Title: Old Wound
Summary: It's the anniversary of the day S.H.I.E.L.D. found Skye. Skye isn't enjoying it as much as she'd hoped. Maybe Dr. Simmons can help, though.
Rating: T for mild violence and swearing
Word Count: 1052
Other Chapters: No.
Disclaimer: ABC owns Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and all related characters, settings, and trademarks. I do not in any way profit from the use of this material.
Pairings: maybe pre-Skye/Jemma, if you want it to be. Or just a friendship fic, if you want it to be.
Contains: hurt/comfort
Warnings: mild violence, racism, xenophobia, family issues

She'd hoped that maybe this year it would feel different, but it didn't.

That sucked. That sucked so fucking much.

She was glad, though, that she hadn't jumped the gun. She'd thought about telling them, back when she was hopeful that this year it would feel different. She could have just... casually slipped it into a conversation with Fitz. He'd gotten over his mandatory existentialist crisis after nearly dying, and now he was back to his old self and reporting for duty. (Well, the duties he'd been cleared for, anyway. Nearly-drowning had left him with a number of heart and respiratory problems, and his chances of ever being cleared for proper field work had been dropped from slim to none, but he was fine with that. He'd always been happier in a lab, and everyone on the bus was thrilled to have him back in the lab, especially Jemma.) He'd have remembered, if she'd told him, and he'd probably have arranged something.

She was really glad that she hadn't told him.

December 5th wasn't even the right date, but it was the only one Skye had. She'd always known it as the day that she was found. The foster homes and the orphanage had always celebrated it as her birthday, despite her many protests. December 5th was not her birthday, she'd always insisted. She used to think it was the day that she was abandoned. She'd hoped that maybe this year, because she knew better—it was the day that S.H.I.E.L.D. started protecting her—maybe it would feel like the anniversary of the day something started rather than the anniversary of the day something had ended. It didn't.

She'd woken up sad, like she usually did. She'd stayed in bed for a full hour, giving herself a pep talk. S.H.I.E.L.D. was her family. Twenty five years ago today, she met them. That was a good thing—

Except that it meant that, sometime between the actual day of her birth and December 5th, 1989, she'd lost her first family.

She'd found another one. Okay. She liked it. It had taken her a very long time to find it and she wasn't going to let go of it anytime soon.

But she'd found her current family only after she'd lost her first one. There was a scar there, just beneath the her skin. And on her skin, really. It was visible every fucking time someone asked her if she spoke Chinese or if Mary was her real name or where she was really from and—no, maybe, she didn't fucking know—

On December 5th, 2006, she'd just memorized her schedule at her third high school that year. Most of the kids were friendly enough. She'd been doing partner work in third period French (which she hadn't even wanted to take, but it was either French I or Weight Training) with Sung-min Park—They'd been partnered because their names were right next to each other on the alphabetical class roster—and she'd been in a bad mood. Christopher Jones and his ugly blond dredlocks had turned around and asked Sung-min why he was taking French when he could barely speak English. Skye told Christopher to fuck off and let them work, Christopher told Skye to stay out of it because "It's true! And what do you care? You're not even really Asian. Your name is Mary." Skye gave Christopher a bloody nose, the school gave Skye a two-week suspension, and Skye got her GED and a job at a pet store and never went back to any school ever.

Still, despite all odds, she'd really hoped that today wouldn't suck. And that had been ridiculous, really, because all of the usual signs that it would suck had been there. She'd been nervous on the days leading up to it, she hadn't wanted to talk to anyone about it... She'd just ignored them all and told herself that things would be nice anyway. They weren't.

She managed to drag herself out of bed and off to the kitchen, but she couldn't really work up the apatite for anything more than a Poptart, which she didn't bother to cook first. She was sitting at the table, munching it in the most sulky way possible when Jemma walked in and began to look at the selection of cereal.

"Good morning," Jemma said cheerfully.

"Nnnnn," Skye grunted as she chewed.

Jemma froze and turned around. "Is something wrong, Skye?"

Skye swallowed and shook her head. "Wrong? Why would something be wrong?"

Either her voice hit a false not despite all of her S.H.I.E.L.D. training, or Jemma just knew her well enough to know when she was lying, because Jemma stared at Skye for a moment with a thoughtful frown and slowly said. "I don't know... but if you want to talk—"

"I don't," Skye said quickly.

"... Alright then," Jemma said. Then she changed her mind about the cereal, grabbed a Strawberry Poptart for herself, and sat down next to Skye. "We'll just sit here and not talk about it..."

Skye kind of wanted to run. She'd said too much. She should have ran as soon as Jemma stepped into the room. Maybe if she were lucky, they wouldn't have any missions today, and Skye could spend all day sulking in her room. They often went out to dinner together on days when they didn't have missions, but Skye could claim to be sick and just... stay in her room. Alone. She liked to be alone December 5th.

She didn't run.

Jemma quietly ate her Poptart in solidarity until Skye gave in. "It's not a big deal," Skye said, shaking her head slightly.

Jemma nodded and finished chewing. "I can tell by all the not talking about it that you're doing."

Skye shook her head again. "It's just... a really old wound that got reopened. And I knew it was going to. I just thought that maybe this time..." Skye trailed off, not because she had nothing more to say but because Jemma had reached across the table and grabbed her hand.

She stared at it for a minute, then she looked up at Jemma's face.

Jemma smiled. "I am a doctor, Skye. Who better to show your wound to?"

Skye wanted to run. She didn't.

Instead, she started talking.