i'm new to the aos fandom, but when i start writing post-eps, it's a bad sign. this is a tag to 1x20, because my baby skye dealt with a lot. not ward-friendly, because neither am i.
Skye had finally fallen asleep. They had bunked up three and three, girls in the east-facing room and boys in the west. There were two twins and a pullout couch, and Skye, stubborn and upset as she was, insisted on taking the sofa bed. She had begun to regret that decision when she heard Jemma's light snores and May's even breathing falter at the squeaks and groans she made tossing on the creaky old mattress. Skye had shared a room from the time she was born until she turned seventeen, and when she bought her van, she'd sworn to herself: never again. But, of course, she'd jinxed herself, and now she was sleeping in a motel with two of her teammates and another three next door. But, though it had taken what felt like several years, Skye's exhaustion from the day caught up to her and she drifted off. It was then, of course, that the nightmares started.
Skye was handcuffed to the railing of the stairs in the cargo bay. She nearly split the skin on her wrist from yanking at the cuffs, but they wouldn't budge at all. Ward was HYDRA. This, she'd known for almost forty-eight hours – and had it really been that long? Being HYDRA…there was so much more to that than just Ward's treachery and backstabbing. He was a Nazi, a modern-day version of the scary men with red armbands that Skye had learned about in school. She'd read her S.H.I.E.L.D. handbook, and so she knew that the same men Captain America had fought against during World War II were the predecessors of the men Ward worked for. The man he was. She felt like such a fool.
Suddenly, the scene shifted. Skye was still cuffed to the stairs, but the stairs were now in the middle of a field. There were two boys standing in front of a squat, stone structure, and Skye got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The taller of the two boys stood back, and he briefly glanced over his shoulder with a nervous expression on his face. Skye looked, too, and there was a third boy – he was obviously the biggest of the three, and his face was twisted in a menacing smirk. He nodded to the boy in front of Skye, and that boy swallowed.
"Grant, don't—" Skye called out. But it was too late, and futile. Skye watched helplessly as a young Ward shoved his little brother into the well. There was a sickening splash, and the sounds of a little boy crying and gasping for air. He called out to Ward, begging him for help, but Ward just stood there motionless.
Skye noticed suddenly that there was a pile of rope at Ward's feet. His hand twitched, and Skye felt a swell of hope that he might change his mind and try to do the right thing. But the third boy walked over to him, completely ignoring Skye, and clapped a hand on Ward's shoulder.
"Not yet," he told Ward. And Ward nodded.
The scene changed again, and Skye was in a place that was all too familiar to her. It was the backyard of St. Agnes Orphanage for Girls, and Skye observed with no small amount of dread that the bully that had terrorized her as a little girl was present. Her name had been Frances, and she was the pet of two of the more awful nuns that Skye had come in contact with. Skye quickly spotted herself, on the swings, and knew exactly what was coming. She closed her eyes in an attempt to block it out, but every second of this exchange was seared in her mind's eye like a brand.
"Mary Sue," Frances drawled in a syrupy tone. "What are you doing here? I thought you were getting adopted!"
Skye had just come back from the Brodys. She remembered sending a letter to her friend Maggie, telling her that she thought the Brodys might be the one. Of course, Skye had been sent back to St. Agnes not long after, and Frances had immediately pounced on her.
"Leave me alone, Frances," Skye heard nine-year-old her hiss.
"That's not very nice," Frances said. "No wonder the Brodys didn't want to keep you."
"Leave me alone!" Skye shouted. Her hair was in two braids, and her brown eyes sparked with fury. Frances was a head and a half taller than her, nearly two years older, and about twice her weight, but Skye stood her ground.
Frances said nothing else, just laughed in Skye's face. Then she and her groupies went to go bother someone else. Skye was content to wallow in self-pity, occasionally swinging listlessly, but then she heard Frances torturing someone else.
"Stop being such a crybaby, Catherine," Frances was saying. Catherine was only four, and was a fairly recent addition to the motley crew of orphans. Skye pricked up her ears.
"I want my mommy," she whimpered, and Skye frowned. She couldn't see from her vantage point, but she wagered that Catherine had fallen down, and Frances was using that opportunity to kick the child.
"You don't have a mommy," Frances reminded her sharply. "None of us do. So quit whining!"
"Leave her alone!" Skye commanded, having found her voice as she walked from the swingset to the patch of gravel where Frances and her group was standing.
"Go away, Skye," Frances said, almost bored.
"Not until you leave Catherine alone."
"Why should I? She's a spoiled baby. She needs to learn."
"Just because you will never have a mother—" Skye was silenced with a slap across the face.
"Say that again," Frances dared her. Skye bit her lip.
"You have no right to pick on Catherine just because you're angry," she said. "You have no right to pick on anyone."
And then the scene changed again, and Skye was back in the hold of the Bus staring down at the man she trusted and cared for. He was dying, and a big part of her wanted to let him. Look at what he'd done – he'd murdered innocent people. He'd joined the neo-Nazis, for all intents and purposes. He'd betrayed their team, their family. How could Skye, in good conscious, let him get away with that?
A calm voice within her asked, "How can you let Mike Peterson get away with murder in return?"
But Skye silenced that voice. Skye watched casually as Ward clutched his chest, fighting against the constricting palpitations of his heart, and barely flinched as the light faded forever from his eyes. Mike Peterson – no, Deathlok – uncuffed her from the railing. "Was that really necessary?" she asked him.
"Added to the illusion. Good acting, by the way," he praised flatly. "You really sold it."
Skye squirmed under the covers, whimpering and grappling at the skin on the left side of her chest. The coiled springs beneath her protested loudly, and May sat up, alert. She blinked, let her eyes adjust, and rapidly assessed the situation. She slid out of bed and went into the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it under the taps. She wrung out the dampened towel and went back out to Skye.
Jemma was awake, too, and knelt beside her friend. "Is she having a nightmare?" Jemma asked quietly. "Should we wake her?"
"Perhaps it's best if you try," May said.
"Skye," Jemma whispered, gently shaking Skye's shoulder. "Skye? It's just a dream, you're alright, you're safe here," she coaxed.
Skye moaned and cried out quietly, still not waking. May walked over to the edge of the bed, and grasped Skye's shoulder firmly.
"Skye," she said at a normal volume. "Wake up."
Skye bolted upright, nearly knocking foreheads with Jemma. Jemma gasped quietly, and May steadied Skye with both hands.
"You're alright," Jemma said, once she'd recovered from the shock. "We're here."
"Was I – did I wake you?" Skye asked sheepishly. When there was no answer, she frowned. "I'm sorry."
May handed her the cool towel, which she accepted gratefully. Jemma began to fuss, taking the cloth from her hand and dabbing her sweaty neck and forehead. Though it felt nice, Skye didn't really want to be the center of attention. She took back the towel from Jemma and set it on the nightstand. "I think I'm gonna take a walk," she said, getting out of bed on the other side and shoving her sock-less feet into her boots.
"Skye—" Jemma said in concern. Skye could tell that Jemma thought she wasn't stable enough to be alone.
"Jemma," Skye said tiredly.
"May?" Jemma asked, silently requesting backup.
"Don't be too long," May said. Skye nodded, and took her room key off the dresser. Then she was out the door, leaving a miffed biochemist and indifferent pilot in her wake.
Though Skye had intended to take a walk, she soon found that there was really no place to walk. There was an open-air hall, a staircase, and the poolside where they'd had 'dinner' – if you could qualify chips and candy bars as dinner, which Skye often had but didn't much care for. She sighed resignedly and curled herself up in the chair she'd sat in earlier. For so long, all she'd wanted was a family. Not even blood relations, as before Coulson found her redacted file she'd almost given up on that possibility. Just a group of people she loved, who loved her in return – a place to call home. And she'd found that in S.H.I.E.L.D., and in her team. But now she wondered if she wouldn't have been better off sticking with the Rising Tide and her solitary van. "Hoping for something and losing it…hurts more than never hoping for anything."
"What are you doing up?" Skye jumped at the sound of Coulson's voice.
"Good morning to you too, A.C.," Skye quipped, though her voice lacked much of its usual bite.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked knowingly.
"Who needs sleep when you've got this view?"
"Skye," Coulson said, his tone much like Skye imagined a stern father's would sound like. 'Tell the truth,' it implored her.
Skye's stomach knotted, and she felt like she wanted to be sick. "I could've been him," she whispered. "We're exactly alike. Why didn't I turn out like him? Could I still?"
"Skye…" Coulson said gently, but now that Skye had started unraveling the fabric, she couldn't stop herself.
"Look at our childhoods! Both neglected, both virtually abandoned by our parents. Both bullied. He joined HYDRA via S.H.I.E.L.D., and I joined the Rising Tide. We're both con artists, Coulson! We both played this team! And Garrett was his S.O., but he was mine! What if I'm just his puppet, and I don't even know it? What if I'm doing exactly what he wants me to be doing?"
Over the course of her rant, Skye had gotten out of her seat and begun to pace. Coulson grabbed her hands in both of his, and made her look at him.
"Skye," he said for a third time. "Listen to me. Yes, Ward was your S.O., and yes, you had similar upbringings. Yes, you have both betrayed us at one point. But Skye," Coulson's blue eyes were soft and passionate in the moonlight. "Your heart…your heart is so strong. You have a pull to do the right thing, to care for the weak, and to love with the fiercest intensity I've ever seen. You are pure, Skye, and you are good. You didn't let your past define you – you defined it. You gave me back my faith in humanity. Do you know how incredible that is?"
"I could have let him die," Skye said brokenly. "I almost let Mike kill him."
"But you didn't," Coulson emphasized. "Ward is…a murderer, he has killed people in cold blood. But even knowing that, you couldn't take an eye for an eye. That makes you so special, Skye."
"I don't feel very special," Skye admitted. "I feel like a loser."
"We haven't lost yet," Coulson insisted. "And you haven't lost us. We're still your family, Skye."
Coulson led Skye over to the side of the pool. He rolled up the cuffs of his pajama pants and stuck his feet in the water. Skye did the same, and sat down next to him. They were quiet for a long time, just soaking in each other.
"I love you, A.C.," Skye muttered tentatively, as if testing it out.
Coulson wrapped his arm around Skye, pulling her in so that her head rested on his shoulder. He bent over and kissed the crown of her head, so softly that it was almost like a whisper. "That's what makes you different. That's what makes you…you."