Running on adrenaline for roughly twenty-four hours has its costs. Since the moment Koening's blood dripped onto the tablet, Skye's been primed for action. She's done this before, putting on a mask, telling people only what they want to hear, staying invisible. But those were all quick meetings, almost causal, fishing for encrypted information. She could be anyone she wanted-a spoiled socialite, a petty criminal, a drunken co-ed. The Rising Tide didn't care who she was-they just wanted the information.

But this time, she was playing against a master.

His name should send shivers down her spine, but she doesn't have room for fear. In the first minutes, she was all action. Penny on the door, message on the window, no emotion in her eyes. In the cafe, it was rage. How could he? Garrett, well, she hardly knew the man. But Ward...

He loved her. He said that was real.

"Great taste, girl. Great taste," Skye pulls back the musty curtain. Fitzsimmons are still sitting at one end of the pool, feet dangling in the water; Triplett walks up to the vending machine, reaches into his pockets, and walked away.

Everyone's okay. That's important.

Everyone's safe. She'll settle for that. Safe. Sure, the Bus is stolen, the US government AND Hydra are after them, and she unlocked the encrypted drive (even if she left a little present behind), but nobody else has been shot recently. Amazing, really, with everything that's been happening. The Hub and Providence and Deathlok-

Mike Peterson. He's still Mike, whatever's been done to him. It's not her fault, any more than Ward's betrayal or Fury's death is her fault, but she had been honest when she told Ward why she chose that cafe: that was where it all began. Mike was her first direct link to SHIELD. If she hadn't gotten involved-if she hadn't gained his trust-

Mike would have exploded. Innocent people would have died.

The words sound so much like Coulson that she looks up, expecting to see him. Instead, Simmons stands by the door, wiping her feet dry with a grubby towel. "Thought I'd turn in for the night."

"Pick a bed. Probably lumpier than mashed potatoes, but at least there aren't bars on the windows."

"Doesn't matter." Simmons pulls a duffle bag from the closet. "Mind if I use the shower first?"

"Not like I have anything to change into. Ward didn't exactly give me time to pack."

"You can borrow some of mine. I only packed for an overnight trip, haven't exactly had time to do laundry, might not even fit you.." Simmons tosses a set of scrubs around the corner.

"No, it's okay, really..." Skye picks them up. No blood or tissue samples or weird sciency things on it, at least not that she can see. Not as comfy as the oversized shirt and boxers still shoved under the covers back home, but she doesn't really care.

The shower creaks ominously, dribbling sound followed by a loud "clunk" and a yelp from Simmons.

"You alright in there?"

"The head fell off. I think I can screw it back on for now, but honestly..." Her voice trails off.

Skye hears two more "clunks" and several bumps from the shower before Simmons comes around the corner, dressed in sweats, wet washcloth in hand. "Do we have any ice?"

"Don't think so."

"Great." Simmons plops onto the bed. "Wake me when we figure out what to do next." Without even bothering to climb under the covers, she closes her eyes.