Disclaimer: I do not own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. or any of the characters that go with the show.

**SPOILER ALERT: If you have not watched the season 2 finale (2x21/22), do not read. . .that is, unless you don't care about reading spoilers (like me!). **

Lola is a special car. Coulson has always made that abundantly clear. "Don't touch Lola," is almost a catchphrase for him. Maybe it is.

As we drive away from my dad's new veterinary clinic, I grip the steering wheel tightly, the weight of responsibility that comes with driving heavy on my shoulders. I can just imagine sneezing and swerving off the road into a fire hydrant or something more detrimental. Then again, there is a feeling of exhilaration: Coulson is letting me drive Lola! The pride that comes with that privilege makes me grin a little.

"What are you thinking about?" Coulson asks from the passenger seat.

"Uh, just stuff," I say, and I dare to glance briefly at him.

He is staring straight ahead, a pained expression on his face.

"What about you?" I ask. "What are you thinking about?"

He smirks. "My arm. My hand. I didn't realize how much I used it until now. It's weird."

"What about that prosthetic Fitz is working on for you? That should be pretty sweet. Maybe you could soup it up a little, huh?"

Coulson laughs. "Maybe," he agrees, and then he sighs. "It's just a little disconcerting, I guess."

"A little," I admit. I take a deep breath. "I for one am happy it was just your hand you lost. I saw my mom murder three agents with those crystals. It wasn't pretty."

"Don't get me wrong, I feel very lucky. . .I know I am."

"But-?" I prompt.

"I don't know. I guess, when I caught that crystal, I was sure it was the end. I was going to die, no doubt. And then Mack came out of nowhere with that ax-"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard the story," I interrupt with a shiver. I don't know if I would have had the guts to chop someone's arm off, even if it was to save their life. That's what I like about Mack. He does what needs to be done without overthinking it.

"Anyway," Coulson continues, aptly skipping the part with the ax, "I was ready to die. I thought. But then, I was terrified. In that split second, I knew I wouldn't be there to watch out for my team. If you were going to be alright."

"Well, I am," I say. "And you are. . .well, most of you, anyway. I can't help but feel like this is all my fault. If I had not let my mom and Gordon deceive me the way they did. . .none of this would have happened."

"What happened was not your fault, Skye. You got caught in the middle, and no one blames you for that."

"But I sided with the enemy," I argue, with more force than I intend. I bite my tongue before I say something I'll regret.

"You let your emotions cloud your judgment. And frankly, those emotions were not invalid. Your mother did help you, Skye. She taught you how to control your powers when no one else could. And you didn't side with the enemy. You sided with what, in your eyes, was the best for everyone involved. You made the best decision you could make in your position."

"What about what I did to May? Those awful things I said to her." I want Coulson to blame me, to validate the guilt turning in the pit of my stomach.

"You'll fix it, Skye. You always do."

We don't talk for a long time, retreating to our own thoughts. When we do start talking again, it is about Lola, how smoothly she drives, what great turning she has, how polished she looks. Coulson is avoiding deep, and I respect that. I know that we've both had a little more than our fair share of dramatics the past year. It's kind of nice just talking about nothing important, that has nothing to do with the fate of the world.

When we get back to the base, we go our separate ways, me going to the kitchen to get a snack. I turn on the sink and watch the water stream from the faucet. My mind drifts back to the first time I started to realize my power could be more controlled, back in the cabin, all by myself, before I met Gordon for the first time. I lift my hands and concentrate on the flow of water, tuning in to its tremor. The water starts to spiral, spinning down into the drain. I smile and spiral the water tighter and looser, practicing the finer techniques.

"That's impressive."

The water disperses, showering me as it splashes violently into the sink.

"Sorry," Coulson says.

I turn and grin at him. "That was one of the first tricks I learned. At the Hulk's cabin."

"You have any other parlor tricks?" Coulson teases.

"Oh," I say, my voice dripping in sarcasm, "this isn't a parlor trick, A.C., this is a gift."

Coulson smiles warmly, in that small, sad way I've seen a hundred times before, and always wondered what it meant. "I know," he agrees.

END