Friends
by Apple Blossom
Disclaimer: Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D belongs to Joss Whedon, Jed Whedon, Stan Lee, ABC, Marvel Television, Mutant Enemy, and anyone else who wants to lay claim to it. Daredevil belongs to Drew Goddard, ABC, DeKnight Productions, Marvel Television, Netflix and anyone else who wants to claim it.
It's a sunny day in New York City as rays of light burst through the glass warming my face. I'm sitting at my desk, fingers running across the words of my book, trying to get it finished before Monday's class. A knock on the door startles me away from the story and I know instantly who is on the other side but pretend I don't as I call out "Come in."
The door squeaks anxiously on its hinges, desperate to be oiled, and she stands just at the entrance, not sure if she should come in. I wait a moment for her to say something and finally I just give in and say, "Did you need something Mary Sue?"
She bristles at the name but answers, "I just wondered if you wanted some company."
"Sure," I answer and slowly she crosses the floor to stand beside me, the wooden floor squeaking in protest as she does.
"Is that a book?" she asks.
"Yep," I tell her, realizing she is just curious and not trying to make fun of me. She is definitely not like the others here in the orphanage and I appreciate that.
"You read with your fingers?" Without asking she reaches out a hand and touches the page carefully.
"Like this," I say, gently cupping my hands around hers and moving her fingers along the words while reading them out loud.
"That's cool," she says after I let go. "Is it a good book?"
"Yeah," I answer. "But I've always liked to read."
She stands next to me quietly like she's run out of things to talk about. I listen to her soft, even breathing for a moment, the way her heart beats just slightly different than anyone else's and it makes me wonder about this girl once more. The silence grows like a chasm between us and just before I think she's going to take off and dart out of the open door I ask, "Do you play cards?"
"Sometimes," she answers. "At a couple of the foster homes they taught me to play."
I reach out, my fingers sliding across the lacquered surface of my desk until they find what I'm looking for and I hold up a pack of playing cards. Pushing myself up from the chair I cross the room to the bed and sit on one end, opening the cardboard box and pulling out the cards, shuffling them quickly. Her footsteps are soft but the springs of the bed groan slightly as the mattress shifts and I know she's sitting across from me. "I only know how to play poker."
"You'll have to teach me," she says.
"That's fine," I agree as I explain the rules and deal out the cards.
"These have those bumps on them too."
"It's called Braille," I tell her. She asks a few questions as the game goes along but she's a quick learner and soon she's legitimately beating me. The afternoon passes quickly as we play, keeping the conversation to the game. She's a quiet girl but I like her.
Footsteps in the hallway catch my attention and I hear them stop in front of the open door. Mary Sue has her back to the entrance so the voice startles her when the boy says, "Oh look. The Freak and Helen Keller are best friends now."
"Shut up, Sid!" she snaps and the kid enters my room, anger exuding from him as Mary Sue stands up suddenly, her little hands clenched in fists of rage.
"That's not my name, Freak," he growls as he stalks toward her, a hunter coming in for the kill.
When I stand up next to her it doesn't seem to deter him and I feel the air change drastically as he lunges toward her. My cane, which I hadn't realized I'd even grabbed, comes up quickly and smacks the boy on the nose and a distinct metallic taste tells me I've drawn blood. At the same time a gasp of shock escapes his mouth in a rush of air and spittle and a moment later his knees crack hard when they collide with the floor.
"Oh I'm so sorry," I feign as the boy Mary Sue called Sid cries out in pain.
"You broke my nose!" Tears mingle with blood and he struggles to get to his feet. "You did that on purpose!"
"Are you kidding?" I ask. "I'm blind dude. I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn on purpose."
"Just wait Freak," he snaps at Mary Sue. "Helen Keller won't be around forever."
The kid departs, slamming the door behind him as he goes and Mary Sue lets out a breath she's been holding.
"Why do you call him Sid?" I ask finally, settling back on the bed.
"Do you know Tommy?" she asks.
"No," I reply.
"He's six. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Talks with a lisp when you can pry anything out of him," she tells me. "He's incredibly shy but the only thing he asked for - for Christmas - was little plastic army men. It was the only thing on his list that went to the Angel Donors." She pauses to gather up the cards lying forgotten on my worn bedspread. "When he got them he played with them for hours. Set up dramatic scenes with his army forces on the half of his room he shared with a kid named John. One day Sid came by and saw them all spread out and started stomping on them. He broke every last one while Tommy could only watch and cry."
"That's terrible," I answer, understanding her hatred of this kid.
"Olivia is seven," she adds. "Had a doll that came with her from her home. All that was left of a fire that killed her mother and younger brother. He stole it and took it to the play yard where he had stashed a discarded lighter. He burned it while she watched, begging him to give it back to her."
"That's terrible," I say feeling the anger bubble off of her in waves. "So Sid? From Toy Story?"
"Yep," she says. "He hates it."
"What did the sisters do?" I ask.
"Nothing," she tells me. "John wouldn't back up Tommy's story and I'm the only one who saw what happened with Olivia. They don't believe me."
"Why not?"
She shrugs, that much I can make out before she adds, "They don't want me here. They are always sending me off to different places and then when it doesn't work out I'm sent back. You'll see. I'll be gone again soon."
"I'm sorry Mary Sue," I tell her honestly.
"I'm changing my name when I'm older," she says as she shuffles the cards and deals them for another round, ready to change the subject.
"To what?" I ask curiously.
"Oh I don't know," she replies but I hear it in her voice. The lie. The hesitation to trust.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want," I answer.
"Skye," she says finally.
Her breathing is faster now, worried I am going to laugh or worse, but I just add, "It suits you."
"How would you know?" She is curious more than anything and I feel her eyes on me as she quietly waits for my answer.
It takes a moment before I decide. Like her, I have trusted few people but finally I describe what I see. "It's a mixture of reds and oranges. Shapes and outlines. Apocalyptic."
"Like a world on fire," she adds and I nod. That sums it up perfectly. World on fire indeed.
"What do you look like, Skye?" I ask, trying out her new name.
"Weird I guess," she answers. "Brown hair. Brown eyes. Sort of Asian. Or Hispanic or something. They won't tell me anything about how I got here or where I'm from. They don't even know my real birthday."
She's angry about it and I can't blame her. Can't imagine not knowing anything about yourself.
"Let's play," she says, turning her attention back to the game. We play until the dinner bell rings and I follow her to the dining hall before we go our separate ways.
"See you later," I say and she reaches out for a moment and squeezes my hand gently.
"I hope so."
The weeks pass and we've become closer than ever. If I ever wished for a little sister, Skye would be the one. She's funny and smart. Kind and caring. We spend our afternoons studying, reading or playing cards, so as soon as I get in from school I head straight to her room. Her door is open and I sense her moving about before I even get to the doorway. She's angry. Scared. Worried.
"Hey," I say as I knock gently on the door, its hollowed sound echoing through the hallway. "What's going on?"
"I told you I wouldn't be around long," she growls, her words hard and clipped. "They're sending me to another foster home."
Crossing the room I reach a hand out and pull her close to me, wrapping my arms around her in a big hug. Her arms go around my waist as the tears that I am guessing were just barely under the surface burst forth and stain my shirt. Her fingers grip my shirt tightly and I brush her hair gently with the palm of my hand, careful not to catch the tangles as I do.
"Maybe this time will be different," I say, trying to reassure her as best I can.
"I doubt it," Skye chokes out through her sobs. "I'll be back soon. Just wait."
A knock on the door startles us both and immediately I know it is Sister Margaret. "Are you ready to go, Mary Sue?"
"Yes," Skye answers, squeezing me one last time before reaching for the bag on her bed. I listen as her footsteps whisper her departure and just as she gets to the door she turns back to me and says, "See ya."
"See ya," I reply, knowing that my days are about to get very boring now that she's gone. Crossing the floor I leave her room, closing the door behind me. As I make my way back to my own room I realize someone else is standing in the hallway, watching, waiting for me.
It's the kid that Skye calls Sid and he's leaning against the wall near my door. I pretend not to notice him but when I get closer he sticks out his foot to trip me. Instead of falling forward though, I grab onto his shirt, yanking him down hard as he cushions my fall. His breath escapes his lungs in a rush as his back crashes into the floor and his chest takes the weight of me. My fist is still tight around his shirt and I lean forward, my voice low and dangerous next to his ear. "If you ever break another toy, threaten another kid here, or even talk to Mary Sue again you will live to regret it."
Fear reeks from every pore of this bully underneath me and I shove him hard into the ground once more before reaching for my cane and getting to my feet. Walking away from him I get to my room and close the door, wishing Skye had been here to see it. If she's right, she'll be back soon and when she does return, at least this kid won't be a problem for her anymore.
The end