Conversation Hearts.
-o-
Night.
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The first time she had the dream, it was only hours after she first woke, gunshot wound to the abdomen tightly sewn shut. All she wanted to do was get up and walk it off. But she couldn't.
-o-
Crack.
She wanted to run. Fight or flight instincts were kicking in. That's probably what Simmons would tell her anyway. It was a biological reaction. She wasn't strong enough to fight though, and there was nowhere to go. He had one hand pressed to her shoulder, the other holding the gun to her middle, and there was nothing she could do except gasp through the pain.
Crack.
She could physically feel the life leaving her body through a hole in her gut, draining out of her like stale beer being poured from a glass bottle down the drain. Pretty soon she would be empty. She had to move. She had to get help.
-o-
Skye's eyes popped open. She didn't scream. She didn't jump out of bed. She didn't make any kind of sudden movements at all. The monitor beeping in the corner let her know that her heart rate was way above normal though.
"Great," she muttered to herself. She drew in a breath and wondered how long it would take. "Ten seconds," she mumbled, trying to slowly prop herself up on the pillow, trying to make herself more sturdy in the wake of the disorienting dream.
"What are you doing?" The British lilt sounded a little tired and a little annoyed. It met her ears much sooner than ten seconds.
"You have to stop trying to get up, Skye." The Scottish brogue was fuzzier and even more annoyed, and less expected.
Huh. It was three in the morning and Simmons had somehow managed to get Fitz up and down here with her in case she needed help to get Skye back in bed. In much less than the ten seconds Skye thought it would take. She was going to think about that when she was more awake and her brain wasn't readjusting from her disturbing dream state.
"I wasn't trying to get up," Skye whispered, not wanting to wake up the rest of the team on a night when there was no reason for them to be up and mission ready. "I was just trying to get comfortable." She was a better liar than the two scientists combined. She was pretty sure they would buy that as an excuse for an elevated heart rate.
"Fitz, get her another pillow," Simmons commanded. He disappeared from the room without a second thought, returning less than a minute later with another pillow clutched in his hands, gently helping Skye lean forward and maneuvering it behind her.
It smelled vaguely of lavender, so Skye was fairly certain this belonged to Simmons, not that she would miss it if how quickly the two of them showed up in the same spot from the same direction in the middle of the night was any indication. Propped up with a little extra oomph at her neck, she decided not to call them on it. She was much more comfortable this way anyway. She would just file that piece of information away and save it for later. It was sweet.
They only fussed over her for a few moments before Fitz yawned, and Skye sleepily remarked, "you guys even have matching pajamas."
The painkillers Jemma had her on were strong, and as the world faded around her, they left her to her dreams.
-o-
Crack.
Jemma lurched back, clutching her abdomen in shock, what little color she had leaving her face, and Skye screamed from her vantage point across the room. That wasn't supposed to happen. This is not how it went down. Jemma was not supposed to be in the basement. There wasn't supposed to be blood coming through the sweater she was wearing. Fitz wasn't supposed to be clutching at her, trying to stop Jemma from falling to the floor.
Crack.
Fitz followed and the pair of them were leaning against the stone wall now, clutching one another, the life leaving them all too slowly. It was all Skye could do to not throw up, to run to the bottom of the stairs and call for help, but no one was coming this time.
-o-
Her eyes popped open, lungs aching for air and ears registering the frantic beeping of the heart monitor next to her.
"Oh, shut up," Sky mumbled, closing her eyes and trying to go back to sleep. She was tired of this. These stupid bad dreams were more of a nuisance than anything else. The pain in her stomach, the weakness of her muscles, the medication she was having to take, they all made her so very tired. She just wanted to sleep without visions of the few people she cared about being shot.
-o-
Crack.
Ward raised his gun with one hand, the other clutching his middle, ready to fire back, but staggering on his feet. Quinn jumped out of the way just in time.
Ward, who never missed, missed.
-o-
Skye blinked uncertainly in the early light of the morning. Wherever they were flying, the sun was just coming up. Three days since the team had saved her. Three days of these annoying dreams. If her abdominal muscles weren't aching so much, she would have a headache.
Every time she closed her eyes, someone else was getting shot instead of her now. Maybe it was because her body was healing and some part of her knew that she wasn't in any danger, but locked in this portable medical pod, there was nothing she could do if any of the rest of the team was in danger. It was starting to get to her. She just wanted to get up and help. With anything.
But right now, she really had to pee.
Pushing herself up on her elbows, Skye glanced around uncertainly. She didn't hear anything. She didn't see anything, not that she could see much from the small set of windows afforded her in here. She pushed a little harder and slowly sat all the way up, her vision swimming from being horizontal for so long. Pulling the blanket from her legs, Skye swung her legs over the side of the bed, which was really little more than a gurney. She hesitated, not sure how serious Simmons had been about Skye probably not able to hold up her own weight for a while. Simmons had been steadily helping her to and from the bathrooms every few hours, so afraid Skye couldn't make the walk on her own. Well, Skye would show her. She slid her body from the gurney as slowly as she could, a painful heat spreading through her stomach as she did, and she almost collapsed onto the floor, but May was suddenly there, catching her just under her elbows, holding her steady.
Skye breathed hard, but her heartbeat was barely elevated. At least Simmons wasn't likely to come running in.
"Thanks," she barely got out.
"Bathroom?" May asked, keeping her tone level, betraying no sign of annoyance or anger at her, something Simmons had failed to do every time she had come running in. Simmons was all panic at Skye's state, all the time.
"Yes."
"Slow."
Apparently, they were only going to converse one word at a time. Well, that was fine with Skye. May was usually a woman of very few words anyway. Skye grunted her assent as May very cautiously led her from the medical pod and down the hall to one of the two facilities on the bus. When they got to the door, May opened it, held it open, and when she was sure Skye could maneuver herself through the room by hand holds on the sink and the wall, she shut the door. Probably standing guard out there, just in case I fall and open up my stitches, Skye thought to herself.
She took care of herself and as she washed her hands, she stared into the mirror. She looked awful. Pale. Disheveled. Sweaty. Skye cupped her hands, filling the space with cold water and splashing her face with it. She repeated the process several times, running her fingers over her skin, trying to get the sheen of sweat from her. She still had that lovely hospital bed glow. Skye hurriedly ran fingers through her hair to try and detangle it, sure that May was going to get impatient, even if she would try not to show it. With a sigh, she made her way back to the door, hands gripping the wall as best she could to get there. It opened before she could even grab the knob. May must have been anticipating her, listening for her. It was a little bit creepy, but Skye new better than to say so as she leaned on her to get back to the med pod.
"Common room?"
"Simmons says you have to stay in the med pod. Make sure your immune system isn't going to reject the treatment."
"It's been three days, wouldn't it have done that by now?"
"I don't know."
It's the first time Skye's ever heard May admit that she doesn't have an answer, or at least an idea, about something. It didn't exactly scare her, but it gave her pause. It made her wonder just what this miracle drug was that they used to save her, and why no one had told her anything about it. And why Simmons kept running blood panels on her three or four times a day. It would be enough to make her worry.
If she was the kind of person who worried.
Skye's been on her own since she dropped out of high school. Sure, she's had boyfriends, and a few not that close friends. But she's been on her own. She's avoided getting arrested on multiple occasions. She's lured agents from a super-secret agency out of hiding. And she's become a part of it, even if she's only technically a consultant. She cares about these people, and she gets the feeling, even though she doesn't know everything, that they pulled out all kinds of stops to save her, so she knows they care about her.
It's different. Having so many people that care about her, that want to keep her safe, that want her to rest up and recover. She wasn't used to it.
She hobbled alongside May back to the pod that had none of the comforts she's come to associate with her very own bunk. She wanted something that's all hers. That at least was a familiar feeling.
"Do you think," she wheezed as May helped her climb back into her bed, "I could at least have my computer?"
"I'm not having Simmons come after me because you're not resting." May's voice was flat, but once Skye reclined back against her pillows, May pulled the blanket up over her, tucking her in like a mother would a sick child, gently and securely. She squeezed Skye's shoulder without allowing a smile to come through. "You really do need to rest. You can't push yourself too soon when you just had major surgery." She paused, not looking at Skye as she turned to leave the room. "Even if you don't like what you see when you close your eyes, your body needs the sleep."
Skye didn't have a chance to answer her, to explain that dreams were just dreams, they didn't bother her. She grew up with bad dreams. Bad dreams weren't the things that actually went bump in the night. Things inside her own head didn't scare her. The possibility of monsters in her closet hadn't scared her. She was a big girl, and she could handle this. Just like she always had. May was already through the door and half way down the hall before she even opened her mouth to respond though.
-o-
Between Simmons checking on her, Fitz playing card games with her, Ward bringing her meals, Skye felt like the whole "you need to rest" speech she kept getting from everyone was a crock. If they wanted her to sleep, wouldn't they all quit poking their heads into her room, sticking her with needles, and talking to her about how she was making such great progress? After a couple of naps, caused by the pain killers provided by the nearly ever present Dr. Simmons, Skye woke up to Coulson sitting by her bed side, his eyes studying her.
"What?" She asked him groggily, the medicine not having worn off yet.
"You sleeping okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Not what I asked."
Skye sighed and turned her head slowly to face him better, careful not to twist her waist too much. She knew better at this point. "I'd sleep better if everyone wasn't always in here checking on me," she told him matter-of-factly, eyebrows raised in a challenge.
Coulson smiled. "We all just want to make sure you're okay. We went through a lot to get you back." He tapped one hand carefully on the edge of her gurney. "Besides, I think if we left you alone for too long, you'd be trying to run around the bus on your own, get yourself into all kinds of trouble."
Skye shrugged. "I get bored easy."
"I know. Just try not to overdo it, okay?"
"Okay, AC."
When he left a few minutes later, Skye realized that he didn't tell her not to call him AC. That's how she knew he was really worried about her. She wondered if May had said something to him about her having nightmares. She didn't think May would. Maybe it was something else.
-o-
She looked around the room in bewilderment. It was dark and damp, the only light coming from the contraption off to one side. Everything else was fuzzy. Ian Quinn pointed his gun at her, and she opened her mouth to protest.
Crack.
The body that fell in front of her wasn't her own. It was Coulson. She could smell the blood coming from the open wound.
Someone was saying 'no' over and over, sobs mostly obscuring the word. Distantly, she realized it was her. But this was all wrong. This wasn't how it happened. Again.
Crack.
-o-
Gasping for air, and to her surprise, tears on her face, Skye struggled to sit up, looking around wildly, wanting to make sure she was still on the bus, that this time it was still a dream. Everything had felt more real than the last ones. She could still smell the copper of blood and the heat of gunpowder.
Her heart rate monitor was beeping wildly next to her, so she grabbed the chord and yanked on it until the noise stopped. Chest heaving, the muscles in her abdomen tightened painfully against her, and she was worried she was going to throw up or something.
Pounding footsteps echoed in the hall. A lot of them. It sounded like the entire team was on their way.
Skye hastily wiped at her eyes, trying to hide the evidence that she had woken up crying. She didn't want to answer any questions.
It was May who came through the door first, and when her eyes met Skye's, she held one hand up behind her, turning around to look at whomever was on her heels.
"Is she alright?" Ward's voice wasn't as low as his hoarse whisper was trying to be. "Simmons said-"
"Tell the others she's fine. I've got it under control. She doesn't need a doctor."
May didn't allow for any discussion, turning on her heel and coming into the medical pod, shutting the door behind her.
"I didn't think you needed an audience," May explained, walking stiffly towards the bed. She tucked her hands behind her back and surveyed Skye's current state. Her eyes were red, not just from poor sleep. She was breathing hard, her face pale. One hand was clenching and unclenching the blanket covering her legs, and the muscles in her other arm were trembling from trying to hold up her weight.
Skye cleared her throat and nodded her head, but she didn't say anything in response. She flinched when May approached her, but relaxed when May cautiously rearranged her pillows so that Skye was propped up without having to hold up too much of her own weight.
"I'm f-"
"You're not fine," May cut her off. She shook her head firmly when Skye opened her mouth to protest again. "I know you think you are. But when something bad happens to you in the field, it stays with you, no matter how much you think it doesn't. In the short time that you've been with us, you've seen a lot of bad things happen. It's okay for them to affect you. You just can't let them get in your head."
"I keep seeing Quinn when he shot me. Except he's not shooting me."
May nodded in understanding.
"How do you stop it?" Skye asked her, eyes staring at a spot on the blanket instead of at May.
"You don't." May told her sharply. Sighing, May took a seat in the spot where Skye usually found Coulson. "The nightmares are going to happen, no matter what. Here's what you need to know about nightmares though – they're your dreams. They're happening in your head. And you can change them. Your dreams are just your brain reorganizing things you've been thinking about during the day. You're worried about the team since you've been shot, and that's how your subconscious is interpreting it."
It's the most Skye has ever heard May say to her at one time, and she glanced at her curiously. "You sound like Simmons."
"She'd probably tell you the same thing," May acknowledged. "Here's something she probably won't tell you though. The next time you see Ian Quinn picking up his gun in one of your dreams, remember that we caught him. We have him in custody. And I hit him. A lot. Broke his nose."
"You did?" Skye knew she shouldn't smile, but with all the differences they had, the fact that May would break Ian Quinn's nose for her meant a lot.
"We're a team, Skye. Nobody has to go through anything alone. He comes after anyone on my team again, I won't just break his nose." May offered a rare smile back.
"Will you stay until I fall asleep?"
May nodded, and it didn't take long before Skye's eyelids were falling shut. May reattached all of the monitors Simmons had in place so that the scientist wouldn't worry. Skye's breathing evened out, her heartbeat strong and steady.
-o-
Dank. Dark. Musty. The basement was always the same. So was Ian Quinn's smug face while he pointed a gun at her.
Crack.
The pain flared in her abdomen, just like it always did, but this time, no tears tracked down her cheeks, no gasping for air. And no one else was hit by the bullet. Just as Quinn tightened his grip on her shoulder and pushed the bullet into her stomach, a creak sounded on one of the steps behind her.
Click.
Woosh.
Skye felt wind as something passed just inches from her skull. A blue dot appeared in the middle of Quinn's forehead, dark veins spidering out from it, and he collapsed in a heap in front of her.
May's strong hands held Skye up as Simmons and Coulson looked her over.
-o-
Skye slept through the night for the first time in a week.
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Set sometime between episodes 14 and 15, I was originally going to have Coulson give Skye a bit of a pep talk here, but I've really enjoyed writing for May lately, and I feel like she and Skye should bond. Hope you guys enjoyed!
I edited for a couple of grammar and spelling issues. (Twice now, hopefully they all went though this time.) Thank you notapepper for keeping my grammar in check.