Notes:
Set in season 2 before they wipe Cal's memories and before May leaves for her trip with Andrew. Enjoy!
"Mommy, come look there's a cloud that looks like a monkey!"
A little girl leads her mom out of the kitchen and towards the sliding glass door. Feet padding softly on the wooden floor, a content laugh bubbles up from the women as her daughter, with her tiny hands balled up in the woman's dress, leads her towards the glass and points at the cloud.
"Oh, that does look like a monkey,—," the mom replies, and lovingly adds her daughter's name. Looking up at her mother in concern, the girl knows her mother said her name, but it sounds muffled as if she's Peanuts character.
The child's guardian looks down sensing the minor staring up at her. Their eyes catch. Dark eyes meet the girl's soft brown. The matron's visage is round in shape, and her lips are beaming with a grin. Her tan complexion a replica to the youngster's, and the woman's dark eyes are soft and kind.
Kneeling, the mom pulls out a handkerchief, and says, "You got dirt on your face."
She gently rubs the cloth over her child's cheek cleaning leftover debris from her venture in the yard. Once satisfied, she folds the fabric and places it back in the pocket of her dress.
"I made your favorite. It's in the kitchen waiting for you," she says brushing a lock of brown hair out of the youngster's eyes. Her fingers are gentle, warm, and smooth as they sweep over the skin of her forehead.
"Really?" the youngster exclaims. Her soft brown eyes fill with mirth and excitement.
The matron chuckles, "Go wash your hands. Make sure to sing the ABC's—"
"—so all the icky germs are off of me," the neonate finishes for her.
The youngster turns her back to her mother and starts toward the sink. The floor is rushing up to meet the little tyke's face—her head crashes into the wooden floor. A resounding thud echoes through the room. The neonate whimpers, her head hurts, and she's full of fear.
Warm hands gently caress the back of her neck. They rub softly over the exposed skin—before the nails depress, and gouge, into the tender, vulnerable, flesh.
It burns. It burns.
The skin ignites where the soft palms are anchored around her nape. The child starts gasping for air. Flailing her arms backward, she stumbles up onto her feet, disconnecting the hands from her skin, and spins around to see what's happening.
The girl's tiny form is gone, she stands at even height with the woman. Her arms draw up into a fighting stance. Knees bent, ready to dodge any attacks.
Skye, that's my name. My name is Skye.
Jiaying's eyes narrow and flash with cruelty. A menacing smirk staining her previous benevolent face. She leaps, pushing her daughter back onto the floor, and placing her hands at Skye's neck. Skye's long hair billows around her head where she lays. Her soft brown eyes are wide, terror-stricken, as she stares up at her mother's dark eyes. She takes in the sudden appearance of scars marring her mother's face.
"You deserve this!" Jiaying says as she holds her position pinning Skye to the floor. "You're nothing."
Skye's skin ignites, and a soft glow emanates from Jaiying's hands. Breathing becomes difficult, air is disappearing from her lungs, and the agent is left gasping. Inside there is an agonizing strain—all-encompassing. It feels as if she is being torn apart from the inside out. Ripped apart.
An image of Jemma flashes in her mind.
SPONCH — the building blocks of life, that's what Simmons had called it. They're the things needed for life. Sulfur, Phosphorus, Oxygen, Nitrogen, Carbon, Hydrogen. And something about acids…
Riving, Tearing, extracting… It burns. burning.
She's ripping the elements from my body, Skye formulates.
"No one wants you," Jiaying says without malice. Her tone is calm and warm, and a smile is tugging at the corners of her lips.
Skye's skin is bleaching white. A shiver racks the twenty-five-year-old's frame as chills gnaw into her bones. Jiaying's thumb gently brushes her cheek from where her palms rest. Her mother's hands are warm against her thundering pulse. It's a comforting warmth, welcoming even.
I'm dying, the thought weakly crawls through Skye's mind.
"M-mom," Skye gasps, her croaking voice sounds juvenile. "M-mom," she tries again, tears gathering in her eyes. Her hands, grasped at her mother's wrists, somehow are demure and child-like.
Skye ceases pulling and prying at her mother's wrists. Resignation burrowing into her heart.
My mom doesn't even want to keep me.
Skye's heart pounds fighting to stay alive—despite there being no reason to. There's no conceivable reason to fight. There isn't a drive or any reason to fight. There's no mass danger to stop. No crystals to stop. No world to save. There's no reason to fight at all.
I belong nowhere… nowhere, the thought echoes loudly as if resounding off of cavern walls.
Skye accepts her fate. Her life will soon be over, and she's okay with that. The void in her chest will be gone. All the pain inside her will cease. She lays her hands submissively at her sides.
"This is your purpose, Daisy," Jiaying says gently and presses a soft kiss to her daughter's forehead. A proud smile and warmth light Jiaying's face, proud to see Daisy's acceptance. Proud to see her accepting her destiny.
As if the transfer wasn't agonizing enough, Skye's lungs explode as if someone had set off fireworks. Her chest aches. Her heart feels as if it's twisting inside of her chest. Knotting and coiling. Her wheezing breaths grow more hoarse. Drool starts to pool between her lips and dribbles down the side of her mouth. Her vision is darkening. Skye strains her eyes, watching the scars disappear from her mother's face...
"You weren't created to be loved," is resounding around her. Her mother's voice singing every letter.
Bolting upright, Skye awakes with a gasp. Her hands claw at her neck searching for her assailant's hands. In her panic, her nails leave pink raised flesh in their wake.
Her neck tingles, haunted by her mother's hands long after her fears are assuaged. The bed sheets cling like second-skin to her frame, and her hair is wet from terror. Sighing in resignation and exhaustion, Skye drags herself to the shower.
In the mirror, her reflection is dire in the fluorescent light. Dark circles ring her eyes and prominently stare back at her. With bloodshot eyes and swollen lids, she merely squints at her reflection and strips of her drenched pajamas while readying the shower.
Skye is up before May, and she works through each pose of Tai Chi as if her life depends on it. She visualizes a needle and thread sewing up the ragged rip that splits her into two. As she moves through each pose and movement, the width of the rip lessens, the tread piecing the skin and being pulled tight. She does Tai Chi until the two giant pieces are stitched together, until she feels whole again. The hole still hurts, and the stitching is loose and messy, but now breathing is easier. Her heart aches less.
The young agent proceeds to the kitchen, in the process evading May, her former Supervising Officer. In the kitchen, donning a S.H.I.E.L.D apron, Skye cooks breakfast for two and heads to the containment room in Vault D. The room where Cal, her estranged father, is being kept.
Descending the stairs she gingerly grasps the two trays of food, one stacked on top of the other. The chair where she used to chat with Ward is gone. The room is Vacant. Just like with the last prisoner, the containment wall was frosted over.
Hours after the Iliad debacle had ended, Cal was interrogated, and he gave up everything he knew. Since then there wasn't much reason for people to come down to Vault D for a visit. No more reason for questioning or interaction.
Skye press a button on the control panel and glass goes transparent.
"Daisy," Calvin Johnson calls. Standing from where he was previous sat on the floor.
Skye meets father's brown eyes. The same color as her own. A grin blossoms on Cal's visage, a dopey grin that shines in his eyes. However, his eyes still contain a crazed shimmer.
A shimmer resulting from his actions catching up with him—namely, killing his wife to protect his daughter. He was lucid a few hours after the incident, but after that, it all went down hill.
"As promised, I made scrambled eggs and bacon," Skye says as she slips the food tray into the food slot.
Yesterday morning, they had shared oatmeal with apple slices, and today Daisy had promised him eggs for breakfast. It was a ritual that was being birthed, an added routine to the spontaneous life of being a spy.
The young agent feigns a smile and settles on the floor with her own tray of food. Drawing her fork from the napkin bundle, she scoops pieces of eggs into her mouth.
"I'm not much of a cook, but I made sure not to burn these…" Skye supplements once she swallows her first bite.
Cal settles on the floor in front of her, the containment wall separating them. He draws in a bite of the eggs and grimaces at the bland the taste, before it's replaced with a beaming smile. His eyes twinkle at Daisy.
"They taste wonderful," he assures his daughter. A goofy smile spreading across his lips.
Continuing on, Cal says, "In fact, I would've been hard pressed to find something like this when I was stationed in a very rural area of North Korea. It was a short stint there before I was moved to a more populated region of the country."
"What were you doing in North Korea?" Skye inquires, interest peaking. Eyes focusing on her father and his unique idiosyncratic expressions.
"Oh, I was stationed there for a nasty Flu outbreak, the people in the region were being taken down like dominos," he motions with his fingers as if knocking down said dominoes.
Cal chats about everything and nothing at the same time. His dorky antics making Skye produce a smile. The upward turn of her lips feels foreign on her lips. She ignores the feeling, and simply enjoys her time with her father who was few cards short of a full deck.
The ache present in her chest dulls to a steady pain. This new morning ritual reminding her that at least one of her parents loved her. Even if it ended up driving him crazy in the end.
That night, May awakens to tremors racking the Playground. As a light sleeper, the gentle rattle of her furniture brings her to consciousness. The sound is minute, but all the same, it is a change to the nightly mundane cadence. A slight change she is more than attuned for.
The Specialist, clad in her pajamas, makes a beeline for a certain Junior agent's room.
"Skye! Wake up!" May growls as she throws the door open.
The young agent is curled up on her side. The blanket lays tossed at the end of the bed as if kicked away from the brunette in her sleep. With her arms resting close to her face, she only slightly stirs before settling back into sleep.
The senior agent approaches her student's form. Abruptly, the base ceases thrumming from the Inhuman's powers. Stilling, Melinda waits to see if the tremors will roar back to life.
A soft whimper escapes the sleeping agent's form, and in the dim light flowing in from the corridor, May sees Skye's arms begin to blotch with purple. Bruises manifest and race over the tan skin. Hastily clambering forward, May finds herself on the mattress roughly shaking the younger agent, "Skye! Skye!"
May leans back as Skye bolts upright avoiding a could-have-been collision. Skye breathing comes in gasps. May observes how Skye's eyes are wild with panic and drenched in sweat. Sees how her student's hands race up, feeling for something that isn't there, going so far as to check the back of her own head.
Once Skye's eyes meet Melinda's, finally taking in her surrounding, she stills and her hands hastily move to rest in her lap. Her student's chest rises and falls in fast temp, still heaving for air. Skye averts her eyes from her SO, looking anywhere else in the room. The embarrassment barely visible in dim light cascading in through the ajar bedroom door.
"What are you doing here, May," Skye grounds out in a feigned irritated tone. Her eyes stare at the shelf behind the agent who is currently occupying a portion of her bed.
Ignoring her, May grabs Skye's arm and brings it into the light streaming into the room. surprised at how the movement sends waves of pain rocketing up her arm, Skye winces and sucks in her breath. She doesn't dare look at her SO.
Melinda doesn't miss the sudden intake of air from her student. The room is too dimly lit, the former SO switches on the bedside lamp. This time more gently, she leads the appendage under the abundant lamplight. Purple, blue, and light brown bespeckle the arm all the way up to her shoulder.
Pulling on the arm to get the young agent's attention. The jerk makes Skye grimace. Pain shoots up from her fingers to her shoulder. Spotting the discolored skin, Skye bites her lip in shame and chances a glance up at the older woman. She meets May's flashing eyes.
With her face hard, May sternly says, "This. THIS is unacceptable." Punctuating each word with a small jerk on Sky's arm.
The younger agent furrows her brow, locking on a mask of irritation. Not in the mood to be reminded she can't live up to another person's expectations.
"Well sorry, my power to shake things has side effects." Skye coldly replies yanking the arm out of Melinda's gentle hold and bites back a wince from the action.
Not batting an eye at the response except a raised brow, May responds, "The base was shaking. I thought you learned control?" How are you able to still hurt yourself?
"I did. It won't happen again." Skye states laying back down. She turns herself toward the wall, giving May her back. Barricading herself with a protective wall from her former SO.
"Skye," Melinda says her name with gentleness. It almost sounds like a sigh follows. "What was the dream about?"
Skye feels the bed shift with weight and turns her head just enough to glance behind her. She finds Melinda sitting beside her. The agent's back is resting against the headboard of the basic issued bunk. Her shoulders are relaxed and her posture is gentle. Vulnerable even.
Quickly, Skye averts her eyes—afraid the older agent will notice the glistening tear tracks. They've been there since Skye awakened. Melinda has yet to notice, and Skye wanted to keep it that way.
Undaunted by her student's silence, May shifts into a more comfortable position. She stretches her legs out from beneath her and slouches slightly against the headboard of the bed.
Melinda could wait all night, her patience was tried and true. Burned to perfection by experience, her student on the other hand was not as patience.
Ignoring Melinda's presence, until she couldn't anymore, falling into Melinda's trap, Skye says softly, "It was about the Iliad."
May waits for Skye's curled form to divulge further. She doesn't. The older agent doesn't push any further. Instead, she lays hand on Skye's head and shifts her position so she can run her fingers through the brown tresses.
"Let's get Simmons to look at your arms," she says, tone indicating that it was more of order than a suggestion.
May bangs on Jemma's door, putting some of her frustration into each knock. She had left Skye in the room to retrieve the doctor.
Stubborn girl is acting like she's catatonic.
Jemma opens the door sleepily and comes to attention at the sight of Agent May.
The senior agent is clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants and stares like she means business. It's a contrast to the nightgown Jemma currently wears and her left hand rubbing at the crust in her eyes.
"May, is there something I can do for you?" Jemma's sleepy voice is thick with her accent. Her hands drop to her side after ridding herself of the Sandman's dust.
"I need you to look at Skye. She injured herself with her powers in her sleep." May replies, concern evident her voices, while she stoically ignores the yawn escaping the young doctor.
Once they arrive at Skye's room, Simmons is aghast at Skye's arms. Agent May rousing her from sleep had been a shock. However, Simmons knew something was going to give at some point with their resident hacker.
Quite frankly, Jemma has been concerned for her friend. Her avoidance of the team has been less than subtle. After experiencing such a devastating trauma, Skye was displaying some maladaptive traits. Namely, the avoidance of others and the goofball, the last few days, hardly smiles. And Jemma's well aware of the morning visits Skye has been making to see Cal. The doctor grants it's only been a few days since the attack on Iliad and foiling Jiaying's plans, still, though, the signs she is observing so far is a cause for concern. Truth be told, Jemma has been expecting something to happen, but definitely not this.
Silently Jemma slips on the prototype casts to the Inhuman's battered arms. These casts being the first ones Jemma had created for this purpose. It feels like almost a lifetime ago since then. Jemma bites her lip nervously as she as Skye holds a catatonic stare throughout the whole procedure. It's almost as if her friend was dissociating, having an out-of-body experience.
Once the casts are secure, "Alright, Skye, does that feel better?"
The younger woman stares back at her, before giving a slight nod. The patient turns her body so she is curled up on her bunk. Much like how she lying before Jemma had arrived to take care of her injuries.
"I'm going to get you something for the pain," Jemma states, noting her friend's depressed reaction.
As Jemma exits the room into the corridor, she pulls Agent May aside out of earshot of Skye. Jemma positions herself to be able to see Skye's through the open barrack door. Afterall, A doctor needs to keep an eye on her patient, especially one that was prone to being difficult.
"How sure are you Skye was asleep when she used her powers on herself?" the younger agent asks. Her tone deathly serious. Her hands fiddle with something in the pocket of her lab coat.
"I saw it happen," Melinda replies coolly. She pauses momentarily gathering what Jemma seems to be implying. "You think…"
"—it was just a possibility, but since you witnessed it, my hypothesis is incorrect." Jemma interrupts May before she can finish her thought. Trying to assuage the expression on May's face.
The young doctor continues, "Poor thing, probably can't sleep without seeing Jiaying trying to kill her. Can you imagine?" Jemma's hand moves to rest on her chin, eyes bright with worry, water gleaming in fluorescent light. "Searching all that time, and to have it… Well, end like that...?" Softly finishes Jemma.
May's hands ball into fists at her side. Her face is impassive, inside, though, her heart aches at the information. Quivers even.
Why was I not informed Skye's mother attempted to kill her?!
"In the morning, I'll prescribe Skye sleeping pills. To be honest, I should've thought of it before." Jemma rambles. Abruptly, she stops and directs her eyes over Melinda's shoulder, to Skye's doorway, "Skye, you should be back in bed. It's only 4:30 AM," Jemma replies briefly checking the clock in the hallway.
"I'm not able to go back to sleep. And besides, my body is used to this time." Skye responds nonchalantly, her hands pulling her hair up into a ponytail. The agent is dressed in workout clothes, though what catches the women's attention is the dark rings adorning their friend's face around her eyes.
"You can't train in your condition," Jemma orders and brushes past May toward the hurting agent. "You need to rest. Your arms are covered with hairline fractures!"
Melinda has had enough.
"Skye, you get back in that bed, or so help me," Melinda vehemently orders, "I'll cuff you to the bed." Her tone demands acknowledgment.
The reaction is instant, the junior agent freezes. Stops dead in her tracks.