Disclaimer: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is a work of fiction belonged to Marvel Entertainment. I am just having some fun with the characters.

Author's Note: Just as a heads up that I am relatively new to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and have not seen the movies associated with the Marvel franchise although I think I understand the gist of how they play into the AoS plot. This work takes place after S01E08 and will be an exploration of Skye's character as well as what may have happened to Agent Coulson.

Summary: The team has started to fall apart after the events of "The Well", but things only get worse when Skye tries to handle an assignment on her own and uncovers a plot that could tear S.H.I.E.L.D. apart from the inside out. Now it is up to her to save the others and put their team back together.

Playing Secret Agent
Chapter One: "G.W."

Ward hadn't spoken a word to her since Ireland. Not that she expected him to, really, he never said much on a good day, but this, this was something more than his usual 'tough agent' act. Sure, he still trained her often enough, but not with the same insufferable attention to detail that he always had. The man possessed an ego that would put James Bond to shame yet he barely blinked at her when she, yet again, confused the magazine release for the safety release during weapons training. Nor did he react in combat when she tripped and almost bowled headlong into Coulson's vette, Lola. When they weren't working or training it was as though he simply wasn't there anymore. There was something inside him that was still smouldering and she couldn't do a damn thing about it.

The worst part was, it wasn't just Ward, May was more withdrawn than usual, even for her, and Coulson, the glue that held their unlikely team of misfit's together, was barely with it himself. He was more subtle about it, but she saw it in his stiff movements, in the dark circles under his eyes implying he hadn't been able to catch a decent night's sleep in weeks; something was eating away at him as well. Fitz and Simmons were the only ones who seemed to be acting half normal, but they were so absorbed in their lab work that she rarely saw them.

When Skye reflected back on it, it was as though the tentative sense of camaraderie they had all formed had started to fray; that they weren't so much a team anymore, but a group of strangers working against a common enemy. She could see it even if they couldn't. Maybe that was why when the 0-8-4 came in she tried to handle things on her own and the whole damn thing just went to hell from there.

May had parked the Bus on the outskirts of Frobisher Bay on the south-eastern tip of Baffin Island. It was a harsh, windswept, wasteland of a place with almost no tree growth and permanently frozen soil. The eroding Arctic Cordillera mountain range battered the landscape into a series of outcroppings and jagged peaks that deviated from the flat monotony of the tundra. Electromagnetic activity had been detected in the area and HQ had started to worry that 'Mt. Thor' might actually have some Asgardian affiliation after all.

"Did you know Sir Martin Frobisher made three separate attempts to try and find a shipping route through the Northwest in the 1500's." Fitz informed them as they huddled under the large, overarching wing of the Bus.

"Yes, it's quite sad really, he only made it as far as Frobisher Bay, which now bears his name," Simmons chimed in, not looking up, her face awash with the neon glow of her tablet.

"Frobisher is one of many explores of whom—"

The wind howled, drowning out whatever encyclopedic fact Fitz had decided to contribute to their impromptu history lesson. Skye shivered and pressed herself closer to the side of the plane.

"…he brought back gold to the Queen of England, but it was really iron pyrite…"

She smiled, the banter at least gave her some sense of normalcy—funny what her definition of 'normal' was these days. She shook her head, turning to head back inside, but something stopped her. A flicker, she couldn't quite catch it at first, drowned out by the swirling snow, a trick of the light perhaps? No, she squinted, forcing herself to focus on the shimmering point, barely visible in the shadow of the granite mountain range that carved the landscape.

Her eyes flicked to Coulson. He was standing a few feet away from them, his head down, speaking quietly with May. Ward was nowhere in her line of sight. Probably off playing secret agent somewhere she thought.

Her eyes scanned the point again—still there. A daring thought simmered in her mind. She could check it out on her own, prove her worth as a full fledged agent. If she achieved her goal maybe they'd trust her again?

"I'm gonna go find Ward," she mumbled to Fitz-Simmons who were still engaged in a heated debate over who was the greatest of the Northwest Passage explorers. Neither agent took notice when she plodded inside the cargo bay only to return several minutes later with a pair of gloves and a S.H.I.E.L.D. issue pack. They didn't so much as lift their heads when she shuffled past them in the direction of the shimmer.

Skye watched the ground as her feet disappeared and reappeared, disappeared and reappeared, over and over again in the crunching snow. It was deeper than she thought, but she found that by concentrating on each step she could drive herself forward without faltering too much.

The day was cold and the wind had started to pick up with a vengeance. She could feel it biting through the poorly insulated jacket she had zipped into before setting foot outside. The arctic tundra was no place for an LA city slicker and she was starting to learn that lesson all too well.

For the fist few hours she had inched forward at a blind, staggering pace completely unprepared for the drag the snow was causing against her feet. Now it was starting to swirl around her as well, reducing her visibility to nothing more than a few feet. That was probably why she didn't see it at first: a lithe, shaggy thing that was edging closer at a gentle lope. It stopped her dead in her tracks and she squinted, not quite realizing what it was until it was too late.

The wolf's bass growl sent Skye stumbling backward into snow where she sagged, bracing her fall with the back of her hands. She winced, feeling the dampness of the ground beneath her bite through her already frozen jeans. It made her thighs burn with cold.

The wolf was twice as big as it had looked from a distance and a hundred times more intimidating. He was long and broad in the chest with a deeply descending ribcage and a sloping back.

"Nice doggie?" She asked weakly. The wolf gazed back unpleasantly, cocking his thick neck to give her a better view of his wide head and long, blunt muzzle. Skye felt her stomach drop to the level of her feet as she caught a glint of large, heavy teeth, perfect for crushing bone.

This was it. She wasn't going to die of frostbite or her own stupidity as Ward might chalk it up to. She was going to be eaten by a god damn dire wolf straight out of some HBO drama and Coulson was going to be pissed.

Skye closed her eyes no longer sure if she was paralyzed with fear or simply too numb from the cold to try and run. At least with her eyes shut she didn't have to watch the damn thing come at her. She waited, bracing herself for the moment when she could feel the creature's hot breath on the back of her neck, right before slathering jaws closed around her—nothing? Skye blinked once, twice, three times before she finally forced her self to lift her head again, eyes open.

She didn't realize right away, it took a few breathless moments for it to sink in that the wolf wasn't moving. He was barely fifteen feet away from her, hackles up and growling, but he wasn't moving at all. Here was fresh meat for the taking and the overgrown dog hadn't shifted an inch.

That's when she saw the wound. A long, deep gash that sectioned the wolf's front left paw into a garish mess of sinew and exposed muscle.

Her spirits lifted. "So that's how it is huh? Not so tough without that leg of yours?"

"Why don't you come over here and see how tough I am, Pup." The wolf curled his lips back exposing a long row of bone white teeth.

Skye glared back at the wolf in a fragile burst of courage. Her mind was elsewhere, valiantly trying to categorize auditory hallucinations in the 'stages of freezing to death' Simmons had lectured them about.

"One more time?" She started, great—now she was engaging the auditory hallucinations. That couldn't be a good sign to say the least. "Whu…what'd you say?"

The wolf's ears twitched. "You understand me?" he asked gruffly.

The scowl fell from Skye's face and she stared back, dumbfounded. "Not funny. You can come out now."

She turned her head toward a nearby snow bank thoroughly expecting a group of Inuit children to be hiding behind it, having a good laugh at the idiot tourist who got herself lost in the middle of the tundra.

"Enough," the wolf snapped. His voice was low and surprisingly chastising. "You do understand that if you continue to sit there like a gaping bafoon you're going to freeze to death?"

A bewildered Skye stared back at the wolf, laughing uncomfortably. "I'm not completely buying this, pal. I don't know what the deal is here, but you're a wolf and I'm a human and I've seen enough National Geographic docs to know that guys like you eat gals like me."

"And you've obviously got too much time on your hands if you watch that drabble, but thanks for the biology lesson," the wolf snorted.

Skye glanced around frantically. This wasn't happening. She was either passed out in the snow somewhere or she was starting to go crazy from the cold. That was it than, she was going to die here.

"Well," the wolf looked at her expectantly. "Aren't you going to move?"

They locked eyes again. She shuddered, staring for a long moment. "Let's say for argument's sake that we actually are communicating…right now," the breath sputtered between chattering teeth.

"We are." The wolf assured.

"…that you actually can talk…" A blast of snow caught her across the face making it almost impossible to keep her eyes open as she struggled with her words. She was cold and fading fast.

"I can." He agreed. "Six different languages, actually. It used to be seven, but my Mandarin is rusty as hell, you know how it is—yer in a bar in Beijing slugging back a double shot of Luzhou Laojiao and this barmaid, pretty little thing, asks ya ta…hey, you still with me, Pup?"

Skye swallowed, the world was fading dangerously in and out of focus. She couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to. And now she was beginning to understand, in a vague, far off manner, that this wolf was real. She wasn't imagining it. It was injured and it was being cautious: why waste energy when its prey was going to kick the bucket soon anyway?

She could here the echoing crunch of footfalls and what was probably the injured leg scraping against the icy ground. It didn't matter now, the sound was starting to distort.

She was so tired and thought fleetingly that perhaps dying wasn't going to be so bad—just like going to sleep.

"Oh, for fuck sakes," something growled above her as her head rolled back into the snow.

The next thing Skye knew she was on her side with her legs sticking off at awkward angles. She groaned, feeling the last drowsy tendrils of sleep pull at her as she shifted, burrowing her head back into to the radiating heat of her pillow. She gave a contented sigh and nuzzled further down into it; finally warm and relaxed.

"Looks like you're feeling better." The sound reverberated through the length of her pillow. She froze, her 'pillow' chuckled.

"Welcome back," the wolf flashed a toothy grin when she grudgingly unfolded herself from her warm cocoon of mottled gray and white fur.

"You made it through the worst of it. That's good."

"You still didn't eat me." Skye muttered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes to take in her new surroundings. It was dark, but she knew she was in an enclosed space. If she squinted she could just make out the faint outline of rock walls and a pinprick of dusky light in the distance.

"No," he rasped. "I didn't."

"I don't understand."

The wolf ignored her, concentrating his effort on trying to stand up and failing miserably. He slid back down with a yelp the moment his bloody foreleg fell out from under him. The force was enough to tear the wound further, exposing an inordinate amount of bloody tissue.

"That looks like it hurts." Skye observed, distracted by the sound of his nails scrabbling on the rock below him. He didn't try to get up again.

"It's seen better days," the wolf agreed. He chuffed, resting his head on his paws, resigned.

"Look," Skye chewed on her bottom lip, surveying the large canid. "I…I could take a look at it. I mean I'm not a vet or a doctor or anything, but I could stitch it up and bandage it."

Two piercing yellow eyes fixated on her.

She gulped, there was no backing down now. "p…provided you don't eat me, or maim me, or maul me, or do whatever it is you normally do to people like me." She added, her tone suddenly becoming wary.

"I don't eat junk food," the wolf growled in thinly-veiled retort.

"Good to know," Skye edged closer not entirely convinced that she was not currently in the middle of a very lucid dream. Be open-minded, she told herself, in the past few weeks you've seen supervillans, and aliens, how did Coulson put it? Front row seats to the craziest show on earth. A talking wolf shouldn't even register as out of the ordinary anymore.

She reached for her S.H.I.E.L.D. issue backpack and opened it, medically she was reasonably stocked with some bandages and a couple pre-calibrated morphine syringes.

"What do I call you anyway? Mr. Wolf?"

The wolf curled his lips in disgust.

"Come on, I've got to call you something, right? Do wolves even have names?" Skye asked as she rifled through her pack. She was not paying attention to the irritated glare she was receiving in response.

"You're a gray wolf, right?"

No response.

"Okay, I guess that's a yes?"

The animal blinked at her.

"How'bout G.W. than? It's a cool name."

"If you like acronyms." 'G.W.' muttered and if it were possible for a wolf to role his eyes he did so.

"Very well," he relented after a moment. It was probably better than anything else she was going to come up with.

"Well G.W., my name is Skye."

She held up one of the syringes and cracked the tie on the plastic collar. "I'm going to stick this in your leg, or paw, or whatever it is you call it and it's going to hurt like hell so please don't kill me, OK?"

G.W. looked down at his mangled leg and gingerly extended it toward her. Skye held her breath as she inserted the needle above the wound. The wolf exhaled sharply, but otherwise didn't react.

"Morphine. It'll take a few minutes to take effect and then we can stitch you up," she explained.

"What did you do to it anyway? Piss off a polar bear?" Skye sat back on her haunches to inventory the remaining contents of her bag.

"I could ask you the same thing," G.W. returned evenly. "What's a puppy S.H.I.E.L.D. agent doing out this far away from her pack?"

She swallowed, "how did you—"

The wolf snorted. "The bag you are wearing has your affiliation written all over it, you're not dressed for the weather, i.e. damn near freezing to death, and you're working alone which is THE absolute stupidest period of stupid decisions period that an agent can make. No offense Pup, but your situation has rookie written all over it."

"Since when can wolves read?" She returned, matching the intensity of his gaze.

G.W. scowled at her, but didn't object when she reached for his injured leg, needle poised. Skye dropped the first stitch.

"So, are you some kind of alien than? I met one once." She thought back to the rogue Asgardian who had started this whole mess.

"Do I look like E.T. to you?" the wolf grunted, glaring at her.

"No," she agreed "but you're definitely not a wolf."

"Well, I'm glad we've established that fact." He stifled a hiss as the needle pierced his torn flesh for what felt like the twentieth time.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I know how much this sucks. Couldn't afford much in the way of healthcare growing up, had to do this on myself a couple of times. Got pretty good at it though."

Skye tied off the last stitch and gestured to her handwork. "At least now it doesn't look like you put that thing through a meat grinder."

G.W. dipped his head to clean the excess blood from his injured leg. He nipped at the crusty fur where discharge from the wound had started to congeal into a sticky mess.

"That should do you for a while," she explained when he was finished. She padded the area with a reinforced sheet of non-adherent gauze before wrapping his entire leg in a thick, broad bandage.

"Thank you, Skye." He gave his paw an experimental flick, flexing it at the ankle joint.

She dipped her head. "I owe you a thanks too, for not letting me freeze to death," Skye admitted as though suddenly realizing the gravity and share stupidity of her situation.

G.W. huffed. "Don't mention it."

"Since you seem so incessant on questions. How about you let me ask you one?" He hedged after a long moment.

Skye shuffled, settling in beside him. "Shoot."

"Why did you wander off by yourself? I get the feeling you know better."

"Are you my keeper now?"

Her response was met with a derisive snort. "No need to get defensive, Pup. Just an observation."

She sighed and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her elbows across them to conserve body heat. At least she could start to feel her legs again.

"My whole life I haven't done a very good job of fitting in. I guess I thought that if I could do this one thing my team would like me better. Maybe even trust me again." Skye frowned at the silver tracking bracelet still affixed to her wrist. Coulson hadn't trusted her enough to remove it yet. It had been hours since she had wandered off. Perhaps that was it—her one chance and she blew it. Maybe they weren't coming after her this time.

"I'll take you back at first light." G.W.'s gruff voice interrupted her thoughts. "You couldn't have wandered more than five miles in any one direction. There'll be traces, you just need to know where to look."

Skye couldn't bear to tell him that she may not have anyone to go back to.

"Now one for you." She spoke in a nonchalant voice, forcing a change of subject. It was easier not to think about it.

"No, I don't know Marvin the martian,Yoda, or ALF." G.W. stated matter-of-factly, a glint of something mischievous playing on his wolfish features.

He managed to tease a genuine smile out of her.

"Not what I was going to ask," she held up her hands in mock insult.

"Alright," G.W. relented. "Fire away,"

"What's with that collar?" Skye gestured to the thick black band that was flush against the coarse guard hairs around the ruff of his neck. It looked heavy and was equipped with a small silver box that resembled that of a radio frequency identification collar, which scientists often used to track the movements of large animals.

"Trouble."

"Come on, that's all you're going to give me?"

"Fine," he huffed. "Let's just say it's the reason I'm stuck with four paws and a tail at the moment."

"And the leg?" She edged on.

He paused, considering his words carefully. "Also, a contributing factor."

"Come on," Skye groaned. "Would it hurt you to be a little more transparent?"

"Would it hurt you to be a little less nosy?" He retorted.

She glowered at him and he rolled onto his side signalling their conversation was over.

As night fell Skye lit a fire and huddled in a coarse S.H.I.E.L.D. issue blanket that she found stuffed at the bottom of her pack. Her companion had clocked out from the pain, morphine, or both and she was thankful for the solitude.

She sat, slumped with her back pressed against the solid rock wall and one arm slung across her knees. The other was toying with her tracking bracelet, its molten glow sending triangular refraction patterns spiralling into the air as she spun it on her wrist. It commanded all the self restraint she had not to dwell on what it meant. Coulson could have Fitz-Simmons find her with a single keystroke if he really wanted to. If they really wanted her they would have come by now.

Dawn was clear and frigid. The snow clouds had drifted away leaving traces of pale blue and orange in their wake. She was up as soon as the sky broke and weak sunbeams had started to splinter the cave floor in cold, white light.

G.W. was waiting for her at the mouth of the cave, cleaning the marrow out of a large thigh bone from some unidentifiable animal. He held the still sinewy appendage in his jaws and angled it towards her.

She made a face and he took the hint.

"How's the leg?" She asked by way of a greeting.

"Much better, thank you." The wolf informed her. The awkward gait he maintained as he shuffled around made her doubt the truthfulness of his response, but he got along well enough once they started walking.

They spent the next three hours in almost complete solitude. Sometimes they would stop and G.W. would sniff the air or ask the occasional question.

"I know, I've said this before, but I think we're almost there. Does any of this look familiar to you?"

Skye peered over at the large canid flanking her. "Oh yes, there's my favourite rock. How could I forget this place?"

She huffed in frustration and gestured skyward with her hands. "How does any of this look any different from where we were an hour ago?"

"It's subtle, I know, but there's a difference. The snow is shallower here and we're closer to the ocean than before. Surely you'd remember if you were close to the water?"

She considered this for a moment. "Frobisher. Fitz-Simmons were going on and on about Frobisher and the Queen of England."

"Frobisher was an explorer who attempted to find a shipping route across the north in the name of the Queen of England. Frobisher Bay now bears his name."

"Well, I'll be sure to take note of that in my travel brochure."

"No need to get snarky," the wolf grunted. "It's good news. That, out there," he gestured to the thin line of choppy blue barely visible above the horizon, "is Frobisher Bay. Jogging any memories now? Those rock formations, perhaps? The coastline is riddled with high cliffs."

Skye squinted at it. "Maybe," she sighed, feeling lost. She wasn't cut out for this.

"It'll be more visible when we get closer," G.W. assured her. "I wouldn't worry about it yet."

"So what happened to him?"

The wolf cocked his head. "I'm sorry?"

"Frobisher. Did he find the passage?" Skye decided she was tired of the silence. She felt cold and alone enough as it was.

"Nope. He tried three times and gave up. If I remember correctly he was shot and killed during the Siege of Fort Crozon, one of the only Spanish held—"

"Spanish held…" Skye started, but he shushed her before his nose shot up into the air. She looked at him.

"This way," he broke into an awkward trot. Even with the injured leg Skye struggled to match his stride.

"Where are we going?" The ground had started to grow more uneven as they edged closer to the coast. She had to devote all her attention to watching her footfalls one wrong move and she would be flat on her face.

G.W. loped along twenty paces ahead of her, his ears twitching as he shifted his nose between the air and the ground. Then he stopped suddenly, almost tripping her up in the process. She started to grumble something, but the words caught in her throat, leaving her mouth agape.

"Is he one of yours?" The wolf gestured to the body laying face down atop a narrow outcropping of granite and partially covered with snow.

"Ward!"

Author's Note (II): OK, I know it's a little strange, but I do actually have plan for how this story will play out. What do you think? Should I continue?

Poll: If you could pick only one character to help Skye out of a tough predicament (not saying what it is) who would it be:

A. P. Coulson
B. G. Ward
C. M. May
D. L. Fitz
E. J. Simmons