A/N: OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG URG SORRY SORRY SORRY

Moving on...thank you for sticking with me and enjoying my fics, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. I love getting your messages on twitter, instagram, and tumblr. They honestly do make my day, especially when you guys like to run headcannons by me. I LOVE it!

Btw, do you speak FRENCH? Do you fancy giving the translated chapters of my fics a last read through before they're published? If so, contact MeggieCleary on fanfiction. It would be a great help to us both!

Please enjoy this chapter. It's a particularly long one with a lot going on. Oh, and if you recognise a couple of newbies making their way in there, well, just let me know what you think. Thank you once again, my lovelies, and enjoy.


"No, the tinsel needs to be spread out over the whole tree!" Steve sighed and waved a hand in the direction of the Christmas tree that the new kickboxing instructor, Sif, was attempting to decorate. "Don't bunch it all up at the bottom, or it'll look uneven."

Steve would have been a little worried that his outburst of instruction had offended Sif, but the women smirked and rolled her eyes at him, moving to alter the position of the tinsel and putting him at ease.

"Sorry." She smiled. "I suppose I am not quite so artistically inclined as yourself, Steven."

Steve chuckled and pulled on the neck of the elf sweated Maria had forced him to wear. He had drawn the line at the hat. "I think it's maybe not artistic talent motivating me, more than it is my OCD." He admitted.

Sif finished adjusting the tinsel and stepped back from the tree. "You have OCD?"

He shrugged. "No. Well, Maria says I do, but it's not OCD just…" Steve trailed off, eyes catching sight of two red hanging baubles next to each other.

"Anal retentiveness?" Sif suggested, watching as he moved the decorations around.

He blushed and scratched the back of his head. "There's nothing wrong with taking pride in your surroundings."

It was still very early, the sun having not even begun to make its appearance. Steve watched as Sif took a swig from the disposable cup she had brought with her that morning. Steve could smell the strong coffee from where he was standing across from her. It reminded him of the tar Maria liked to drink.

Sif was watching him, cup in hand, paused by her chin. She cocked her head to once side.

Steve shifted a little uncomfortably. "What?" he asked.

She cleared her throat and gestured to him with the cup. "Marines?"

Steve blinked at her, surprised. "Sorry?"

Sif crossed her arms. "It's just a guess." She shrugged. "The way you stand, the way you hold yourself, it just screams 'armed forces'. I am simply trying to make an educated guess as to which strand you took."

"Oh." Steve said dumbly.

"So? Marines?"

"Um." Steve blinked again. "Um, no, actually." He rolled his shoulders and made the conscious effort to relax his stance, putting her hands in his pockets. "I joined the army out of high school." He admitted.

"Ah." Sif smiled. "You are certainly a military man. That I can tell. So, Steven, how should I be really addressing you?" She smirked at him. "Sergeant Rogers? Captain Rogers? General?"

Steve laughed. "Not quite."

"Oh, shame." Sif said with a chuckle. "You look like a 'Captain Rogers'."

"Mm, well, I hate to break it to you, but most I got was Private." He paused. "First class."

"Still impressive."

"I was pretty close to 'Specialist', but then…" He sighed, and rubbed at his side.

"Then?" Sif prompted, leaning against the wall by the tree. The lights from the tree illuminated the side of her face in the otherwise dark and gloomy gym foyer. Somehow further in the building Steve could hear a round of laughter from some of the other guys who had been recruited to help put up all the decorations.

"I got shot." He told Sif.

She brushed dark hair behind her ear, but her expression didn't change. He'd honestly expected pity, horror, at least some form of shock or sympathy, because that was the usual reaction he got from that revelation, but instead she just looked back to him unwaveringly.

"Well that is unfortunate." She said.

"Yeah." Steve replied. "It sucked."

Sif swallowed down the last of her coffee and wandered over to the reception desk, depositing her empty cup in the trash behind the counter. She hoisted herself up onto the edge of the desk, and Steve found himself having to crane his neck ever so slightly to see her face properly. She really was quite tall.

"I cannot say that I ever wish to be shot," she said, eying the side of his torso poignantly enough that Steve knew she was suspecting his own actions were indicative of the army injury, "but, for you, Steven, I suspect it was to be a blessing is disguise."

He frowned. Being shot had been horrendous; it had ended his career, his dreams of being in the army, for fighting for his country. It was the worst thing to ever happen to him. "I almost died." He snapped at Sif. "I lost everything. I came home to nothing. Do you know what it's like to have PTSD? How could that have been a blessing?"

Again, Sif's expression failed to alter in Steve's emotional outburst. "I am not a fortune teller, Steven." Sif said, sliding off the desk. "But I do believe that if you had not had that experience, no matter how traumatic it may have been, you would not have the life you currently lead."

He wanted to argue on principal. It felt like Sif was downgrading the severity of Steve's worst moments in his life. He half expected her to tell him that his mother dying was also a 'blessing', but he couldn't find it in himself to disagree with her. Steve watched as Sif meandered back over to the Christmas tree, barely having to reach up to gently straighten the star on the top.

"I probably wouldn't be working here." Steve said quietly. He had got the job because Phil Coulson had heard about his traumatic end to his time in the army from one of the guys in Steve's PTSD support group. Sam had been a regular at the gym, had mentioned Steve, and Phil had called him in for an interview. It wasn't the army. It wasn't his dream as a kid, but Steve loved working at SHIELD gym. He had friends, hell, he had a family. "I wouldn't have met Maria."

"Probably not." Sif agreed, eyes still on the tree.

"And I wouldn't have met Shannon."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "Who?"

Steve blushed. "Um, well," he stuttered, "it's a secret, sort of, not really, but it's not like, public knowledge."

Sif cocked an amused eyebrow at him. "Okay?"

"But, uh, Maria and I are fostering a little girl." He couldn't help but smile. "Technically it's all kind of Maria, but I live with her so obviously I'm fostering her, too, and uh, yeah."

"You will be making that little girl's Christmas very special."

"Yeah." Steve's blush made reappearance. "We already got her some presents. Wrapped them last night."

"You are sickeningly virtuous, Steven." Sif said with a teasing smile. "How did you get shot? Protecting the flag?"

He laughed. It felt good to laugh about it. Steve honestly couldn't remember the last time anyone had joked about him being shot, probably because it sounded risky and in bad taste, especially when the soldier they were joking about had suffered greatly in the first few months with posttraumatic stress disorder. But Sif didn't seem all that wary around him. It was refreshing. Even Maria, who joked about her time in the marines, tended to stay away from jokes about Steve and the army.

"I wasn't protecting the flag." He smiled.

"Shocking." Sif said.

"My friend," Steve said wistfully, "he was hurt." He swallowed. "IED. It was bad. They started shooting, I covered him."

She nodded. "See," Sif said, with a sad smile, "sickeningly virtuous."

"Yeah."

"Did he live? Your friend?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Lost an arm." He coughed to cover the crack in his voice.

Sif nodded. "But he's okay?"

"He's alive."

"Steve!" A shout came from the direction of the weights room. "Yo! Steve-o!" Scott Lang jogged out

"Did you just say 'yo'?" Steve smiled, grateful for the distraction. "How embarrassing for you, Scott."

Scott gave him the finger and Sif snorted.

Steve gave Scott a quick once over, smiling at the glitter catching the light in his hair. "Having any success with decorating?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah, it's damn beautiful." He glanced over to Sif's tree. "Okay, so it's shitty compared to her tree, but it's got lights on it so, yeah."

Sif shook her head. "Steven will not approve of shoddy tree decorating." She smirked. "He's anal retentive."

Scott sighed. "My tree sucks, Rogers." He admitted. "It's seven am. Give me a break."

Steve took pity on his friend. Also, he couldn't stand the thought of a messy tree. "I'll come and help." He said, and Scott saluted him.

"You're a great man, Rogers." Scott said.

"Sickeningly virtuous." Sif interjected with a grin.

Steve rolled his eyes. "See you later, Sif. We open in a half hour. Maybe you should go get ready."

She nodded and walked off towards the staff locker room. "I do hope you have evenly distributed your tinsel, Scott. Or Steven will be less than impressed."

Steve glared at her playfully, as she retreated into the locker room, giving both men a wave.

"She's hot." Scott said, and Steve thumped his shoulder. "I mean," Scott rubbed his arm, "she's a very strong a beautiful women."

Steve smirked, shaking his head. "You should ask her out."

Scott shook his head. "Nah. Sif's way taller than me."

"That doesn't matter." He said. "That doesn't stop you from asking her on a date."

"Well, no." Scott agreed. "But the fact that she's a lesbian might throw a spanner into the works."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Scott said.

The two men were quiet for a moment. Steve watched Scott, and Scott watched the closed door to the locker rooms. He sighed.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"My tree is awful."

Steve gave him a comforting pat on the back. "Yeah, Scott. I guessed."

"Hey, come on." A gentle voice said. "Skye, honey, time to wake up." Mommy said.

Skye groaned and turned her head, pressing her face into her pillow. "No." She whined. "M'sleep."

She heard Mommy chuckle. "Hunter's coming to pick you up with Jemma in less than an hour." She rubbed a hand up Skye's back. "Time to get up."

There was nothing in this world that Skye wanted more than to remain in bed, snuggled up with Mr. Snow, and maybe Mommy, too, if she wanted. She certainly didn't want to get up and go to school.

Skye groaned again for good measure. "I'm too tired for school."

"That's not an excuse, Miss 'let me stay up late'." Mommy said.

She tickled Skye's sides until the little girl had no option but to climb out of the warm covers. Skye giggled and crawled to the bottom of her bed.

"Okay, okay." She batted away Mommy's hands. "I'm awake now."

Mommy kissed her cheeks. "Well thank goodness for that. I was getting worried that I might have to dump a jug of icy water on you."

Skye blinked at her. "You wouldn't."

Mommy leant close to her. "How do you think I used to get Clint and Nat to wake up for school?" She whispered.

"I'm up! I'm up!" Skye said, jumping out of bed. "I don't need the water. I'm awake, Mommy."

"Good, but you need to get ready for school, Skye." Mommy sat down on her bed, and began to rub her belly. "I need to go to work soon, but Daddy's working from home today, so he'll get you breakfast."

"What about Natasha? And Clint?" Skye asked. She climbed off her bed and began rummaging through her drawers for some clothes to wear. She pulled out some purple shorts.

"It's freezing, Skye. No shorts."

Skye pouted but replaced the shorts.

"And Nat and Clint got in pretty late last night. They're still asleep." Mommy said.

"Oh." Skye sighed a little. She didn't want to wake Natasha and Clint if they were tired, but the thought of going to school all day without seeing her big sister wasn't appealing. "Maybe I could stay home, today." She suggested. "And then I can wait for them to wake up."

Mommy chuckled. "How about 'no'?"

Skye huffed, but pulled out a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt to wear, anyway. She hadn't expected Mommy to agree to her staying home, but it had been worth a shot. Mommy didn't say anything about Skye's picked out clothes, so she assumed that meant they were good.

"Hunter's going to take you to school." Mommy said as Skye pulled on her shirt. "But I'll be there to pick you up."

"Are you picking up Jemma, too?"

"Yes, but we'll be dropping her straight off at home, and then we'll go see the Christmas trees at the gym." Mommy said. She waved Skye back over to the bed once she was in her jeans. "And you and I can hang out together."

Skye climbed into her mom's lap. The baby was kind of in the way but she was getting better at cuddling Mommy around the rapidly growing baby bump. Mommy kissed her and smoothed a hand over the braids she had put in yesterday.

"I think you'll be fine with these in for another day." Mommy said, and Skye was glad. She didn't mind getting her hair done, but it was a little boring and she would much prefer to spend the time playing or watching TV.

"Can we hang out with Clint and Natasha tonight, too?"

"Of course. After you've been to see Andrew." Mommy smiled. "And don't even pretend that Nat didn't sneak in here last night and wake you up." She poked Skye in the side. "Because she already told me."

Skye blushed. "I wasn't gonna lie, Mommy."

"Hm." Her mom hummed. "I'm sure."

Mommy left for work not long after she brought Skye down to the kitchen for breakfast, but Daddy was up and already working on something on his laptop while Skye ate. He was wearing his 'working from home' clothes, which essentially consisted of sweatpants and a washed out t-shirt. Mommy always said that the guys at the gym wouldn't recognise him out of a suit, but Skye thought her Daddy was a lot more cuddleable in his comfy clothes. She hugged him from behind and climbed up onto her chair.

She sat next to him at the kitchen island and watched as he worked, but that got pretty boring real fast. Skye hadn't had much experience with computers, but from what she had seen of them in her own home when Mommy and Daddy were working, they weren't very fun. In fact, the only fun things she had ever done using the laptop in the house was to video chat with Natasha, and they could do that using Mommy's phone.

Daddy was frowning at the screen of his laptop. Skye leaned over to see what he was looking at, and pulled a face at the confusing boxes of numbers that made no sense.

"What are you doing, Daddy?" Skye asked him once she had finished the last of her toast.

Her dad stopped his typing and turned to Skye. He smiled. "I'm just going through some of our accounts." He pointed to a row of boxes on the screen. "See, I check whether the numbers in these boxes match the ones in these boxes, and then," he clicked on another window and more boxes and numbers appeared, "I cross reference them with the numbers on this document."

"Oh." Skye said. She put a hand over his in sympathy. "That sounds awful. Really awful."

Her dad's face fell a little. "Yeah. It is."

"Can't you get someone to do that for you?" She asked. "And then you could have a day off of work. And we could play together."

Her dad kissed her. "That would be great, sweetheart."

Skye grinned.

"But this is something I really need to do myself." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "And if I get it done all this morning, then when you come home from school, I'll be able to play."

"Mommy's gonna take me to see the trees." Skye told him. "They're gonna be all Christmassy and pretty."

He grinned at her. "Christmas is very soon, Skye. Are you excited?"

Skye tried to shrug nonchalantly, but couldn't help but smile. Santa would be coming soon, and Mommy had promised he wouldn't forget Skye this year. She just hoped he focused on all the good things she had tried to do, rather than the times she had been bad. "I'm excited." She climbed into her dad's lap and he wrapped his arms around her, pushing his computer away. "I never had a real family at Christmas before."

The arms around her tightened and Skye felt her dad press a kiss to her hair. "I love you, Skye." He said quietly. "This is going to be your best Christmas ever. You know that?"

She craned her neck to look up at him. "Yeah." She said. "It already is my best Christmas ever, Daddy. 'Cause I got you." She held is face in her hands and kissed his cheek.

Daddy's eyes shone and he hugged her tightly. "And I've got you."

It felt really nice to be hugged so tightly she could hardly breathe. Well, that may have been exaggerating, but Daddy was holding on to Skye in a way that made her feel like he never wanted to let her go. It was a great feeling. Skye hugged back. She wanted her Daddy to feel that way, too.

"I missed you, Daddy." She told him, face pressed into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. It smelled like it was fresh out of the dryer.

He petted her back. "What do you mean? I haven't been anywhere."

"Mm." Skye hummed. "You've been real busy."

"I'm sorry. It's a busy time of year." Daddy looked at her with sad eyes. "It's no excuse, though. I want you to know that no matter how busy I am, I will always have time for you."

Skye wasn't sure that was true. But it was okay. Grown ups were busy, they had important things to do, and Skye was perfectly happy to take her time with her Mommy and Daddy when they weren't busy.

"Skye." Daddy said. He held her chin gently between his thumb and finger. "If you need me, if you need Mommy, anytime, anywhere, all you have to do is ask."

She frowned. "But I don't wanna get in your way if you're busy."

"I'm never too busy for my little girl."

"Okay."

Skye heard the front door open and both she and her dad turned towards the noise.

"It's me!" Hunter called, walking through the living room and into the kitchen. He spotted them at the island and grinned. "Morning, Dad!"

Daddy glared at Hunter, but Skye could tell he was trying not to laugh. "Don't call me 'Dad'."

"Fine." Hunter huffed. "Good morning, father of the woman with whom I fornicate."

"Oh God. No." Skye's dad grimaced. "'Dad's fine."

"Brill." Hunter smiled.

"And I don't think it's 'fornication' if you're married."

Hunter smirked. "Well, it was fornication for plenty of years."

"Stop, Hunter." Daddy said.

Skye frowned. "What's fornication?"

"Nope." Daddy said. "Nope. Not addressing that."

Lance turned to Skye. "Jem's in the car, kid. You ready to go?"

Skye nodded. Her school bag was already by the front door with her coat and her shoes. Daddy lifted her off his lap and followed her and Hunter through to the front porch.

"Is Mel still okay for picking Jem up?" Hunter asked her daddy as she tried to force her feet into her sneakers without untying the laces.

"Yeah." Daddy said, and took Skye's shoes from her. He undid the knots and helped her slide them onto her feet. "She'll drop her off at your place."

"Cool." Hunter waited while Daddy tied Skye's shoes, holding open the front door.

The breeze touched Skye's cheeks as she stepped out the door, and she shivered. Mommy had been right. It was cold today.

"Go inside, Daddy." Skye told her father, pushing him further into the house. "You'll get cold."

He smiled. "I'm fine."

"No, you're in a t-shirt. Go inside."

Daddy chuckled and crouched down to hug and kiss Skye. "Okay, baby. Have a good day at school. Work hard."

"And play hard." Hunter added from behind her.

Her daddy rolled his eyes. "Be good."

Skye nodded. "I will. Bye, Daddy."

Jemma was reading from a textbook when Hunter helped Skye into the car. She looked over at Skye and smiled, but then went back to her book. As they drove away, Skye inspected what she could see of the book in Jemma's hands, and twisted her face at how unappealing it looked. They had some really cool books in their school library, and Skye's class got to pick out one every week, but the book Jemma was reading looked like it had very few pictures, and the ones it did have were boring.

"What's your story about?" She asked Jemma.

Jemma didn't answer right away. She kept her eyes on the page for a few more seconds before turning to Skye.

"It's not a story." Jemma said. "It's a text book. Non-fiction."

"Oh." Skye said. That sounded terrible. "Is, um, is it good?"

Jem grinned and shifted in her seat to address Skye. "It really is. It's a very interesting take on the uses of stem cells and the moral obligations."

Skye blinked.

"Frankly," Jemma continued, "I don't think that morality should even come into the theory, only the practice. But I enjoy reading about it nonetheless."

"I don't know what that means." Skye admitted. She leaned over Jemma to see the book's page, in the hope that something might mean more to her than the random number on her Daddy's computer screen. "Ew." Skye recoiled from the book when she caught sight of a photograph on the bottom corner. "Jemma, is that a mouse with an ear on its back?"

"Yes." Jemma said. "It's fascinating how they did it-,"

"Jemma, no." Skye said, and settled back into her seat. "I love you, Jemma, but I don't like ear mice."

Jemma smiled and turned the page, the next one had only words and Skye grimaced. It looked so boring.

"Bobbi got me the book from the university library where she works." Jemma said. "It's what I'm doing my science project on."

"Ear mice?"

"No." Jemma laughed. "The use of stem cells in modern medicine."

Skye tried to look interested, because that's what best friends did. "Oh?"

"Yes." Jemma looked pleased to elaborate, and Skye felt a little pride at being able to feign curiosity so well. "It's very interesting, and it's especially cool because that's what Bobbi does at work."

"Bobbi's a scientist." Skye said. That's what Bobbi had told her. "She works in a lab."

"She's a biologist." Jemma said in a way that made Skye feel a little like she was being corrected. "She's been working on stem cells in her lab with Izzy."

"Bobbi's smart." Skye commented.

Hunter whistled from the front seat. "You're tellin' me. Woman's IQ is so high it's practically a phone number."

"I think you're exaggerating." Jemma said.

"Maybe." Hunter added. "But not by much. That's how you're so clever, Jem. You take after our Bob."

Jemma closed her book. "That's genetically inaccurate."

He scoffed and grinned at Skye and Jemma in the rear view mirror. "Genetically inaccurate, genetically shimacculate." Hunter brushed away Jemma's criticism with a wave of his hand. "You still got her smarts somehow. It certainly didn't come from genetics."

Jemma shrugged and went back to her book, opening it on the ear mouse again. Skye looked out of the window, sighing a little when splashes of rain rolled down her window. It looked like it might be another day of indoor recess.

They pulled up in the school parking lot and Skye began undoing her seatbelt. She was already out of her seat and opening the car door before Jemma even looked up from her book.

"Come on, Jemma," Skye said, "we need to go."

"Coming." Jemma slid her book into her backpack and zipped it closed with her little blue box on the zipper. She pressed the top and it made a weird 'whooshing' noise and lit up blue. She smiled and pulled on her backpack.

"Right kids, see you later." Hunter said. He turned in his seat to look at them both in the back of the car.

Skye paused with her hand on car door handle.

"Mel's picking you both up." He said. "Jem, she'll bring you home. Okay?"

"Okay." Jemma climbed through the middle of the car to hug Hunter. "Bye, Dad."

"Bye, sweetheart." He kissed her. "Bye Skye. Be good."

Hunter was all of three minutes from the girls' school when he caught sight of Jemma's lunchbox in the back of the car.

He parked the car in the same spot he had just vacated not even ten minutes before, and jumped out, jogging over to the school office. The school was eerily quiet in comparison to when he had dropped both girls off, all the children now safely inside their classrooms, and Hunter had to ring a doorbell to be allowed entrance into the school.

"Hey," He said to the young man behind the desk of the office, "I've got Jemma Simmons' lunch here. She left it in the car."

"No problem." The guy said, kindly, taking the bag. He scribbled Jemma's name on a sticker and stuck it on the front. "She's the little one in fifth grade, right?"

"Yeah." Hunter said.

"Sweet kid. I'll make sure she gets it."

"Thanks." Hunter, satisfied that his daughter wasn't going to starve, left the school and began walking back to his car.

His phone buzzed as he was crossing the playground, and Lance smiled at the text from Bobbi asking if he had managed to get Skye and Jem to school without incident. The text came with a 'winky' emoji, so he knew most of her concern was just teasing. Hunter was texting Bobbi back when he glanced up and noticed the guy standing by the school gates, looking in on the school.

"Can I help you, mate?" Lance asked, and the man whipped around to look at him. "You okay?"

The guy wore a suit, and at first glance seemed to be well put together, but as Hunter got closer, he could see the way his shirt was buttoned wrong, the tie was fraying at the edges, and the shoes were in desperate need of cleaning.

"I was just…"

Hunter put his phone in his pocket and pulled himself up to his full height, broadening his shoulders. "What you hanging around a school for, mate? What you up to?"

The man smirked, and Hunter wanted to punch him.

"My niece goes here. I was just seeing where I could park when I come to pick her up tonight."

The lie was blatant. Hunter took a step towards him.

"Right, you've had a look a the parking, now maybe make yourself scarce before I call someone, yeah?"

"Of course." The man took three steps away from Hunter without turning, and Lance made an effort to keep eye contact. He made it to the sidewalk, and blinked, breaking the contact, turning and walking quickly away from the school.

"Thought you had a car, mate?" Hunter taunted after him.

The man didn't turn.

"Yeah." Hunter called. "Piss off and don't come back, you nonce."

Melinda was well aware of Steve Rogers' artistic prowess, but he had really outdone himself with the Christmas decorations in the gym. What that man could do with some tinsel and fairy lights was goddamn magical. Mel smiled as she appreciated the tree in the reception lobby. She was excited to show them to Skye.

"It's impressive, yes?"

Melinda turned to see one of their newer employees, Sif, standing behind her, smiling at the Christmas tree.

"It is." Melinda agreed. "Steve is quite the decorator."

Sif smirked, slouching a little, Melinda suspected in an attempt to arrive at a height closer to Mel's own. The woman was practically Amazonian.

"Well," Sif said, crossing her arms, "I do not wish to boast, but I did put all of the decorations onto the tree before Steven fixed them into something more," she paused and glanced back at the tree, "attractive." Sif settled on. "So, yes, this creation is at least thirty per cent mine."

Mel chuckled. "I'll be sure to let everyone know."

"I appreciate that, Mrs Coulson."

"Melinda, or actually, I prefer 'Mel' if I'm being honest." She told Sif. Mel knew she had actually had a very similar discussion with Sif before, but the woman was extremely polite, and seemed to struggle with certain colloquialisms.

The woman glanced down as she smiled. "I do apologise, um, Melinda. Mel." Sif looked back up, shifting her slouched weight to the other foot. "Thank you."

Melinda took a moment to replay Sif's words in her mind, but came up blank. "Sorry," she said, "'thank you' for what, exactly?"

Sif blushed. Melinda felt her brows raise slightly at the taller woman. Sif was the epitome of cool and collected. The dusting of pink over her cheeks and the awkward way she wrung her fingers seemed foreign to her usual persona.

"Melin-Mel," Sif corrected herself, "I thank you for the opportunity you have given me. Opportunities. There has certainly been more than one."

"Sif, I'm not sure I know what you're talking about." Melinda admitted with a shrug. A group of soccer moms from the local middle school entered through the front doors, laughing, and carrying rolled-up yoga mats. She and Sif moved a little to the side and allowed them to pass.

Two of the woman hung back from the group and stopped by Melinda and Sif. Mel recognised both of them as regulars for a couple of the classes they ran, a mother and daughter duo. The younger of the two, Ellie, was a usual at the after-school martial arts classes they ran, and Melinda had taught her on and off for a couple of years.

Ellie's mother grinned at Sif and gave her a friendly slap on the arm in greeting. "Hey, Sif. How's it going?"

"Very well, Christina, thank you." Sif replied with a genuine smile. "I do hope you are well, also?"

The woman, Christina, rolled her eyes fondly. "I'm good, and please, Sif, for the love of God, call me 'Angel'. I've told you."

"Angel." Sif said. "I will certainly make more of an effort to use your nickname." She looked to Melinda. "Mel here, has been educating me a little on the topic."

"Good on her." Angel said.

"Yes." Sif agreed. "And how are you, Ellie? Are you not usually in school at this time?"

The sheepish glance to the ground Ellie gave Sif was all too familiar to Melinda as the look of a teenager in trouble. She had an ex-teenager, a current teenager, and a future teenager for daughters. Melinda was pretty much an expert on the subject of teenage girls.

Ellie pressed her lips together and glanced at her mother. Angel sighed a little exasperatedly.

"Well?" The mother prompted her child. "Are you going to tell Sif and Mel why you're here to attend a mid-morning yoga class with a group of middle-aged women talking about the menopause?"

Ellie grimaced. Melinda had to hold in a laugh. She rested her hand on her belly and rubbed it absently.

"I'm here as punishment." Ellie huffed. She ran her fingers over her short hair. "A normal parent would just ground their kid, but my mom thinks this is better."

"Way more effective, I've found." Angel said. She wrapped an arm around Ellie's shoulders. "I have a Negasonic Teenage Warhead for a child, but her kryptonite is social interaction with suburban moms."

"It is." Ellie admitted.

Melinda smiled. "And why are you being punished?"

Ellie opened her mouth, looked from Melinda to Sif, and them closed it again. She looked to her mother.

Angel held Ellie close, smirking. "My lovely daughter decided that maybe arson was right up her alley." She looked to her daughter. "But we have discussed it, and together, have decided that spraying someone's backpack with deodorant and lighting it on fire is not the best way to avoid a math test."

"It is not." Ellie said. "So this is my punishment." She shrugged at Mel. "Also, I'm grounded." She looked to Sif. "Also, I'm not getting my allowance for a month." Ellie put her hands in her pockets. "Also, I'm suspended for two weeks."

Sif blinked. "Well, that certainly is a lot of punishment, Negasonic Teenage Warhead."

Mel, Angel, and Ellie all looked to her with varying degrees of confusion.

"Oh." Sif said. "Is that not a nickname?"

Angel snorted. "I think 'Ellie' will do fine for now."

"If it helps," Ellie smiled, "my principal calls me 'Firestarter' now, and I'm kinda hoping it'll catch on, you know, nickname-wise."

"I will not be calling you 'Firestarter'." Sif said.

Ellie looked to Mel.

"Me either." Melinda told her. "I don't encourage arson."

Ellie pouted, looking all of her sixteen years old. "Fair enough."

"Anyway," Angel interjected, "come on, kiddo. We've got a soccer mom yoga class to get through." She sighed. "This is your punishment, but I love you enough that I, too, am taking this punishment."

There was a particularly loud series of giggly cackles coming from the yoga studio down the hall. Angel grimaced and gripped Ellie's shoulders.

"An hour with those minivan mamas is like hell on earth." Angel said. "But I care about teaching you valuable life lessons, so El, I swear to God you better appreciate this."

Melinda sniggered when Ellie rolled her eyes so hard, she thought the teenager might fall over. Ellie looked to her mother fondly.

"Why can't you be like normal moms and just send me to my room?" Ellie asked with a grin.

Angel began pulling Ellie towards the yoga studio. "Because you want to be in your room all day. Forcing you to socialise is a necessary punishment." She turned to Sif and Melinda. "We'll see you guys later. I'll be back tomorrow for your kickboxing class, Sif."

"I look forward to it, Angel." Sif said.

Ellie looked to Melinda. "And when I'm not grounded anymore, I'll see you at your kickboxing class." Her eyes fell to where Melinda was stroking a hand over her bump, and frowned. "Or I suppose it might be a while before you're teaching again, huh?"

Something pulled a little in Mel's chest at the realisation that Ellie was right. Even after the baby was born, Mel wasn't naive enough to believe that she would be jumping straight back into teaching her classes. They were hard on her body at the best of times, post baby, she suspected her body would need a fair while to recover.

Melinda waved a goodbye to Ellie and Angel, as the latter dragged along the former by her elbow. They disappeared down the hall towards the yoga studio, and Sif sighed happily, leaning against the wall.

"When I said 'thank you'," Sif began, smiling fondly, "that is what I was referring to."

"I'm still confused." Mel admitted. "Why should you me thanking me?"

Sif rubbed a hand over a small bruise on one arm. "You gave me this job." She said quietly. "I will be forever grateful for that."

"You're very welcome." Mel said, warmth radiating through her. "I'm glad I hired you. You're a great addition to the team, Sif."

The blush returned to Sif's cheeks. "The team. That is the other thing I wish to thank you for." She brushed hair away from her face. "I have had friends, comrades, but not for a long time have I felt part of something. Accepted."

Melinda couldn't stop herself feeling that same tug in her chest she felt when Bobbi called her 'Mom', or when Natasha hugged her, or when Skye climbed into her bed in the middle of the night. Mel took a second to remind herself she already had three daughters, a Hunter, a Clint, and a baby on the way, not to mention Trip and to some extent, Jemma. She didn't need to adopt Sif, too.

That being said. Mel had plenty room under her wing for another duckling.

"Here," Mel said, "you'll always be part of a team. A family."

"Well, thank you." Sif said. "Really. Thank you." She cleared her throat. "I should get to my first session."

"Go ahead, kid." Mel smiled, and patted her shoulder. "You're a favourite around here with the customers."

Sif shook her head. "I do not believe that is particularly accurate."

Melinda shrugged. "Believe what you want. It's still true."

The younger woman smiled and gave Mel a little wave as she took off towards the studios. Melinda watched her go with a fond smile. It was probably becoming a genuine issue, the amount of kids she and Phil seemed to both adopt legally, and pseudo-adopt.

Sif paused half way across the reception area, and jogged a few paces back to Melinda.

"I've just remembered," she said, "yesterday, there was a man. He was asking for you. When you were upstairs with your daughter."

"Who was it?" Melinda asked. They often had suppliers and such visiting the gym and asking for meetings with either Melinda or Phil. She made a mental note to call back whoever the visitor was.

"I do not know." Sif said. "I did ask, but he was reluctant to share his name." She frowned. "But he knew you. He said he was an old friend. He knew of Skye."

Melinda stared at her. "He mentioned Skye?"

Sif nodded. "He showed an…interest in the child. He seemed agreeable enough." She said. "Although…" The woman trailed off.

"What?"

"Do you ever get a gut feeling about someone?" Sif asked. "Like an instinct?"

Mel thought to her children, to Phil. She knew gut feelings well enough, trusted them with her life. "I do."

"Well," Sif shifted slightly, "he gave me a feeling."

"A bad one."

"Not a good one." Sif said, and then looked at her watch. "I must be going, Melinda. Mel. My class awaits."

"Of course." Mel let her go.

The mystery man played on her mind as she walked all the way to her office. She found it hard to concentrate on her work, a pull at the back of her mind dragging her into dwellings over Sif's words. Melinda trusted Sif, trusted her instincts.

Those feelings were how she found herself in the security office, off to the side of the main building, talking to the head guard, Dave, and bribing him with promises of Christmas cookies to let her browse the CCTV footage from the gym entrance. Really, being the boss, Mel didn't technically need to bribe Dave, just had to ask, but she was feeling generous, and he looked like he might appreciate the gesture.

It only took twenty minutes for Melinda to find the man Sif was talking about on the cameras. She watched him enter the gym, talk to Sif, and leave the gym, all in five times speed. The man wasn't familiar. He wasn't distinctive. He was unassuming; the kind of guy Melinda wouldn't give a second look to. But that feeling Sif had mentioned, it was flowing through her veins with such aggression that it made Mel want to scratch at her skin.

She paused the video and zoomed in on the man's face.

"Oh, that creep?" Dave said, a sandwich in his hand.

Melinda looked up at where he was standing watching the screen over her shoulder. "What?"

Dave shrugged with one shoulder, the set of keys attached to his belt jangling as he brushed them with his wrist. "I kicked him out of the parking lot twice last week." He said, frowning at the man's image on the screen. "He wasn't, like, doing anything, but just kind of loitering, you know? I asked him to leave the first time because we were closing for the night, and he was super polite, and then he was back on Friday. Same thing happened." Dave put down his sandwich. "Super polite, but gave me a…"

"Gut feeling?" Mel suggested.

"Yeah." He shuddered. "Creeper." Dave shook himself out of it and turned back to Melinda. "Do we have a problem with him, Mrs Coulson?"

Mel looked at his image on the computer again. "Just," she paused, "just let me know if he comes back. He was here yesterday. Talked to one of my girls."

"I'll keep an eye open." Dave promised.

Melinda nodded. "Keep both open."

No one had paid any mind to Jemma all morning in class. That was the way Jemma liked it. She liked being ignored, or maybe, that wasn't entirely true. But being ignored was much more preferential to being targeted.

Jemma sat alone at her desk and read her book, making notes and copying passages into her notebook with colour-coded records, replacing the capped pens into her pencil case after each time using them.

"Okay, class." Their teacher called. "Class!" He shouted louder when the majority of the class failed to stop talking and listen. At his second call, there was a hush over the room. "Thank you." He said. "I want you to spend the next hour working on your science projects, so get into your pairs and let's get some good work done today."

The students around Jemma began moving into their groups, pushing chairs to different tables and dragging desks to other areas of the room to make space for their projects. Jemma stayed where she was and continued her reading.

"Whoops."

One of the boys swiped Jemma's pencil case off of her desk, and the pens spilled across the carpet. Brock Rumlow and Carl Creel laughed loudly.

"Hey." Jemma said quietly, sliding off her chair and getting down on her hands and knees to pick up the pens.

"Sorry." Brock said without any sincerity. Jemma reached for two of her pens, and he kicked them further across the room. "Sorry."

Jemma's eyes burned as tears pricked at the back of them. She tried to reach for the other pens, but Creel stood in front of her. Jemma stood up.

"Excuse me, please." She said, looking at the floor. She gripped her pencil case.

Creel sniggered. "Am I in your way?"

"Please." Jemma sniffed, willing herself not to cry. "I just want my things."

Next to her, Brock swept an arm across her desk, pushing her books to the ground. They fell with a thud and the rush of gathering pages. It was loud enough to catch their teacher's attention.

"Guys," he sighed, walking over to the three, "what's going on here?"

"Nothing, Mr Warren." Carl said with an innocent smile. He crouched down and picked up Jemma's pens. "Jemma dropped some of her things."

Brock not too gently gathered up her books and set them back on the desk. Several of the pages in the textbook were dog eared and rumpled from the fall, making the book sit not quite flat.

"We were just helping her pick everything up." Brock lied. "Weren't we, Jemma?"

Mr Warren looked to her tiredly. "That right?"

"Yes." Jemma said without thinking.

"Good." Said Mr Warren. "Well, thanks for helping, boys, but go and focus on your own project now."

Both boys nodded and took off to the other side of the classroom, not giving Jemma a second look. She watched them go, still clutching her pencil case.

"Jemma?" Her teacher asked, and Jem looked up at him. "It's unconventional to do a science project alone. He nodded at her books. "If you're struggling, I can put you in a three with another pair."

"No thank you." Jemma answered. "I like doing it on my own."

Somewhere amongst the other students, a tennis ball was being thrown around. Mr Warren sighed.

"Can we not use the balls to hit each other in the head, but for actual science?" He called. The ball continued to be thrown around he room rather than its intended use of 'how high will it bounce?'. Mr Warren turned to Jemma. "So, you're all good here?"

She nodded.

"Good." He said, and left her alone. "Rumlow, if I see you doing that again you are going straight to Principal Weaver!"

Jemma sat back down and took a breath. She opened her notebook, and smoothed out the pages of her textbook, and ignored the silly shenanigans of the immature bullies in her class. Instead, Jemma immersed herself in the world of stem cells, and cancer treatments, and skin grafts. She didn't need friends. She had science; that would do.

"This is ridiculous." Skye declared, dropping her pencil to the desk in a show of protest. "It's too hard. Who needs math, anyways?"

Grant Ward rolled his eyes at her and continued to complete his own worksheet. "Maybe it wouldn't be so hard if you actually tried to do it instead of giving up after the first question."

Skye glared at him. He was already on question six, and he was doing the 'hard' math questions. Her own worksheet had a smiley face in the corner with a thinking bubble. Grant's didn't have any pictures on it.

"How did you even get so good at math?" Skye asked, picking up her pencil and colouring in the smiley face. "You used to suck at math like me."

"Mm." Grant hummed, eyes still on his paper. "My dad's been teaching me. He's super smart."

Skye nodded. "And your mom's smart."

Both kids looked up at where Miss Potts was writing on the whiteboard.

"Yeah," Grant said, "she is."

"What do you wanna play at recess today?" Skye asked him, going back to doodling on her page. "It was raining when I got here so maybe we won't be allowed outside." She blew as raspberry. "That would suck."

"I think it stopped raining." He mumbled.

"Oh, cool." Skye smiled. "So what do you wanna play? Spies? Tag? Or maybe we could do races? Jessica thinks she could beat me in running but I think I'm totally faster."

Grant didn't answer, too engrossed in his work, and Skye sighed. He had been like that a lot lately. Too occupied with schoolwork during lessons to talk with her or play swordfights with their pencils. She didn't mind too much, though, because come recess, Grant was back to being his normal, fun, self. It just meant that during lesson time, Skye had to find other things to occupy her.

She flipped over her worksheet and began trying to write the names of her family in the funny letters that Natasha had been teaching her. They had another name, not just 'Russian', but Skye couldn't remember it. She managed to get down Mel, Phil, and Nat, before Miss Potts appeared at her side with a hand on her hip and an eyebrow raised.

Skye looked up at her guiltily. "I got stuck." She said by way of explanation.

"I see." Miss Potts crouched by their desk and flipped over Skye's paper. "And you thought that ignoring the questions would be the best way to solve them?"

"No." She said huffily.

"Skye." Miss Potts said in her 'teacher voice'. "This is becoming a regular occurrence in my classroom. I won't have it."

"But I can't do it." Skye argued. She threw down her pencil and crossed her arms. The pencil bounced across the table and landed on the floor by her teacher's feet.

"Do you need some cool off time in the hall?" Miss Potts asked her evenly.

Skye didn't answer. Cool-off time was happening more and more often for Skye, and every time it did, she knew Miss Potts called her mommy and daddy. Skye didn't want them to think she was being bad. Certainly not on purpose.

"I don't need cool off time." She said eventually. "I'm good."

"Okay, then." Miss Potts said. "Let's see if we can let through some of these questions."

Ten minutes, two almost melt-downs, and four questions later, Skye eventually found herself getting the hang of the math problems. She did the fifth one on her own, but stopped at every stage and waited for Miss Potts' approval before she went on.

"See." Miss Potts smiled brightly. "I knew you could do it, Skye."

Skye blushed. "Thanks."

"I'm done, now, Mom." Grant said. "I mean, Miss Potts." He corrected. "I finished my sheet." He passed it over to the teacher, and Skye watched as she read over his answers, smiling more brightly with every correct one.

"Grant, you did so well." She grinned, using Skye's pencil to mark the correct answers. "Take another look at this one for me, though." Miss Potts passed Grant back his paper and he quickly changed some of the workings on the indicated question.

"There?" He said, passing it back.

Miss Potts nodded. "Perfect." She grinned at him. "I'm impressed, sweetheart. Really."

"Thanks." Grant's ears flushed.

"That was fifth grade math. Good job."

Skye gaped. "It was?"

Miss Potts nodded.

"And, um," Skye rubbed her thumb under her nose, "what was mine?"

"Well," Miss Potts cast her eyes to Skye's worksheet, "when I say 'fifth grade' I'm just making an approximation, it's not for sure, so your math wasn't necessarily one grade or another, Skye."

Skye couldn't do math, she couldn't read too well, and frankly, science lessons just evaded her, but she knew exactly what Miss Potts was avoiding saying.

"You can tell me if my math was easy math." She told her teacher. "I don't mind." Skye sighed. "It was probably for pre-school or something."

"Now, stop." Miss Potts said. "You're smart, Skye."

"I'm supposed to be in third grade." She argued. "That work wasn't third grade."

"It wasn't." Miss Potts admitted, and although Skye had already known that, it still made her chest feel tight. "It was technically geared a little more towards a first grade level, but, look how easy you found it once you got the method down."

Skye didn't bother telling Miss Potts that she had found it anything but 'easy' even after she had 'got the method down'.

"You've been doing so well, Skye." Her teacher said. "We'll get you there."

"Sure."

Miss Potts left Grant with another set of questions, and told Skye to finish up her own. She went back to colouring in the smiley face, pressing down hard enough on its face to break through the paper with the tip of her pencil.

"Hey." Grant whispered. "Skye, you okay?"

"Yeah." She answered without looking at him.

He didn't say anything for a moment, then, "Do you wanna play spies at recess? You can pick the story."

Skye turned her head and rested it on her palm. "Okay." She smiled.

Grant went back to his math, and Skye went back to her doodling. She didn't need math, or reading, or science, or anything dumb like that. Skye didn't need any of that when she had her friends and her family. Playing spies with Grant was way better than learning about the times tables.

Natasha was still asleep, curled up into his side long after Clint had awoken. It wasn't too late in the morning, and they had driven half the night, so he knew he was entitled to sleeping later, but he just couldn't. Clint's mind wouldn't let him.

Thoughts of his brother kept him wired and restless, and eventually Clint extracted himself from a sleeping Natasha to sit down at the desk in their room browse new-media on his laptop. It didn't help distract him, so much as add a film to his musings over Barney, and eventually just made him even more aggravated.

His phone was still switched off, the fear that Barney was somehow tracking him at the forefront of his mind. It made Clint feel sick. The anxiety made his throat feel tight and his head pound.

Natasha snuffled gorgeously in her sleep. She didn't deserve to be scared because of his brother. He was putting her in danger. Barney would have never even touched Nat if it hadn't been for Clint's relationship with her.

He bit his knuckles to stop from screaming in frustration, but the tears fell hot down his cheeks, regardless.

He was terrified, Natasha was terrified, and Clint tried desperately to think of any plan to keep Natasha safe from his brother that didn't involve Clint leaving her.

He tried so hard.

But Clint came up blank.

Phil hadn't been expecting anyone to call to the house while Skye was at school and Mel was at work, so he hadn't bothered to change out of his ripped sweats and faded band shirt. When the front door opened and Lance Hunter strolled in with a wink at his outfit, Phil began regretting his decision.

"I thought you might have changed since this morning," Hunter teased, plonking himself down on the couch, "but I suppose it must be a pyjama day? Eh?"

"What do you want, Hunter?" Phil asked, moving his laptop off his knees and onto the coffee table.

Hunter put his feet up on the table, and then took them down again at the look Phil gave him. "What?" He said. "Can't a son-in-law come and visit his father-in-law without an agenda?"

Phil looked at him. "No."

"Right, then." Hunter said, and sighed heavily. "I better cut to the chase."

"I think you better."

Hunter leaned right over, head touching his knees and groaned loudly and exaggeratedly. "I'm in deep shit, Philip." His voice was muffled, but his words clear to Phil.

"Lance Hunter," Phil said, watching as Hunter slowly sat up, "what the hell did you do?"

Lance flung himself back on the sofa dramatically. "It's not what I've done, it's what I haven't done. What I can't do!"

"Okay…"

"Phil." Hunter sat up. He looked at Phil with such depth in his eyes, that it took Phil aback. "Phil, I need some advice."

"That I can do, kid."

Lance smiled. "Tell me how to 'dad'."

Phil stood up from his armchair, and moved to sit down beside Hunter. He put a hand on the young man's arm. "I can't just tell you what to do, Lance."

He smiled. "I was scared you were going to say that."

"Hunter, you're doing great with Jemma." Phil told him. "You're her dad as long as you do what's best for her, and I don't doubt that you're doing that."

Lance sighed. "I do." He breathed.

"What's going on?"

"She worries me." Hunter admitted. "I get scared for her, I feel like no matter what I'm doing, in the back of my mind, I'm thinking about how much I'm worried about Jemma." Hunter turned to Phil. "That's not right, is it?"

Phil could have laughed, instead he slapped Hunter fondly on the back. "Son, that's exactly what being a dad is all about."

"Worrying?" Lance said incredulously.

"Yes." Phil did laugh this time. "Hunter, have you met my children? Of course I worry constantly."

Hunter's boyish smile returned. "You worry about Bobbi?"

"She married you, didn't she?" Phil smirked. "Sometimes she makes questionable decisions."

"Hey."

"I'm kidding." Phil said. "Ninety per cent kidding."

Hunter laughed and leaned back against the cushions. "So," he said, apparently somewhat quelled of his fatherly concerns, "where's kid number two and her boy-toy."

Phil rolled his eyes at Hunter's choice of words. "Nat and Clint are still sleeping. They got in late last night."

"Lazy buggers." Hunter muttered.

"You're just jealous they're still in bed and you've been up since seven."

"Six!" Hunter argued. "And damn right I'm jealous. I haven't had a proper lie in for ages. I'm tired." He kicked off his shoes. "In fact…"

Phil sighed as Hunter blatantly began making himself comfortable on the couch, fluffing the pillows and resting his head on the arm.

"Are you seriously going to take a nap on my couch?"

Lance's eyes were already closed. "I've had a stressful day. I'm fairly sure I chased a paedo away from the school today."

"Wait, what?" Phil said.

"I took care of it." Lance said with an air of authority. "Now, let me get my beauty sleep."

"On my couch."

"Yes."

"In my house."

"Yes."

Phil moved to the armchair, eyes on the man now napping on his couch mid-morning, and chuckled. It seemed being a father had really taken it out of him.

"Here's the thing." Miss Potts was saying to Skye's class as they lined up outside of their classroom, coats on, ready to go outside. "It was raining pretty heavily this morning, and the playground is looking a little like a swamp."

"Do we have to stay inside?" Jessica Drew asked from the back of the line. "I already put on my jacket." There was a whine in her voice that she sometimes did when she felt like she wasn't getting her way. It was a little annoying.

Miss Potts shook her head. "No, no. We're still going outside for recess."

There was a hiss of 'yesses' throughout the group, and Skye nudged Grant with a grin. Their recess plans weren't ruined yet.

"But," Miss Potts continued, and the kids quieted down, "we're going to have to share with the upper classes' playground. Just for today, maybe tomorrow."

Skye was thrilled. The bigger kids' playground was way better than their usual one. It was bigger, had basketball hoops, and picnic tables, and monkey bars. Grant seemed to share Skye's excitement, because he nudged her shoulder and beamed broadly as their teacher led them into the larger playground.

"I bet I can hang from the monkey bars for longer than you can." Grant challenged her.

Skye eyed the bars as she stepped out onto the grass with Ward. "I bet I can touch the monkey bars before you can." She replied, and took off sprinting in their direction.

For what was a liberating ten minutes, Miss Potts' class had the entire upper classes' playground to themselves, before the older kids filtered out from their own lessons. Skye dropped down from the monkey bars after thirty-two seconds, a new personal best, when some fifth graders thundered over and overtook the climbing frame. She took a step away, a little intimidated by the bigger kids, and watched as they began playing. Grant seemed to know some of the fifth graders, and seemed perfectly at ease with them, so Skye slipped away to join Peter and Jess who were talking by the edge of the playground and the grass.

"Hey," Skye said as she approached her friends, "what are you guys doing?"

Peter smiled at Skye and then looked over to Jess expectantly. As much as Skye had made friends with the boy, he was still quiet, seeming to prefer to allow others to direct the conversation.

Jessica took his cue. "We're talking about Christmas." She said excitedly. She bounced up and down a little and the pom-pom on the top of her hat bobbed around. "It's like so soon."

Peter nodded in agreement. "Eight days."

"I'm getting a Furby." Jess said. "And Peter's getting a rat."

"A rat?" Skye asked.

"Not a rat." Peter shook his head and eyed Jessica in a way that suggested they had maybe had a similar argument before. "A gerbil. Actually, two gerbils."

"They're practically rats."

"Oh." Skye wasn't really sure what a gerbil was but she trusted Jess' judgement. "They sound cool."

"They are." Peter said. "My Uncle Ben has them at his friend's house, but he says I can't have them until Christmas day. I'm going to call them Mary Jane and Harry."

Jessica grinned. "That's what my Dad said about my Furby." She pouted. "It's stupid, because I know it's in his closet. I've seen it."

Skye frowned. She wasn't sure what she was getting for Christmas. She hadn't made a list, despite the fact that Mommy and Daddy had been bugging her to make one. She thought it was a little late now, but Skye didn't mind what Santa brought her. She would be grateful for anything.

"How comes you know what you're getting for Christmas?" Skye asked her friends. "Why does your dad and your uncle have your presents? What about Santa?"

Peter twisted his mouth into a funny expression, and Jessica scoffed. The two looked at each other, and then turned to Skye. Jess spoke up.

"Santa's not real." She said, and the words hit Skye like a punch to the gut.

Skye stared at her.

Jess cocked her head to the side. "You, you knew that, right, Skye? That he's just pretend?"

She felt her cheeks heating up at the look Peter was giving her. He looked genuinely concerned. Skye glanced at Jessica instead, and if possible, the girl made her feel even worse. It was pure pity the expression Jess directed at Skye.

"I'm sorry." Jess said. "I, um, I didn't know you still believed in Santa."

"I don't." Skye argued. "I don't." She felt hot and prickly under her coat and scarf. "I was just pretending I believed," Skye lied, "because you're younger than me and I thought you guys might still believe in Santa."

Jessica didn't look convinced, but Skye held her gaze until the other little girl nodded. "Fine." Jess said. "So, what did you ask for, for Christmas?"

Skye, grateful that the subject of Santa Claus had been dropped but still immensely confused and heartbroken by the revelation, just shrugged. "I didn't really ask for anything." She looked over to the monkey bars where Grant was hanging upside down with a kid Skye recognised but didn't know. They were laughing.

"How could you not have asked for anything for Christmas?" Jessica gasped, grabbing Skye by the shoulders.

Skye shrugged again, doing so a little stronger than necessary to try and remove Jess' hands.

Jessica stepped back, dropping her hands. "Oh, sorry." She said. "You're not Jewish, are you?"

Skye blinked at her. "No."

"Okay. Then there's no excuse for not making a Christmas list."

"She might be a Jehovah's Witness." Peter added.

Skye shook her head. "I don't know what that is."

"Make a list." Jess suggested. "Ask for everything, and then you'll at least get some of it." She flicked some hair behind her. "That's why I asked for six Furbies."

As much as the older kids were a little scary to Skye, she was feeling dejected and irritated enough that approaching them in order to spend some time with Grant, was preferable to remaining with Jess and Peter. She was just looking around the playground, searching for a quick excuse that could allow her leave Jessica and Peter for Ward, without sounding too rude, when Skye saw something that both allowed her to leave and avoid the fifth graders.

"Sorry, guys," Skye said to Jess and Peter, interrupting their Christmas-oriented conversation, "I need to go see my friend, Jemma." She pointed to where Jemma was sat alone at a picnic table with her backpack and her book from the car that morning.

"Who?" Jess asked.

"My best friend." Skye explained, already walking away.

"I thought Grant was your best friend." Jessica called after her.

Skye rolled her eyes. "I can have two!"

Jemma didn't even seem to notice Skye's approach. When she leaned over the table and put her hand in the middle of Jemma's page, the girl jumped a little, making Skye giggle.

"Sorry." She said. "It's just me, Jem."

Jemma smiled. "Hello, Skye. How are you?"

Skye sighed and say down on the opposite side of the table. "Not so great." She flicked her eyes over to the other side of the playground, where Jessica and Peter were now playing some kind of clapping game.

"What's the matter?" When Jemma closed her weird ear-mouse book and gave her full attention to Skye, Skye smiled a bit. Jemma didn't turn down her reading for nothing. It felt special to be that important to Jemma.

"It's nothing." Skye said, even though her tummy still felt funny. "Jessica Drew said something to me." She sighed. "I just…I don't know…"

Jemma frowned. "What did she say?"

"I don't wanna say." Skye mumbled. Jessica and Peter had made her feel small and stupid. Jemma was way smarter and way more important to her than either of them. She didn't want Jemma to look at her the way Jess had. Skye didn't want her pity.

"You're my best friend, Skye." Jem said, taking her hand. "You know that you can tell me anything, right?"

"I guess." Skye was going to consider maybe telling Jemma, but her thoughts were interrupted when some older boys appeared beside her. Her first thought when looking up at them was that they were going to be Grant and the kids he had been playing with, but Skye's heart sank when she realised the two boys were kids she knew the names of, based only on their reputation. She shrank down in her seat.

Brock Rumlow leaned over the picnic table, his face unpleasantly in Skye and Jemma's space. "Hey, Jemma Smellons." He said, and then laughed, turning to the other boy by his side, Carl Creel.

Creel high-fived him.

"Get it?" Rumlow said, ignoring Skye and poking Jemma in the shoulder. "Because your last name is 'Simmons' and you smell."

"Yes." Jemma said in a small voice. "Very good."

Skye didn't like the feeling it gave her when Brock and Carl began laughing at Jemma. They were scary, and big, but that didn't matter to Skye when they were being mean to Jemma. Her Jemma.

"Hey!" Skye said, commanding the attention of the two boys. Jemma squeezed her hand.

Rumlow gave her a dirty look. "Who the hell are you?"

Skye took a deep breath and attempted to look as authoritative as possible. "I'm Skye. And you need to leave my Jemma alone."

Creel laughed. Rumlow bared his teeth at her like a dog. A scary dog, not like Lucky. The look made Skye want to hide under the table.

"Your Jemma?" He asked, not waiting for an answer. He looked at their joined hands. "You gay or something?"

"Got yourself a girlfriend, Simmons?" Carl asked.

Jemma pulled her hand away. "No." She whispered.

Skye bristled at the way Jemma timidly answered. She wanted Jem to stand up for herself, to tell the bullies to 'go away', but she appreciated how scary they were. Being brave was something Natasha was good at. Skye knew the story of Natasha arriving in America with no grasp of the English language and no family. Skye could be brave like her big sister.

She climbed up on the bench of the picnic table, hands on her hips and stomped her foot. "So what if she was gay?" Skye found herself saying. It wasn't exactly the defence she was going for, but she decided to roll with it while the bravery was running rife. "You leave her alone!"

"Hey, little girl," Rumlow said, stepping closer to Skye. She was taller than him standing on the bench, but not by the amount she had hoped. "You got something to say to me?"

Skye swallowed. "Yeah, actually, I do." She glared down at him. "You need to stop being mean to Jemma. It's not nice."

Creel laughed at her. Rumlow just looked mad, but Carl was laughing hysterically at her, and Skye didn't like how it felt.

Rumlow spat at Skye's feet and moved away to Jemma. He picked up her backpack. "You got anything interesting in here?"

"Give it back." Jemma said.

Brock ignored her. Carl continued to laugh.

"Stop it." Skye said. "Stop laughing."

"Skye…" Jemma said wearily.

Skye continued to glare at Carl. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Brock taunting Jemma with her backpack held out of her reach.

Carl smirked at Skye, still chuckling. "What you gonna do?" He taunted.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She asked.

As the confrontation began to gather more weight, children from around the playground started to assemble around their picnic table. Jessica and Peter were among the kids watching from a safe distance, but Grant Ward rushed through them and looked between Skye and Creel.

"What's going on?" He asked.

Rumlow gave him a glance, still holding Jemma's bag. "Stay out of this, Ward."

Grant shook his head. "Leave them alone." He stood between Skye on the bench and Creel. "Go."

Carl held up both hands, the self-satisfied smirk he'd been giving Skye now long gone. Grant was taller than Carl Creel was and Skye had never been more grateful for her best friend's superior height.

"Hey, man." Carl said, backing away. "She's the one threatening me."

"Whatever." Grant grunted. "Just go. Leave it."

Carl seemed to get Grant's message, and stepped back away from Skye and Jemma. Rumlow, however, continued to bully Jemma relentlessly.

Grant looked over to Jemma, and Skye followed his gaze, devastated to discover tears spilling over Jemma's cheeks with gasping little sobs. Jemma was her best friend, she was Skye's family, and seeing her hurt made the fire in her belly rage.

"You need to leave her alone." Skye hissed at Rumlow. He glanced over at her and Skye jumped off the picnic bench, ignoring their height difference and stepping up toe to toe with the boy. "Now."

He crouched down to Skye's height, sneering inches away from her face. "You wanna be next?"

"Try me."

She felt Ward's hand on her shoulder. "Just go away, Brock." Grant said. "Leave them alone."

Brock didn't even glimpse up at Ward, instead, keeping his eyes on Skye. "Who do you think you are?" He spat.

"Me?" Skye said, all fear completely replaced with a bitter rage. "I'm Skye Coulson, and you made my Jemma cry."

"And what can you do about it?" He smiled. "You're just a girl."

Skye gaped at him. How dare he? "Yeah, I am a girl." Just like her mommy, and her sisters, and Maria, and Sif, and they could all beat the crap out of any dude.

And so could Skye.

"Give Jemma back her bag." Skye said warningly. "Give it back."

The group of students fell quiet, and Brock stood up straight, looking at something over Skye's shoulder.

"Fine." He grunted.

"What's going on over here?" A teacher called from behind Skye. She didn't turn around, but felt Grant shift behind her.

Rumlow shoved the backpack against Jemma, almost knocking her of her seat. "Here." He said. "Have your stupid bag back." Brock grabbed Jemma's blue box keychain hanging from the zipper and grinned at Skye. "But I'm keeping this."

When Skye would eventually look back at the turn of events, and analyse the details she could remember, she would be able to track the impulses in her brain that led her to giving Brock Rumlow a bloody nose and a gouge in his arm that would require six stiches. She would, in retrospect, wish she had waited for the teacher to diffuse the tension, instead of taking matters into her own hands. And, she would be sorry, but would not necessarily regret lunging at Rumlow's face and biting a chunk out of his forearm.

But at that moment, Skye only saw one thing. Skye saw Brock Rumlow ripping Jemma's keychain from her bag, throwing it to the ground, and stomping on it, smashing it into little pieces.

Brock Rumlow made Jemma Simmons cry. And so, Skye Coulson, made Brock Rumlow bawl.


A/N:What did you think? I'd love to hear you thoughts!

Btw, did you see the new CACW trailer? My lord, it killed me.

Tumblr: PanicMoon15

Twitter: BubbaEmss

Instagram: BubbaEms

Snapchat: PanicMoon15