head.
“Skye.”
The command in her voice was ice. “ Look at me. ”
Skye turned her head, barely—just enough for their eyes to meet.
“You’re not there anymore,” May said slowly. “You’re here. With me. You’re not thirteen. He doesn’t get to take this moment from you.”
Skye’s lip trembled. “I tried to stay calm. I really—I tried.”
“I know,” May said, her voice softening. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
The room shook once more.
And then it was still.
Just like that, the humming stopped.
The light above them flickered once, then steadied. Dust settled in the silence.
Skye sagged in May’s arms, completely spent. Her knees gave out, and May went down with her, still holding on tight.
She was sobbing now, barely breathing between gulps of air, small and broken in May’s grasp.
And May—quiet, relentless, unshakable—just held her.
No judgment. No questions. Just a promise.
You’re safe.
✦✦✦✦
When Skye fainted, it was like watching a dam collapse.
One moment she was curled in May’s arms, her whole body trembling from grief and power, and the next—her breath hitched and stopped, her limbs going limp, her head lolling to the side.
“Skye?” May's voice was sharp, but her movements were calm. Efficient.
She gently shifted Skye’s weight, lifted her into her arms with practiced ease, and carried her out into the hallway. The rest of the team was already there, frozen in place by the sight of cracks in the walls, scorched-out lights, and blood running from Skye’s nose and fingers.
Jemma gasped the second she saw Skye unconscious.
“Medical, now,” May ordered, already walking past them. No one argued.
✦✦✦✦
Infirmary
The lights were soft. The sterile scent of antiseptic barely masked the coppery tang of blood.
Skye lay on the exam bed, arms limp at her sides. Her fingers were bandaged. A monitor beeped gently beside her.
Jemma was quiet as she worked. Focused. She frowned at the scans on her tablet, then turned toward May, Mack, and Coulson who had gathered by the door.
“She’s stable,” Jemma said softly. “But her forearms... they’re fractured. Again.”
No one reacted with shock.
There was a long silence, filled with nothing but the sound of the heart monitor.
Then May spoke.
“Her abuser is out.”
Everyone looked at her.
“She got an email this morning. The man who hurt her—when she was in the system—was granted parole. He was prosecuted under another charge because there wasn’t enough evidence for what he actually did to her.”
The room went cold.
“She was thirteen ,” May added quietly. “And now he’s out.”
Coulson looked like someone had gutted him. His hands curled into fists.
Bobbi's voice shook. “Can we do something?”
May didn’t answer Bobbi right away.
She just looked at Skye.
The girl who had faced HYDRA with her. The girl who was more than a weapon—more than her powers—and yet, the only thing she couldn’t fight was her own past.
“I don’t know,” May finally said, voice tight. “But we have to do something.”
Hunter crossed his arms, jaw tense. “Tell me where he is. Give me five minutes and a dark alley.”
Coulson gave him a sharp look, but his eyes didn’t hold the usual disapproval. If anything, they flickered with agreement.
“Legally,” Jemma said, quietly, “we can’t touch him. Not unless he violates parole or—”
“Unless he hurts her again, ” Mack snapped, unable to keep his voice level. “And we’re supposed to wait for that? Watch her spiral until she breaks again?”
“She won’t ,” May said, steel in her voice. “Because we won’t let her.”
Coulson stepped forward, face pale but composed. His voice was calm in the way only someone who was absolutely not calm could manage.
“We find out where he is. His parole officer. Conditions of his release. Everything.”
Bobbi nodded. “We track his every move. If he so much as breathes in her direction, we’ll know.”
“And if he shows up,” Mack added grimly, “we’ll be ready.”
Jemma hovered by the bed, adjusting Skye’s IV, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “She tried to hold it in. She didn’t want us to know.”
“She never does,” May murmured.
“She thinks it’s weakness,” Coulson said. “That if she breaks, we’ll look at her differently.”
“Well, she’s wrong,” Bobbi said, firm. “And we need to show her that.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then May said, “No questions. No pressure. We don’t push.”
“But we don’t leave her alone either,” Coulson added.
Hunter snorted softly. “She’s gonna hate that.”
“Good,” Mack muttered. “She’ll know we’re not going anywhere.”
Jemma looked down at Skye again. She brushed a strand of hair from her face with a gentle hand, then blinked away the tears she wasn’t ready to let fall.
“I want to stay with her,” she said softly.
Mack stepped forward and gently squeezed Jemma’s shoulder. “We’ll take turns.”
“Whatever she needs,” Coulson added. “That’s the only thing that matters right now.”
✦✦✦✦
That night, the team rotated.
May sat by Skye’s bedside first, silent and alert like a guardian spirit. She didn’t speak unless Skye stirred. But when she did, even the smallest twitch, May would gently press her hand over Skye’s.
Mack took over next. Brought a little toolkit and pretended to tinker with the med bay lights just to have an excuse to stay nearby. He hummed under his breath—low and calm, the way his mom used to when he was sick.
Jemma brought a cup of tea she didn’t expect Skye to drink. She just left it beside the bed and sat, reading quietly from her tablet, casting glances over every few lines to make sure Skye was still breathing evenly.
Bobbi came by with a blanket she insisted was warmer. She stood for a long time at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
“You saved my life more than once, you know,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone. “Your turn now.”
Hunter brought snacks. He didn’t say anything about the situation. Just sat on the windowsill and told a story about the worst mission he and Bobbi ever did together. He made it sound funnier than it was, on purpose.
And Coulson—he didn’t come in until late.
But when he did, he sat beside her, folded her hand into his, and said, “You’re safe now, Skye. I won’t let him go near you again, ever .”
✦✦✦✦
The Next Morning
When Skye finally opened her eyes—dry, raw, and afraid—she found May dozing in a chair beside her.
Her throat was sore. Her head pounded. Her hands throbbed under the bandages.
She blinked slowly.
She tried to sit up, then hissed as pain lanced down her arms.
May stirred instantly. Stood without a word and helped her settle back into the pillows.
Skye tried to speak, but her voice cracked.
May just shook her head and squeezed her hand.
“You’re okay,” She said softly. “You’re safe.”
Skye’s lips trembled. She turned her face away, like maybe if she couldn’t see May, she could hold it in. But it was already too late. Her eyes welled up before she could stop it, warm tears slipping down onto the pillow beneath her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely audible.
May’s voice didn’t waver. “Don’t.”
Skye let out a shaky breath, like her lungs were made of glass. Her hands, even in their bandages, fidgeted unconsciously—tugging at the blanket, at her wrist, at anything she could grab onto. She hated this. The vulnerability. The silence. The feeling like she’d let herself become a burden again.
“I didn’t mean to lose control. I—I tried. I was fine and then I wasn’t and I just—I made a mess. I broke everything. I—” Her breath hitched.
“Stop apologizing,” May said gently, but firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Skye blinked up at the ceiling, her throat tightening.
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” she added after a pause. “About... him. About any of it. I just thought if I kept it locked away, it wouldn’t matter.”
May was quiet for a moment. She didn’t let go of Skye’s hand.
“It matters,” she said finally. “But it doesn’t define you.”
Skye swallowed hard. “But it’s still inside me.”
May’s grip tightened, just slightly. “So are we.”
That broke something open.
Skye let the tears fall this time. She didn’t sob. She didn’t speak. She just let them roll down her cheeks in silence while May sat beside her, calm and steady, anchoring her through the storm like she always did.
After a long while, Skye’s voice returned in a whisper, hoarse and worn.
“I’m scared.”
May didn’t flinch. She didn’t tell her not to be. She just nodded.
“I know.”
And that, somehow, made it bearable.
✦✦✦✦
The door slid open gently. One by one, they came in.
Jemma was the first. She walked to the side of the bed and took Skye’s other hand, eyes shining.
“You scared me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do that again.”
Skye gave her a tiny smile. “Did I break your lab again?”
Jemma laughed, watery and unsteady. “Just a microscope. And three ceiling tiles.”
Skye’s smile deepened just a fraction, but it faded quickly as the reality of the situation settled in again. She could feel the warmth of Jemma’s hand in hers, and the simple, familiar comfort made her want to curl into it, yet a small part of her resisted. She hated feeling weak, hated needing anyone so much.
Jemma’s eyes lingered on Skye, and there was an underlying protectiveness in them. She gently adjusted the blanket around Skye’s shoulders, as though making sure she was comfortable without asking for permission.
“Are you feeling any better?” Jemma asked, her tone soft but cautious. She studied Skye closely, like she was waiting for any sign that things might be spiraling again.
Skye blinked slowly, trying to push the fog from her mind. “Yeah, I guess.” Her voice was hoarse.
Jemma didn’t buy it. She never did.
“Skye,” she said, her voice tinged with concern, “you’ve been through a lot, and you’re still recovering.” She smoothed Skye’s hair back from her forehead, her fingers brushing the dampness from her skin. "I think you need to rest for a while longer.”
Skye shifted uncomfortably under Jemma’s gaze, her eyes flitting toward the window, toward anywhere but Jemma’s concerned expression. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
Jemma’s eyes softened with understanding, but there was a hint of something else, something stubborn. "I’m not babysitting. I’m just making sure you don’t push yourself too hard this time."
Skye tried to roll her eyes, but it came out more like a grimace. “I’m not a child, Jemma.”
“No,” Jemma agreed, smiling slightly as she sat down on the chair beside the bed. “You’re not. But you don’t always know when to stop, and I’m here to remind you.” She leaned forward, her voice turning playful but still carrying that undertone of concern. “You’ve been known to break a few things when you're not careful. Maybe that includes yourself, too.”
Skye huffed out a laugh, though it sounded more like a breath than anything else. She tugged at the bandages around her wrists, her fingers restless. “I wasn’t trying to break anything. I—" she broke off, swallowing. "I just... I couldn’t control it.”
Jemma leaned closer, her voice soft and gentle. “It’s okay. We’re all here for you, Skye. You don’t have to control everything. Not anymore.”
“I know,” Skye mumbled, though her voice still trembled with something that made her feel vulnerable. She exhaled deeply, turning her gaze back to Jemma. “I just don’t want anyone to see me like this. Weak.”
Jemma squeezed her hand, her fingers warm and solid. “You’re not weak. You're strong, Skye. But it’s okay to not be okay sometimes, you know? It’s okay to let someone else carry the load for a little while.”
Skye closed her eyes, letting the silence hang between them for a moment. She didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to need anyone’s help, but she could feel the truth settling in. Jemma wasn’t going to let her push herself too far, not this time. And even if Skye hated it, there was a part of her that appreciated it.
“Do you need anything?” Jemma asked softly, pulling her from her thoughts. “Water? Food? A nap?”
Skye gave her a tired smile. “If you’re asking if I want to take a nap, you’ve clearly underestimated my ability to resist.”
Jemma raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. “I think you’ve underestimated how stubborn I can be, too. But, for what it’s worth, I’m not going anywhere until you rest.”
Skye snorted, shaking her head, but the tension in her shoulders eased a little. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know,” Jemma said with a wink. “But you love me anyway.”
Skye looked at her, her lips curving up in a small, genuine smile. It was fleeting, but it was there. “I guess I do.”
Jemma’s smile widened. “Good. Now, let’s get you a little more comfortable, and then we can make sure you don’t break anything else.”
Skye leaned back into the pillows, feeling the exhaustion catch up to her. She closed her eyes, letting herself just breathe, knowing Jemma was right there, her steady presence grounding her. For once, Skye allowed herself to relax, even just a little.
“Thank you, Jemma,” she whispered, almost too quietly to hear.
Jemma brushed her hair back gently, her voice soft as she responded, “Always, Skye. Always.”
✦✦✦✦
The next morning, Skye woke to the sound of tools clinking.
She blinked slowly, still groggy, and found Mack sitting in the corner of the infirmary—cross-legged on the floor, a tangle of wires and a damaged comms unit spread out in front of him. He looked up when he saw her stirring.
“Hey, Turbo.”
His voice was soft. Familiar. Like a hand on your back guiding you forward.
She managed the ghost of a smile. “That thing broken again?”
“Nah.” He shrugged. “Just pretending it is so I’ve got an excuse to stay.”
Skye looked at him for a moment, then at the pile of parts. “That’s not even from the comms system.”
“Busted,” he grinned. “Guess you’re not as out of it as Simmons said.”
She didn’t answer. Just watched him work for a while.
“I figured you might not want to be alone, but I also figured you might not want to talk.” A pause. “So I’m just... here.”
And he stayed.
He didn’t ask her anything. Didn’t expect her to explain. He just worked quietly beside her, occasionally handing her a screw or a tool, giving her something to do , to touch , to remind her that she could still build instead of break.
Eventually, her eyes fluttered closed again—but the soft, steady clicking of tools remained, a reminder she wasn’t alone.
✦✦✦✦
Bobbi didn’t knock.
She just strolled in with a deck of cards and a small tub of chocolate pudding from the mess.
“Hospital food sucks, right, Rockstar?” she said casually, setting both on the rolling table and plopping down on the edge of Skye’s bed. “But I stole this from Coulson’s personal stash. Don’t tell him.”
Skye blinked at her, confused. “…You stole pudding?”
“I liberated it,” Bobbi corrected with a wink. “Now. Poker, Go Fish, or you can just watch me cheat shamelessly.”
Skye gave the faintest snort. “You’re terrible at Go Fish.”
“Exactly,” Bobbi grinned. “Which is why I cheat.”
The game barely lasted ten minutes. Skye was exhausted, her eyes already drooping, but she didn’t stop Bobbi when she hummed softly and shuffled the cards again, just fidgeting with them, filling the silence with motion.
She didn’t push. She didn’t pry.
She just stayed.
✦✦✦✦
Hunter popped in with absolutely no fanfare—just a half-eaten granola bar and a smug grin.
“Well, you scared the hell out of us, didn’t you?”
Skye rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the bedside manner.”
“Comes standard, love.” He took a bite of the bar and plopped into the chair beside her. “I’m not good at this sort of thing. Feelings. Emotions. All that.”
Skye quirked a brow. “No kidding.”
“But you... you’re one of us. You don’t have to say anything. Just... know we’ve got your back. You’re not alone, yeah?”
She nodded slowly.
Hunter hesitated, then set the rest of the granola bar on her nightstand. “In case you get hungry. And no—don’t ask what’s in it. Just trust me.”
He stood, ruffled her hair gently, and left before she could blink the tears away.
✦✦✦✦
It was later that evening when Fitz finally crept into the infirmary.
He lingered outside the door for almost ten minutes before finally building the courage to come in. He wasn’t good at... this. The emotional stuff. But he knew what it was like to feel broken, to feel not yourself , and more than anything, he didn’t want Skye to think she was alone in that.
He clutched something small in his hand—an old circuit board from one of her gauntlets, charred and singed but repaired with careful precision. He stopped at the foot of her bed, his fingers twitching nervously around the board.
Skye stirred, eyes fluttering open. Her voice was rough with sleep. “Hey…”
Fitz blinked, startled. “Oh—uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” she mumbled, sitting up a bit. “You okay?”
Fitz huffed out a tiny laugh. “That’s... my line.”
He hesitated for a second, then stepped closer and held out the board like it was some kind of peace offering.
“I fixed your gauntlet. The one you blew out last week. Thought maybe you’d want to have it.”
Skye looked at the board, then up at him. Her heart ached in the best way.
“You always fix things,” she whispered.
Fitz gave a little shrug. “Only the things I understand.”
There was silence for a beat.
“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” he added, shifting uncomfortably. “I mean, not unless you want to. I’m not… great with words, and I say the wrong thing sometimes, but I’m here. Okay?”
Skye blinked quickly to hold back more tears. “You didn’t say the wrong thing.”
He let out a breath, a little relieved. “Okay, good.”
Fitz looked down, then slid the board onto the table next to her, careful not to disturb the other things there—tea from Jemma, a deck of cards and chocolate pudding from Bobbi, and a granola bar from Hunter.
Fitz turned to leave, already fumbling for the door. But Skye stopped him.
“Fitz?”
He turned.
She gave him a small, tired smile. “You’re good with people. Better than you think.”
Fitz flushed, awkward and touched at once. He gave her a shy nod and ducked out quickly, his ears red.
Skye looked down at the circuit board again, her smile lingering.
✦✦✦✦
Coulson came by after everyone else had gone, late into the quiet hours when most of the base had gone to sleep.
He sat beside her and didn’t say a word for a while. Just watched her breathe.
Eventually, Skye turned to him. “You’re mad.”
He shook his head. “Not at you. Never at you.”
“But I didn’t tell you. I—” She broke off, ashamed.
Coulson leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “When I found you... you were searching for answers. Family. Roots. And you’ve fought every step of the way to keep going. Even when it hurt. Even when it was unfair.”
He looked her in the eye.
“Nothing about what happened to you is your fault. And nothing you feel now is wrong.”
Skye didn’t respond right away. She just looked at him, really looked, and saw the grief in his eyes too.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you got the email,” he said. “I should’ve known something was wrong.”
Skye shook her head. “I didn’t want you to know. didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.”
Coulson’s face twisted, like she’d just stabbed him with those words.
“I could never be disappointed in you,” he said quietly. “You’ve survived things no one should have to. And you still lead with your heart. That’s strength, Skye. That’s you. ”
Skye didn’t say anything—just leaned her head slightly toward him. And Coulson, without hesitation, reached out and placed his hand over hers, his expression fatherly and resolute.
“I won’t let him, or anyone, hurt you again,” he whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”