A/N: Here's another fic for Skimmons Week, combining two of my favorite fandoms.
Enjoy!
"Claudia!"
"Calm down, Daisy Mae," the redhead griped. "I have to get the neutralizer."
"I told you never to call me that again!"
"You're awfully crabby."
"For someone who's slowly being covered in Silly Putty?!"
"It's your own damn fault, Daisy," Claudia muttered. "You had to touch that artifact."
"It fell on me!"
Not for the first time in the last six years, Skye absolutely regretted her job. She hadn't come into Warehouse 13 in the traditional way, but neither had Claudia, and generally they got along well. Claudia Donovan was a bit younger, but she'd been at the Warehouse longer, and there was talk that she was going to be the next Caretaker.
Caretaker. Artifacts. The Warehouse.
Sometimes Skye couldn't believe she'd fallen into a "world of endless wonder," as the current Caretaker, Mrs. Frederic, liked to call it. But the reality was, day after day she woke up at Leena's Bed-and-Breakfast, ate breakfast with a rag-tag team consisting of two Secret Service agents, Pete and Myka; a former ATF agent who was a human lie detector and who'd been dead once (it was a long story), Steve; the real HG Wells (a woman) who'd spent much of her extended life time-traveling (though why she'd ended up in Univille, South Dakota, was up for debate); a psychiatrist/the new owner of the B&B, Abigail; their seemingly-grumpy boss who was actually the world's biggest teddy bear and Skye's father figure, Artie; and Claudia, a redheaded punk-ish girl who was Skye's best friend at the Warehouse, and who, like Skye, had hacked her way into the Warehouse.
Following breakfast Skye would head to the Warehouse, an immensely indescribable building that contained some of the world's most dangerous and most interesting artifacts. Artifacts represented "the intersection of an object, an event, a person, and a moment in time." Some were deadly; some were just hilarious. Some were both, and every artifact had a downside to using it. The 42nd Street Marquee, for example, caused an endless line of maniacal showgirls to appear and caused everyone around them to tap-dance uncontrollably (the downside, obviously). It sounded like fun, but it was definitely not.
If it had happened in history, the odds were good the Warehouse had it or was looking for it. That was how most of the days went – Pete and Myka, or Myka and HG, or Steve and Claudia, or Claudia and Myka, or Artie and Claudia… pretty much every combination possible, except for Skye and Abigail – would go out responding to "pings" – sightings of strange events anywhere in the world that could signal the presence of an artifact. The agents stayed in contact using Farnsworths, communication devices that were invented by Nicola Tesla (a Warehouse hero); instead of guns they used Teslas, which fired blue electronic rays rather than bullets. To force artifacts to stop causing havoc, neutralizing bags, goo, or tanks were used.
Skye's job was simple. She stayed in the Warehouse as tech support, and when she wasn't doing that, she did inventory – checking to make sure that artifacts were all in the same place and that they weren't interacting with each other or disappearing or causing havoc. It had sounded simple when she'd first heard about her daily chores, but then she'd realized there were hundreds of thousands of artifacts and even Artie, who'd been around longer than anyone (except for HG, of course), hadn't ever seen them all.
And for the most part, Skye was good at it. Today, she wasn't.
Claudia reappeared with a canister of neutralizing goo and began pouring it over the hardening Silly Putty wrapping its way around Skye's legs and up towards her hips. "You're having a rough day, Daisy Mae. This is what, the third artifact I've rescued you from? And it's only noon."
Skye didn't love anyone calling her Daisy (her birth name but not one she was used to), and she definitely didn't like being called Daisy Mae (except by Claudia). The nickname nearly made her cry, though, with her body encased in quickly-drying previously-wobbly pink Silly Putty. She sighed and shook her head.
"Is this about the new agent?" Claudia asked.
The neutralizing goo hissed and sparked as it dissolved the Silly Putty, and Skye wobbled on her feet before tripping and completely ending up on the floor. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cry.
"Hey," Claudia said, kneeling down in front of her, putting both hands on Skye's knees, "I know new people give you the panics in a big way, but Mrs. Frederic wouldn't bring someone in here unless she knew they were the right one."
Skye sighed. "I just don't know why we have to bring in someone new."
"We don't have any choice in it," Claudia said with her trademark easy-going grin. "We just have to live with it. And you know why – Artie's going to start training Myka to take over as head agent, and we all know that's going to take years."
Skye had to laugh at that. Artie was notorious for checking and over-checking everything he did, and giving lectures on everything.
"I'll stay with you for as long as I can," Claudia promised. "And if you need to escape, just throw an artifact at her or something."
"On her first day?"
"I knew you weren't so cold-hearted, Daisy Mae."
Claudia watched as the new agent was introduced to the Warehouse team, starting with Artie presenting her a plate of cookies and HG exclaiming over the presence of a new Brit, introductions all around the room, and ending with Artie's trademark phrase and arm-sweep: "Welcome… to Warehouse 13."
Jemma's eyes went wide as she took in the sparkling, glimmering, golden-y Warehouse, all full of potential: potential terror, potential downsides, potential endless wonder. Claudia loved seeing the first reactions of new Warehouse team members, and Jemma's face was precious and priceless.
The only thing Jemma hadn't seen was Skye, and Claudia wasn't sure whether that was good or bad. The redhead had seen only panic in Skye's eyes when Jemma walked in, and then Skye had bolted.
Now Claudia stepped up the stairs towards Artie's quarters, knowing it contained Skye's favorite hiding place. "Hey, Daisy Mae," she called. "You in here?"
There was a pause, and then a muffled voice came from inside Artie's book nook, a narrow closet tucked away in the back of his quarters. Skye liked it because it was dark and quiet, and it had become her safe space, with a series of soft pillows, a weighted blanket and her iPod and favorite big headphones. And sometimes she even looked at the books Artie put in there for her, mostly coffee-table-sized tomes full of bright pictures of foreign places and exotic people. They were all of the places Skye wanted to be, places she'd given up hope of ever visiting.
"I'm here," Skye said softly.
Claudia moved towards the nook. "You up for visitors?"
Skye froze. "Nnnnot… nnnnot…"
"It's just me," Claudia said gently.
"Oh," Skye breathed, a sigh of relief in her voice.
Claudia opened the door.
"Hi," Skye said.
"I was just coming to see if you wanted lunch," Claudia said. "I can bring it to you in here, if you want."
Skye hesitated. She wasn't hungry, but she knew she needed to eat.
"Peanut butter and jelly?" Claudia asked.
Skye nodded.
"I'll be back," Claudia said.
"And chips," Skye called after her.
"Chips and juice and oatmeal scotchies. I know you, girl," Claudia replied.
Skye heard her friend's footsteps go down the stairs and the nook was quiet once again. She leaned back against the far wall, and sighed.
Four years ago she'd watched her parents die in a horrific event – she'd thought it was an accident, but it was artifact-related. All Skye remembered of the event was brightly-colored flames and the house falling in, and being absolutely terrified. Skye had awoken several days later in the hospital, and through a confused haze of pain she'd seen an older gentleman standing on the far side of the room. Without further explanation, he said gently, "You're coming with me."
His name was Artie. He'd explained everything about artifacts. He'd given her a room at the B&B. He'd held her through countless nightmares and panic attacks. He was the one who took her to a therapist, the one who'd supported her through her diagnosis of PTSD. After her suicide attempt – she was absolutely shattered and wanted nothing but for all of the pain to stop, to sleep forever and never wake up – he'd come to the hospital every day to be with her, even if it was to sit next to her and read to her while she sobbed or sat in silence. He had never made her feel anything but loved; he never shamed her or made her feel guilty for the way she reacted to things. He had promised she would never be alone again. (He'd said something about "not letting this happen again," which confused her until she learned that something similar had happened to Claudia, and Artie had wanted to take her in but had been convinced not to; it was his biggest regret.)
And she hadn't been alone. It had taken months for her to become accustomed to the rest of the Warehouse's family, and it hadn't been easy. Skye was terrified of being alone, but at the same time she didn't want to be touched by anyone other than Artie. She couldn't communicate her needs to people she didn't trust, leading her to go days without food if Artie was gone.
But now things were better. Skye loved Claudia and trusted all of her Warehouse family. She still went to therapy every week, but since Dr. Abigail lived in the B&B she didn't have to go out into the "real world." She didn't have to go anywhere if she didn't want to. The Warehouse was her home and she was safe there.
Claudia agreed with her. The Warehouse knows me and it knows you.
Skye liked that feeling.
The door flew open and Skye froze. Claudia never opened the door that way.
The new agent looked down at her. "Oh! Oh, my! Are you…?"
Panic seized Skye and she felt her throat start to close off. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to see the new agent, didn't want to explain who she was, she wasn't an agent for God's sake, she was just some homeless nobody charity case –
She couldn't breathe. Her body tried to take in air but all she heard was a series of rattly gasping wheezes. Her hands jerked up towards her body, fists clenching, head jerking back, slamming against the wall, though she was somewhere outside of herself now. Her body was no longer hers.
The new agent kept speaking. "Oh, oh, dear. I am so sorry. Are you… are you an artifact? No, of course not, that's ridiculous. Oh, my – bloody hell, can you… can you breathe?"
I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I don't want to be here and I can't breathe. Skye felt sobs tear through her chest, her wheezing terrified breathing overlaid like grabby-handed filigree.
"Skye?"
Claudia.
"Skye, breathe," Claudia said, approaching the nook.
"I am so sorry," Jemma said helplessly. "I just opened the door looking for the Manual, whatever that is, and she's… she's…"
"She's having a panic attack," Claudia said gently, speaking both to the embarrassed new agent and the choking, gasping girl on the floor in front of her. "Skye, listen to me. It's Claudia."
Claudia. I'm drowning.
"Skye, tap your foot."
Somewhere in Skye's muddled brain she understood the command and her sneaker – her purple Converse, the ones Claudia had given her for her birthday – began tapping against the floor. The sensation of the sole against the concrete and the rhythm slowly began to bring her heart rate back into a normal range.
"Good," Claudia said quietly after fifteen minutes or so of tapping. "Now unclench your fists."
Tap-tap-tap-tap. Skye sucked in a deep breath and felt her hands release.
"Good girl. Can you bring your head up? You don't have to look at me, just bring your head up. Stop pinching off your airway."
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
Skye found her head bobbling forward without her permission, and she caught a glimpse of the terrified new agent in the doorway. "Sorry," she whispered.
"You don't have to be sorry," Claudia said.
"Sorry," Skye repeated.
The new agent just stared for a moment longer, then fled.
The panic attack completely exhausted Skye, and after an hour of Claudia's gentle talking and her ingrained coping methods, all she wanted to do was slide onto the floor and take a nap, which was exactly what she did.
"I'll be right back," Claudia whispered. "I left my Farnsworth downstairs."
"M'kay," Skye mumbled, her head already under the weighted blanket, classical music streaming into her headphones.
Claudia closed the door of the nook and headed down to the office. The new agent, Jemma, was sitting in one of the chairs. She was wearing an expression of concern, and Claudia was pretty sure she hadn't left the chair since she'd run away from Skye nearly an hour earlier.
"Rough first day, huh?" Claudia asked conversationally, picking up her Farnsworth.
Jemma nodded.
"And you haven't even been on a ping yet," Claudia said.
Jemma swallowed. "Is she… who is she? Is she all right?"
Claudia sat down in another chair. "Her name is Skye, and I think she'll be all right in a bit. This happens… pretty regularly."
"It looked terrifying," Jemma said. "You're… you're good with her."
Claudia gave her a wan smile. "It wasn't always that way. The only one who could help her when she came here was Artie. It took a long time, but she trusts all of us now."
"But she doesn't like new people," Jemma guessed.
Claudia shook her head.
"May I ask what happened to her?" Jemma's voice was soft.
"You may ask, although it's not really my story to tell. Get to know her a little better, maybe in a way that doesn't involve her panicking, and she might tell you herself," Claudia replied. She stood up. "I'm going back up there to keep an eye on her."
Jemma nodded.
"And Jemma? If there's one way to Skye's heart, it's oatmeal scotchies. Artie can give you the recipe."
Skye woke the next morning to find Claudia sleeping on the floor just outside the book nook. The smell of oatmeal scotchies was in the air, and Skye sat up and stepped over Claudia.
The new agent was sitting in Artie's armchair, reading a book. Her head was down.
Skye took a hesitant step towards the plate of freshly-baked cookies sitting on the table near the book nook. She reached out for one, then drew her hand back. This was where she was supposed to say something.
"Um, hi," she said, her voice coming out scrawny and pathetic.
"Hi," the new agent said, raising her head. "Good morning."
Skye's eyes went back to her shoes.
"We weren't properly introduced yesterday. I'm Jemma."
Skye squinched her eyes shut and forced her head up. She opened her eyes and looked at a point just over Jemma's head. "I'm Skye. My name… my name is Skye."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Skye."
Skye liked the way her name sounded in Jemma's voice. "Um, I'm sorry. About yesterday."
Jemma closed the book she was holding. "You have nothing to apologize for."
"Oh." Skye felt crushed. "I guess then… Claudia told you… why I'm here?"
Jemma shook her head and smiled. "No. I wanted to hear it from you. After all, we are the authors of our own stories, aren't we? Everyone else gets to read what we want them to read."
It sounded like something HG would say, and that made Skye feel a little better. "Well, if I'm going to explain, you might want a cookie or two. It's kind of a long story."
"The best ones always are," Jemma said, and Skye really liked that.
She didn't trust Jemma yet, and it turned out all she could do was stutter out that she loved being at the Warehouse before having to dart back into the nook. It would take weeks before she could start a conversation with the newest agent or relax her body enough to stop flinching whenever Jemma appeared, but it had been the same way with everyone else.
For some reason Skye was willing to work for it.
The process went a bit faster when, a month into her work at the Warehouse, Jemma accidentally touched Clark Gable's grooming kit, which had the nasty downside of causing fingernails to grow abnormally rapidly. She wasn't able to get her Farnsworth from her pocket or do anything more than call for help. Skye had been two rows over doing inventory, and she reacted without thinking – she yanked on a pair of purple gloves and dumped the kit into a neutralizer bag.
As sparks flew up, signaling the artifact had been dealt with, Skye saw Jemma's face, her grateful, gentle face, and Skye could only think, I like her. I like her very much.