I couldn't wait to post this chapter! Very proud of it. Hope you all enjoy!

"A Game Changer" (Chapter 2)

01:57 am

Playground Basement

Deep in the Playground's basement – far away from the holding cell – is a large storage room lined with rows upon rows of slate gray metal filing cabinets and racks of artifacts from various missions. He can't believe how much information S.S.R. has accumulated during its run; he could spend hours upon hours reading through the excitement of the glory days. Nowadays, he barely has any time to enjoy reading an old Captain America comic book, let alone spend time down here.

Director Phil Coulson hasn't been in this room since Koenig gave him and May the tour of the secret vaults shortly after they settled in. As he unlocks the metal door, an excitement courses throughout his veins. Behind this door is a world of endless wonder, or so he suspects. Key in hand, he jiggles it before slipping it into his right pocket as his left hand yanks the heavy door open.

The room is much larger than he assumed. What seems like millions of light tan storage boxes filled the room with filing cabinets. It appears someone had been attempting to convert the contents in the storage boxes to filing cabinets, but they abandoned it in a hurry. From his advantage point at the top of the stairs, he could see a loose design of the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem.

Fury. He muses as he jogs down the six-step concrete stairs.

Coulson realizes it's late, too late to begin a search, but he hopes Peggy Carter's "secret" files provide some information on "The Obelisk", the city, or where Skye's family originates. He's well aware that they're all connected; he's just not sure exactly how and he's trying not to involve Skye any more than he already has to. Evidence from their last encounter with anything to do with her father definitely suggests to keep her as protected as possible.

He can't let anything happen to her – not any more than what has already occurred. Coulson's not sure how he would cope if she were to suddenly vanish from his life. In that aspect, he can totally understand her father's logic behind what he does; but he'd never resort to just killing to get what he wants unless it was absolutely necessary.

All of that has led him here.

He heads straight to the first table that's visible from the doorway. There's more than twenty other table and chairs like this one strategically placed throughout the room, but this is the closest one to the door. This aisle spans large and long, already lined with filing cabinets that stand next to one another and the loss of the storage boxes. It's obvious that this first section of the room has already been converted. It's the half back part of the room that hasn't been completely converted.

His plan for moment is to start with this section and move out from there. Unfortunately, there's no category cabinet or paper list of what section is what – at least none that he's found yet. Everything's been digitally categorized, however, but he's not willing to wake Skye after the past few weeks she's had.

No. This is something he needs to do on his own for right now.

He's almost to the table when he looks to his left at the last cabinet before the opening where the table and two chairs sit under a large ceiling industrial light. The top drawer's old yellowed card catches his attention.

Phillip James Carter

D.O.B: July 8, 1964.

The label piques Coulson's interest, causing him to place his right hand on the metal handle but not enough to ignore that nagging feeling that he's invading Peggy's personal files. The mere name Carter makes him wonder whether it's just a name or if this person is somehow connected to Peggy Carter.

Staring at the name, his eyes widen when he rereads the birth date. It's his birth date. He dismisses the idea of it being him because there are thousands to millions of people who happen to share his birth date. Squelching the guilty feeling down, Coulson presses the button in and yanks it open. He surveys the contents of the drawer, discovering several thick expansion file binders - bound together with a large rubber band. He picks a pack up – three together – and tests the weight. It weighs at least two to three lbs. Coulson sets it on top of the cabinet before delving further in the drawer. More of those binders – sets of three – fill the rest of the drawer, along with several photo albums and a single manila envelope. The lack of a case file makes him retract the drawer back far enough to read the card again. Underneath the name is typed: Peggy Carter's Personal Collection.

He furrows his eyebrows. "What?" Coulson questions as he slides it as far open as it's allowed, retrieving a photo album and the thin manila envelope. He slams the drawer shuts and grabs the bound binders with his free hand as he resumes heading for the table. Depositing them on the table, he drags a chair far enough to drop into.

Now that he's sitting before this out-of-place content, he realizes Director Carter may not have wanted anyone to see this. Then again, she had left it at S.H.I.E.L.D. so she must've wanted him to look through it. Shoving that guilty feeling aside, he refocuses his attention to what lies before him.

Coulson begins with the binders, lifting them and slipping the old band from the binders. As he opens the first one, he sees handwritten letters. Reaching in, he draws a small handful of them out, flipping them over and blowing the dust from the parched material. It's not something he's expecting. His predecessor had written letters to someone she called "Little One" whom, he assumes, is this "Phillip Carter". As he delves in the first group of letters, the words she's written to "Little One" brings back vague memories of things he remembers hearing from a woman that wasn't his mother. He can definitely tell Peggy Carter had a deep affection for this child.

Out of nowhere, he hears footsteps approaching from behind. He momentarily freezes, not certain which one of his agents has ventured down here in this abandoned, dank basement room. Cautiously, he turns in his seat and looks down the wide aisle, spotting Skye coming toward him.

He sighs, letting his shoulders slump and relaxing in his seat upon seeing her.

"Skye, what're you doing up? Thought you were sleeping." Coulson says as he averts his gaze to the material in his hands and she gets within earshot. He chances a look at her appearance – definitely disheveled. Her hair has been thrown up in a loose ponytail, and she wears loose-fitting clothing – a black zip hoodie over a sports grey T-shirt and black jogging pants (all with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo). Still, to him, she looks beautiful.

Where'd that come from? He questions himself but chooses not to pursue it any further for the time being. Coulson frowns at the fact that she looks like she's just awaken from a nightmare and seeking her security blanket. "You okay, Skye?" He drops the papers and makes his way to her.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She answers as he stops in front of her, leaning to the side to look past him. "What's all that?" Skye points to the mess on the table.

He twists his waist to look back at the table. "Oh." Coulson twirls to face her, meeting her gaze. "Couldn't sleep." He motions for her to follow him. She easily catches up to him and walks beside him to the table. "So I decided to come down here and see if S.S.R. had some old information on 'The Obelisk', city, or anyone who has association with the 084, but I stumbled upon this instead." He answers, motioning to the material.

Skye lifts the manila envelope, turning it over in her hand to see any description that might have been left. She finds nothing and therefore turns it back over. She gestures to it. "You mind if I help? I can't sleep either."

He shakes his head. "Go ahead. Maybe you'll find something that give me a clue as to who this stuff belongs to." Coulson slides into his chair while Skye gets the other chair, dragging it to sit next to him. He picks up the first letter and hands it to her. "It's addressed to someone called 'Little One' and the drawer's labeled 'Phillip Carter'."

Skye pauses, dropping the unopened envelope and letter back onto the table. "You just said who this belongs to. No need to look further into it." Skye interjects, slicing her eyes over to meet his. "I'm going to go back to bed and maybe force myself to sleep. You should do the same, sir." She turns on her heels and begins to head to the door.

"Skye, wait! I'm not finished!" He calls after her, but she keeps heading toward the door. Coulson bolts from his chair and starts after her. "Wait!"

"Go to bed, sir!" Skye tells him in her most authoritative voice.

By now, he's frustrated. "Director Carter wrote them!" He calls, hoping it catches her attention. It does.

Skye halts and turns on her heels to face him. An expectant expression hits her face.

"Director Carter never had any relatives named Phillip, neither did either of her children. Her husband's name was Jack Seamark. Their children were named Michael and Karen." Coulson supplies as he comes to stand before her. "Please, help me." He pleads in a begging tone. "I just want to give these to whomever they belong to."

Skye hates when he uses that tone and gives her those puppy dog eyes. It's a cave in for her. She's powerless to be set against whatever he's wanting. Rolling her eyes, she passes him and walks back to her chair, sinking it in. "Well," she begins, looking back at him. "Let's get started."

Coulson warmly smiles as he walks back to his own chair, settling in it as he grabs the letters he'd been reading before being interrupted. He's pleased that Skye obliged. "You start with that envelope and one of those binders, and I'll look through these letters and together, we can look through the photo album." He instructs, lifting the second binder and placing it in front of her. "Then, we'll move on to the rest."

"Rest?" Skye questions.

Coulson's eyes flick over to her questioning ones. "Yeah, there's a whole drawer full of binders and photo albums. He must be someone important to have a whole drawer dedicated to him." He turns back to the letter

"I see." Skye picks up the envelope and opens it. "But Coulson?"

He once again averts his gaze to her, arching a questioning eyebrow.

"I could easily run a name search while we go through all of this." She suggests as she peeks inside the envelope. The envelope simply holds two pieces of paper. Skye reaches in, drawing them out carefully and setting the envelope on the binder.

"That'd be a smart idea." He starts to say, but she holds up a hand to quiet him.

"Hold that thought, sir." She tells him, looking at the second page. Her face slips into a dumbstruck expression. He sees the color in her face drain. "If this is real, then we already know him." Her voice sounds strange to him.

Coulson averts his gaze to what she's looking at. "What?" He reaches for them, but she's quick to move them out of his reach.

"Maybe you should read more of those letters." She tells him, evading his curiosity.
"C'mon, Skye." He reaches out for them again. "Who is it? Stop dragging it out." Coulson catches her eyes and ceases all attempts to grab it. Her eyes are watery, and it pulls at his heartstrings. He hates when she's hurting. Skye has a heart-pulling look on her face. "Skye, what's wrong?" He asks in a low, softer voice that's heavy with concern.
Wordlessly, she hands it to him, dropping her gaze from him. She can't bear to witness his reaction. Heartbroken already, she's not sure she can handle it falling to pieces. However, she's determined to be there for the fallout. It's the only push she needs to force her eyes to watch him.

He's taken the papers from her and is now reading them. She watches as the color seems to drain from his face and a dumbstruck expression settles on his face. She wants to touch him, but she's not sure he'll accept an embrace or the simplest of physical contact.
He can't believe what he's seeing. On one paper is a birth certificate for Phillip Carter, but the second one is an adoption paper that nearly stops his heart...again.

Name: Phillip James Coulson.

They're quiet as he processes what this means. She watches him with a guilty expression, despite not having anything to do with his shattering news, wanting to reach out and rein him back to the edge. He just stares at his name before dropping both papers on the pile.

"No." He says, scooting his chair back and shooting out of it. "No way. My parents would've said something. It's not true!" Coulson backs away from the table and Skye. His gaze moves to Skye, eyes full of tears. "I-I need some air."

"Coulson, wait!" She calls, bolting out of her chair as he turns on his heels to escape. Skye narrows her eyes at his running away. It shocks her because she can't recall a time he's ever done that without reason. So she lets instinct take over and chases after him, abandoning their work.

They're halfway to the door when Skye grabs his right hand, twirling him to face her as she stops in front of him. Studying his face, she sees silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Just like he is with her, she hates when he's hurting and tries any way possible to help him through it. Letting go of his hand, she raises that hand to wipe away some of his tears. It's a touching, intimate moment – shared between two emotionally wrecked individuals – that leaves goose bumps on her skin and a turnaround to their norm (he's the one who's usually consoling her). After wiping away his tears, she trails both hands down his bare arms until their hands clasp.

"Skye." He says her name in that broken, lost, heavy-emotional tone that sets her mind back to all those tender moments between them. She recalls the time she pulled him back from drowning in his devastating memories under the memory machine as well as the time she was on her way to see the light. It hadn't been only the GH-325 that pulled her back; it'd been his conviction to save her.

"I'm here, AC." She assures him, choosing to use her favorite nickname for him instead of using 'sir' or 'Coulson'. Now is not the time to be professional. "We're in this together." Skye hopes that comforts him.

"Why?" He asks distractedly, brokenly, sounding like a little lost boy. She knows he's not referring to what she's just told him. "Mom would've told me." He reiterates.

Skye can't stand it any longer. Drawing him against her, she lets go of his hands to wrap her arms around him instead. He stiffens at the contact, having been caught off guard. "Maybe she wasn't able to." She suggests in a muffled tone as she rests her head against his heart, its beat bringing a comfort to her. He slowly thaws and accepts her hug, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her more tightly against him.

"I need to know." He finally responds, staring at the innocent table. "Stay with me?" He asks in a vulnerable tone as he pulls back to enough to look into her chocolate brown eyes. As her gaze entices him, he can't help but see the beauty of her that Ward could see. She's amazing, intriguing, yet a force to be reckon with if she gets pissed off. It makes him wish he was the lucky one to call her his.

That's about the time when all of the negatives in his wish come tumbling free. She's too young, probably doesn't see him like he wants her to, been untainted by all he has witnessed, etc. It's then when reality brings him back to the present.

She flashes a smile. "Of course." She says in a low, warm tone as she withdraws, leaving only her hand in her body's wake. He misses the warmth and comfort she provided. Her right hand slides down his left arm, landing in his hand. The trail her hand leaves on his arm still tingles with warmth. Skye entwines her fingers in his hand and turns away from him, dragging him back to the table.

Back to where his story begins and has yet to end.

TBC...