TW for mentions of hospital/injury, minor swearing
Emotion had always been a source of intensity for Skye. Her feelings had always been too potent, often too big for her to contain in her body, and those 'big feelings,' as Sister Beatrice used to call them, often led to trouble. She was feeling big feelings right now. Too strong and too many, so much so that Skye couldn't even begin to identify or mitigate a single one. She was angry, but it was so much more than anger. It was frustration and rage and fire all burning white hot under her skin. She was sad, but it was so much more than sad. It was devastation and hurt and emptiness all eating away at her and gnawing out a big open space of ache. She was afraid, but it was so much more than fear. It was worry and panic and racing ants all chewing away at her nerves and making her vision go narrow and grey. She was all those things and a whole mess more that she didn't know how to describe. She had big feelings and she didn't have a clue what to do with them.
Part of her wanted to lash out and yell and fight back against the stupid, thinks-he's-so-smart doctor and Miss Hand, part of her wanted to kick down the door and run down the hall after May and Phil and latch onto their legs and refuse to be dragged away from them. Part of her wanted to crawl under the table and curl up and cry until she was nothing but a dry, crunchy corn-husk of a person. At least a corn-husk person didn't have to feel big feelings. A corn-husk person felt nothing.
But she couldn't do any of those things, so she just sat there numbly and watched as Miss Hand worked her phone, as the doctor made a few notes then swept away huffily, like he was mad that they had all been so ungrateful for his services. She sat there and watched and realized that maybe all of her big feelings had turned her more into a corn-husk person than she'd first thought.
"They're bringing by your discharge papers in a minute, Skye, and then we'll go," Miss Hand said gently, after a long stretch of stiff, painful silence had unfurled in front of them. Normally Skye hated awkward silences. But corn-husk Skye didn't mind them so much, it seemed.
"What about Jemma?"
"She's probably going to need to stay in the hospital a few days. She needs to recover from surgery and from the… the injury."
They were getting split up. So many of Skye's worst nightmares had come to life before her eyes over the last day – her father the monster, her family in danger – but nothing, nothing, was quite so horrible as the gurgling, swampy understanding that suckered its way up into her bones and etched its message in acid: After everything she had done, everything she had put them through, everything she had tried to fix, she was still losing them all, she was still losing Jemma.
A nurse brought by papers for Miss Hand to sign. Skye didn't listen to any of the instructions about her cast or the medicine she was supposed to take to make sure her cuts and stitches didn't get infected. She didn't care. Miss Hand shepherded her out of the room and Skye followed in a daze, not paying any attention to where they walked. She almost didn't realize that they had stopped in front of another room to pick up Bobbi on their way out until she heard Bobbi's voice cracking through the clouds in her brain.
"What's going on?"
"It's time to leave," Miss Hand told her. "I'm sorry, Bobbi. I know this is all very sudden and probably confusing, but you're not going home with May and Phil."
"Why not?" Bobbi's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Does this have something to do with the exam that nurse gave me? It was weird. She asked a lot of questions."
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Miss Hand said resignedly. "Because of what happened today and the nature of some of your injuries, the staff here contacted CPS to make a report. It's their policy. Since there's a report filed, social services has to look into it, which means—"
"They're looking into whether or not we got hurt at May and Phil's house," Bobbi finished. She stared hard at the floor, her whole face downcast. Skye watched as she slipped her hand into her pocket and rooted around for her batons. She didn't take them out, but Skye could tell she was running her fingers along the wood.
"They are. It's protocol."
"It's crap," Skye muttered. "Protocols are stupid."
"I know this isn't what you want to hear right now, Skye, but you have to trust the system," Miss Hand sighed. "It's not always perfect, we both know that, but there are some pieces of it that are in place to try and keep kids safe. This is one of them. We have to take every report seriously, even ones like this one, because the minute we start ignoring reports is the minute we might start missing something important."
"They reported me when my dad brought me in," Bobbi said slowly, like she was putting the pieces together. "I remember one of the nurses talking to Izzy about it. She said things didn't seem right, so they called her in."
"And we took that seriously," Miss Hand nodded. "That turned out to be the right thing to do."
"Yeah."
"But May and Phil aren't like that," Skye said hotly. "And I told them that. I told them over and over again. They wouldn't listen."
"We both know May and Phil are good people who want nothing but the best for you," agreed Miss Hand. "But at this point it's over my head. We just have to let the investigation play out. They'll learn what we already know about May and Phil, which is that they're excellent parents, and you'll be back where you belong. Until then, however…"
"We have to go," frowned Bobbi.
"Yes. I've managed to find an emergency foster home for you, Bobbi. Somewhere I think you'll feel comfortable for as long as this takes. It's an old family of mine, the Maximoffs, they're good people. They haven't taken anyone in for quite some time, but they're happy to help us out."
"And what about Skye? She's coming too, right?"
"Unfortunately, no," Miss Hand said. Skye let out a bitter laugh. She had known that was coming. Nobody wanted to take in two emergency teenagers, and while the system tried to keep biological siblings together when possible, the same didn't usually apply to foster siblings who had grown close.
"Why not?" Bobbi looked angry, and she straightened up. Skye forgot sometimes how tall Bobbi was, but when she got serious, she towered over most people. Miss Hand was pretty tall, too, though, and she didn't back down. "You can't just split us up. Not after everything that happened today."
"It's part of the investigation," explained Miss Hand calmly. "Someone from Social Services will be interviewing you, and they want to hear your personal accounts free from one another."
"They don't want us lining up our stories ahead of time is what you mean," glowered Skye. "Even though there's nothing to hide."
"So where's Skye going, then?" Bobbi asked. Miss Hand paused just a moment too long before answering, and Skye knew what that meant. She knew exactly where she was heading.
"I'm going back to St. Agnes, aren't I?"
"It's just temporary, Skye."
"It's fine," she lied. Her throat burned, and she turned away from Miss Hand and Bobbi to try and blink away the tears of betrayal and frustration that were stinging the corners of her eyes before either one could notice. "We should just go."
They dropped Bobbi off first, since the Maximoff family apparently lived in Manitowoc, not that far from the high school. Skye tried hard to swallow down the lump in her throat as Miss Hand's car cruised past the familiar brick and stone of the building where Phil taught, where she met Natasha for tutoring, where she and Jemma and Fitz had giggled themselves silly under the bleachers at a soccer game. It was late afternoon, and a few students were straggling out of the building, all looking eager to get home to their families and friends, Skye imagined. She realized with a sudden jolt that it was Tuesday, which meant school was out for Thanksgiving break now. No wonder the kids trickling down the steps looked so happy.
The Maximoff house was a small, squat, square of a house, with white shutters and flower boxes under the windows. There weren't any flowers in them, since it was well past growing season and the bitter frost that sprouted up each morning was more than cold enough to kill even the heartiest of plants, but Skye imagined they looked nice in the warm months.
A young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, with white-blonde hair stepped out from the house and jogged down the path towards the car.
"Pietro, hi," Miss Hand greeted him as she exited the car. She closed the door behind her, muffling the rest of her conversation with the guy.
"He looks young," Bobbi mused, watching him intently through the window. She hadn't made any moves towards leaving. "Have you ever had a foster parent that young before?"
"No," Skye said. "Maybe he's an older brother. Or a kid who was placed there and stayed after he aged out. That happens sometimes."
"Are you scared?" asked Bobbi softly. She was still staring out the window, so Skye couldn't see her face very well. Her hands were holding tightly onto her batons in her lap, though.
"About going back to St. Agnes?" Skye asked. "No. I've gotten sent back there plenty of times. It's not any different this time." That was a lie. It was different this time. She had let herself start to think that she'd never have to go back to St. Agnes. She'd let herself get comfortable. She'd let herself fall in love. It was different this time and it hurt so much more, but she couldn't tell Bobbi that. She couldn't say it out loud, otherwise it would feel that much more real. "Are you scared?"
"Maybe a little," admitted Bobbi. She ducked her head slightly and Skye noticed that her cheeks were pink. "I don't exactly have a lot of practice in moving to a new foster home. I don't really know what to expect."
"You did okay last time, and you didn't know what to expect then."
"I was freaking out last time," Bobbi said with a shake of her head. "I was so scared I could barely move. And the crutches didn't help, either. I was focusing so hard on staying on my feet and acting as normal as possible that I barely said two words to any of you."
"Well, it worked out eventually. We all like you a lot now, and you talk all the time."
"Thanks." Bobbi smiled a little at that. "I guess I just have to hope for the best."
"Hopefully they'll be good, like May and Phil," Skye shrugged. "Miss Hand tries her best to find good ones. And if she's known these people a long time, there's a good chance they'll be okay. Just make sure you learn the rules fast, and try not to annoy the parents at the beginning. They treat you better if you're not a nuisance right off the bat."
"Good to know."
"Bobbi, if… if I don't ever see you again—"
"You will, Skye. Miss Hand said this wasn't forever. It's not a goodbye."
"But if I don't," Skye insisted, "I just want you to know that you're… you're a really good big sister. I've never had a big sister before. But I'm really glad it got to be you."
Bobbi didn't say anything for a minute, and even after she cleared her throat a couple of times, her voice still sounded thick when she finally spoke. "Thanks, Skye. I couldn't have asked for better sisters than you and Jemma. Meeting you was… was one of the best things that's ever happened to me. Promise me you'll remember that when you're stuck with those nuns. You're somebody's best thing. Okay? Promise me."
"I promise."
Miss Hand tapped on the window then, causing Bobbi to jump slightly. Instinctively, she whipped her batons back out of sight, stuffing them in her coat pockets before opening the door.
"Bobbi, this is Pietro. He and his sister Wanda are going to be looking after you for a little while. I knew them when they were in the foster care system as teenagers, and I know they'll take good care of you."
"Hello Bobbi," the man, Pietro, said warmly. He had an accent, maybe Russian or something like it, Skye couldn't really tell. "We've heard a lot about you."
Bobbi eased out of the car, and Miss Hand closed the door behind her, once again blocking out the conversation. Skye watched as Pietro and Miss Hand chatted, and noticed that something they said must have caught Bobbi by surprise, because her eyebrows shot up her forehead. Then, before Skye could press her nose against the window to try and read their lips to figure out what was so surprising, they parted ways, Pietro leading Bobbi back up the path towards the house. She turned around slightly to give Skye a little wave before she followed him and disappeared from sight. Skye waved back, but she wasn't sure Bobbi had seen her.
Even though she was dying to know what Miss Hand has told Bobbi before they left, Skye didn't say a word for the remainder of the half-hour car ride from Manitowoc down to Sheboygan. The silence in the car was skin-crawlingly uncomfortable, but Skye was too mad and too upset and too sad to break down and break it. Logically, she knew it wasn't really Miss Hand's fault that she was headed back to the one place Skye never wanted to set foot in again – there were plenty of people to blame, like the doctors, Cal, and even Skye herself – but it was easier to direct her anger at the stoic woman driving the car, who always followed the rules even when all Skye wanted was for her to break them, just once, because they both knew that what was happening, while by-the-book, wasn't right.
To her credit, Miss Hand didn't make many attempts at conversation once it was clear Skye was planning on sitting and stewing in the backseat. She was usually pretty good about not forcing people to be cheerful and polite when they were obviously feeling otherwise, which was a big improvement from some of Skye's other social workers. Mrs. Arbuckle in particular had always insisted on 'happy faces' any time Skye went to a new house or came back to St. Agnes, much to Skye's chagrin.
"A positive attitude makes for a positive situation," she always said, in that annoying sing-song voice of hers that Skye knew hid sharpness beneath the sticky sweetness. If Skye didn't cooperate, if she slouched and scowled because that's how she felt, Mrs. Arbuckle would squeeze her shoulder tight – too tight, usually – until Skye straightened her spine and slapped a pretend smile across her face. Skye didn't know what good it ever did. It was always obvious that the smile was fake, more like a grimace than grin, and that usually just meant that her new foster parents would be suspicious of her. And the nuns didn't care whether she was smiling or kicking and screaming when she came back. They would just sigh and put new sheets on Skye's old bed, leaving her to put away her things in the old familiar places and wait for her vulturous roommates to descend and pick her spirit clean.
"We're here," Miss Hand finally said, when she had parked outside the austere entrance to St. Agnes. She cut the engine, but she didn't get out of the car right away, instead turning slightly so she could look at Skye in the backseat.
"Skye, I know this isn't what you wanted," she began. Her tone was still business-like, still very Miss Hand-like, but there was sympathy in her eyes. "I know things seem pretty bleak right now. But I promise you I'm going to do my best to fix this, and as quickly as I can."
Skye didn't say anything. She didn't have anything to say. Her eyes stung, and she turned away, staring hard out the window instead of at Miss Hand's face.
"You've been through hell today—" Her use of the word 'hell' caught Skye's attention. Miss Hand didn't usually swear. Just a few hours ago she had scolded Izzy for almost saying 'ass,' but Skye realized that she was trying to level with her, trying to show Skye that this wasn't just Miss Hand the social worker talking. "—and I can't imagine what you're probably feeling right now. If you need something… If you start feeling bad, if you're scared or overwhelmed or things get to where you feel like you can't handle them, you call me. You can go to the sisters if you want, but you can call me, too. For anything. I mean it, Skye. Even if you just need somebody to be mad at, you call me. You know my phone number?"
Skye nodded and set her jaw to keep her chin from trembling. Miss Hand had always said they could call her, but not like this. The gesture was nicer than Skye felt like she deserved, especially because only moments ago she had been trying to think up insults bad enough to capture her feelings towards Miss Hand.
"I'll have to let Sister Margaret know what happened, just for her records, but it's your decision if you want to let anyone else know. Sister Margaret will be in charge of your medicine, too, so make sure you see her for it. It's important you take what the doctors prescribed. Do you have any questions before we go in?"
Skye thought hard for a minute, debating whether or not she wanted to break her stubborn silence, and whether or not she wanted to actually ask the one question that hadn't left her brain since she'd had to leave May and Phil. She gave in. She had to know.
"Why can't anything ever go right?"
"I don't know, Skye," Miss Hand said with a sigh, after a long pause. "I wish I had an answer for you. Life is just unkind to some people. It's not fair, and I'm so deeply sorry that you're the one who has to keep getting burned."
"I don't get it. I thought for a while I was unlucky, but it's more than that. So then I thought maybe it was because I did something to deserve it, but I've been trying so hard to be better and everything still keeps going wrong. My mom's dead, my dad left me, and even though he said he wanted me, he didn't really mean it. Not the way you're supposed to mean it. Nobody ever wants me the way you're supposed to mean it. And the one time I found somebody who I wanted, and who wanted me back, the right way…" She clamped her mouth shut, biting her tongue to keep her voice from breaking.
Miss Hand cast her gaze downward, almost like she was ashamed. "I know, Skye. I'm so sorry. It's my job to fight for you, to find you a family, and I've tried, but I've let you down. The whole system has let you down. That's why I'm going to do everything I can to make this right. Because you deserve for something to go right."
"Do you think I'll ever see them again? Any of them?"
"I won't rest until you can."
Sister Margaret had a sour look on her face when she opened the door for them. Home sweet home, Skye thought bitterly as she examined the nun's prunish expression.
"Mary Sue, I wish I could say this was a surprise," clipped Sister Margaret before she had even given Skye a glance. Something stormy flashed across Miss Hand's face.
"Skye has been through a lot today, Sister Margaret, perhaps we could hold off on the judgmental comments for a moment."
Sister Margaret looked like she wanted to say something to that, but she thought better of it as she took in Miss Hand's stern look and finally registered the state Skye was in. Looking down at herself, Skye realized she probably looked like an extra for a zombie apocalypse movie, her shirt ripped and stained with dark, dried blood and her arm swaddled in a heavy purple cast.
"Mary Sue, what—"
"I'll be happy to discus this further with you inside," Miss Hand said crisply, nudging Skye through the door. The familiar sights and sounds of St. Agnes washed over Skye, making her belly do an uncomfortable backflip. "I think it would be best if we could get Skye up to her room. She needs rest."
"Yes, of course," Sister Margaret nodded. Her eyes were glued to Skye's shirt. "I'll see if Sister Beatrice can find you some new clothes in the donation box, Mary Sue."
"That would be good," said Miss Hand. She turned to Skye. "Skye, I might not see you before I have to leave. I want to get back to the hospital to be with Jemma. Do you remember what I told you in the car?" Skye nodded. "Good. I'll be in touch as soon as I know anything, Skye. Hang in there."
Sister Margaret summoned Sister Beatrice, who whisked Skye upstairs in a flash. Skye didn't have any of her stuff with her, so there wasn't anything to drop off in her room.
"It's a little early for shower times, but I think Sister Margaret would make an exception," Sister Beatrice frowned. She bustled to the linen closet and pulled out a starchy, once-white towel and a fresh bar of soap. "What happened? Are you…?"
"I'm fine," Skye mumbled. "The doctors fixed me. I can't get my cast or my stitches wet, though, I think."
"We have some plastic bags in the kitchen," Sister Beatrice said quickly. "And maybe we can put a bandage over the stitches." Sister Beatrice disappeared for a moment, returning shortly with the supplies in hand. Skye forced herself not to flinch away when Sister Beatrice reached out to affix the plastic grocery bag over her cast. Sister Beatrice was trying to be nice, and she wasn't going to hurt her. It wasn't her fault that Skye was back here, either, so Skye had no reason to freeze her out.
"There," she said, wrapping a rubber band snugly around the bag at the base of Skye's cast to hold the bag in place. "It's not too tight, is it?"
"It's fine. Thank you."
"Do you need help with the bandage, or—?"
"I can do it."
"All right then." Sister Beatrice gave her a tight, sad smile. One of those looks grownups use when they try to mask their pity with positivity, but it all just comes out as confusion. "I'll drop off some clothes from the donation box in a few minutes."
"Thanks." Skye pulled the corners of her mouth taut in the closest thing to a smile she could muster, then slipped behind the door to the bathroom, pulling it shut behind her. She set the scratchy towel down on the edge of the sink and tried to open the bar of soap one handed. It didn't really go all that well, and she resorted to ripping the slick paper with her teeth while she held the bar in her good hand. She only got a little soap in her mouth, but she was so disconnected from everything that she barely tasted it. The roaring that had been building up little by little in her ears ever since she realized she was being taken away from May and Phil was crashing around her in full force, and her vision blurred as her chest tightened with each sharp breath she drew. The bathroom felt so small all of the sudden, and she was suddenly flooded with the feeling that she needed to check the door handle. She wasn't sure where the idea had come from, but she could feel her hands start to shake the longer she went without checking. She gave the handle a twist. It wasn't locked. She wasn't trapped in here.
Skye let out a shaky breath. She was being ridiculous, but she couldn't help it. Her arm was sore, her stomach stung, her lungs felt like she couldn't fill them, and her heart… her heart ached worst of all. Before she knew what she was doing, Skye inched the door to the bathroom open, cracking it just a little bit so there was a thin sliver of light from the hallway illuminating the space between the door and the frame. Not wide enough that anyone could see in, but not so shut that she felt stuck. It didn't make any sense, and she wasn't even sure why she had done it, but at least it made her chest feel less tight that way.
She stripped off her ruined clothes after that, wadding up the bloodstained fabric and shoving it deep into the wastebasket. Maybe it was wasteful to throw away clothes like that, but Skye knew she would never ever be able to wear them again, whether they were cleaned or not. She didn't even want to look at them again. She turned the water in the shower as hot as it would go, which at St. Agnes was never exactly scalding, and, after carefully sticking a big rectangle Band-Aid over her stitches, stepped into the steaming shower. The water felt good, and she scrubbed as hard as she could with her non-casted hand, trying desperately to wash away all of the blood, the sweat, the glass and dirt, the smells of hospital and warehouse and fear that still clung to her. Steam swirled around her, the warmth melting away some of the ache and tension from her muscles, and the water that ran down the drain was tinged with reminders of everything that she had put her body through over the last 24 hours. At least she could watch it swirl away from her.
Once she had showered, toweled off, and dressed in the new clothes Sister Beatrice had dropped off (a too-big t-shirt from a church summer camp and some too-short sweatpants with twice-patched knees… a far cry from the clothes she had been wearing at May and Phil's, although she tried not to dwell on that thought), Skye padded down the hall to her old room. Her old bed was there, stiff, starchy sheets waiting for her, like the bed had known she'd be coming back even when she had allowed herself to imagine the possibility that she wouldn't. She let out a strangled kind of laugh that only halfway hid the sob she was trying to choke back as she sank onto the foot of the bed. Almost nothing about the space had changed at all since the last time she was here, but almost everything about her was different. She had learned things about herself during her time away, had started to chip away at the assumptions people had made about her over the years, had found a family, found love, and lost it all.
Discovery changed a person. Loss changed a person. Love changed a person, too, but it hurt too much to think about the ways that she had allowed herself to be reshaped in the image of love. She had let herself become comfortable, over-confident, complacent. She had let herself give in to the hope that this time, finally, something would be different, something would go right, something would stick. She should have known better. The old Skye did know better, but she had wanted to be proven wrong so badly that she had let herself slip. She wouldn't be making that mistake again. She wouldn't ever let herself attach to anything that wasn't a complete and total guarantee anymore, because as nice as the hope had felt, getting it ripped from her hands hurt so much worse.
A faint tap on the half-open door recalled Skye's attention to the room around her. She looked up and saw Sister Beatrice peering around the doorframe.
"I just wanted to look in on you," Sister Beatrice said, opening the door the rest of the way and stepping into the room. "Any trouble with the shower? The clothes are all right?"
"Fine," Skye mumbled. She looked down at her bare feet, watched as they swung a little back and forth, skimming a few inches above the worn wood floor of the dormitory.
"We're about to start devotional for the day, but you're welcome to stay up here for today if you'd like," Sister Beatrice said kindly. "Maybe you could just do some personal reflection. We're thinking about some Thomas Aquinas today. The seven deadly sins and seven heavenly virtues."
Skye shrugged one shoulder, swung her feet again. She'd rather not spend her time thinking too hard on the seven deadly sins. The list had been drilled into her head by the nuns when she was younger, and Sister Margaret was always making sure they knew which one of the sins they were guilty of when it was time to go to confession. Skye's temper meant that she had reported 'wrath' to Father Alderson plenty of times, and Sister Margaret usually attributed her impulsiveness to 'pride,' although that had always felt like a bit of a stretch to Skye.
"Well, whatever suits you," Sister Beatrice conceded. "We'll get back to a normal routine tomorrow. Evening meal is at five." She left then, pulling the door closed behind her. Without thinking, Skye jumped up from the bed and opened it again, leaving it cracked enough that she could see a strip of the hallway on the other side of the door.
As she sank back onto her bed again, Skye wondered briefly which sin she was supposed to blame for everything that had happened recently and for her current predicament. Envy, maybe, because of how badly she had wanted a family. That longing had led her to do things she shouldn't have, but that didn't quite fit. Her deep want hadn't been covetous, it had just been a yearning, a desire for something to feel soft and warm, to feel like it fit. So then maybe it had been pride. Maybe she had been prideful to think that she could handle things on her own, but then again, she hadn't tried to fix things alone because she thought she could do a better job by herself or because she thought she was better off alone. On the contrary, she tried to fix things alone because she wanted to keep everyone else safe, because she knew she wasn't as good as them and that she was worth sacrificing if it meant protecting them.
No, it wasn't pride or envy or any of the other seven that had driven her to the mistakes she made, that had blown up her world around her and left her standing in the middle of the carnage alone. It was stupid, reckless, treacherous hope. Hope was dangerous and cruel. A deadly poison that weakened your resolve and made you wish for things you had no business wishing for, things far greater than what you deserved. Hope made you believe that impossible things were possible, that if you just tried hard enough you could force a happy ending into existence in a place where it couldn't grow. And that, Skye realized with a pang, that made hope the deadliest sin of them all.
Hi friends, I'm finally back! I'm so sorry for the long delay in getting these chapters up - I got really swamped at work these last several weeks and I've been struggling to get my schedules all back on track, but I'm hopeful that things will start to settle down soon. To thank you for your patience with me, I've got four chapters for you all this time! They're not exactly the most cheerful of chapters, given what's happening in the story, but I hope you'll still like them regardless :)
Thanks a million for being here and sticking with me! You all are the absolute best :)