I don't really remember much of what happened after that for a while. I didn't die – which should be obvious since I'm narrating this.
The next thing I was really aware of was lying on my back. Voices spoke nearby.
"Why do you think she did it?" Simmons's voice.
"I think the better question is why she didn't do it sooner," said Agent Coulson's voice. "She's been through a lot in the last few years. Skye was just the last straw – you know how they were friends."
I tried to lift a hand, only to find it was strapped down. As Miranda would say, Brilliant. I groaned aloud, not opening my eyes.
Footsteps sounded. "Ivy, how are you feeling?" asked Simmons.
I didn't respond. My eyes remained closed.
"Simmons, please leave us alone for a while," said Agent Coulson.
She left noiselessly.
"Exactly what did you think you were doing?" he demanded.
"Agent Coulson, please don't ask me why. I think we both know."
"I know it's been hard, but you never struck me as a quitter. Do you think this what Skye would have wanted?"
My eyes snapped open. "This wasn't about Skye. Tell me there's a good reason for me to keep doing this. I can't do this again…"
"Yes, you can. You just don't want to."
"I don't belong here. I'm dead weight that complicates everything, so I'm useless. No, it's worse than that. I'm a threat, because if someone manages to get information out of me, you're all in trouble." My eyes locked with his. "Tell me I'm not a threat. Tell me I'm not dead weight."
He was silent and just stared at me for a moment.
"We can't keep you alive forever, not if you want to die. But we can get you help, if you're willing to accept it. There are people here who do care about you and understand what you've had to do. You're going to look on this one day and wonder what you were thinking. I promise."
I doubted that.
They let me out several days later, on condition that at least one other person was in the room at all times. I spent nearly the entire time with Skye.
She sat up in bed when she saw me. "Ivy?"
"Hi," I said.
"They told me what happened. Are you okay?"
I sat down on a chair next to her. "How are you doing?"
She clearly noticed my ignoring of her question, but didn't comment. Probably because the lack of an answer did kind of answer the question. "Fine, considering I got shot in the stomach."
I wanted to knit, but they'd taken my needles, probably worrying that I would try to stab myself with them. They didn't have to worry about that. I've been stabbed before.