Sundays at St. Agnes were, in Skye's opinion, a below average experience. They always had to get up before seven anyway, but on Sunday they had to get up and get ready to go to church, which always involved extra-long lines at the sinks as kids frantically tried to scrub away at the places they might have missed while showering the night before (Sister Margaret was a stickler about checking behind the ears and under nailbeds), scrambling to find the right sock or a clean shirt, and eating breakfast as carefully as possible, so as to avoid getting oatmeal on your clothes and having to go change before it was time to leave. Most of the kids at St. Agnes just wore their school uniforms to Mass, since no one really had clothes that the nuns deemed 'nice enough' for church, but that meant that there weren't a lot of backup options if a blop of oatmeal dribbled its way onto your polo.

At church there was Sunday school, which if you asked Skye was just as bad as regular school, except the reading was even harder because all the people and places had Bible names that looked even more mixed up to her than English. Jemma had told her once that a lot of the tricky words were from Hebrew, or Aramaic, or Greek, but that didn't make them any less difficult to pick through and pin down. Skye had gone to a few other churches when she'd stayed with certain foster families, ones who liked church as much as the nuns, and those had had Sunday schools that at least let you play games or make a cross out of popsicle sticks, but Sunday school with the nuns at St. Agnes just meant listening to super old ladies or Father Alderson prattle on about sin and suffering, or worse, memorizing and reciting stuff out of the Bible that made no sense to Skye. She asked once what it meant, when they read that people were going to be separated like sheep and goats, but all she got in reply was a sharp castigation and a reminder not to be smart. She never made the mistake of asking questions there again.

After Sunday school was Mass, which was long and boring. Half the time people were talking and singing in a language Skye didn't understand, which didn't help things, and the rest of the time was still just talking and singing. They got to move around some, standing and sitting and kneeling at all the right times, so at least Skye didn't have to worry as much about crawly legs and itchy feet that made her want to race up and down the aisles of the church the way she had wanted to when she was younger. After church was over, they all trekked back up the hill to St. Agnes, where it was time to change, do chores, and work on homework. It all made for a dreary end to the weekend as far as Skye was concerned, and this Sunday was no different.

She didn't have homework to do, since school had been out for break and she hadn't reenrolled at Our Lady of Mercy yet, but Sister Margaret had been less than pleased that Skye had skipped Thanksgiving Mass to have a secret conversation on the phone with Jemma and Miss Hand, so Skye had plenty of extra chores to keep her occupied while the other kids plugged away at their math and spelling.

It was well into the afternoon, and she had just plunged her non-casted hand into a bucket of soapy water to start scrubbing the showers down when Sister Beatrice poked her head around the open bathroom door.

"Mary Sue? There's someone here to see you."

Skye looked up, cocked her head to one side. "Who?'

"Miss Hand. She's waiting for you in Sister Margaret's office. Best not to dawdle."

Skye didn't have to be told not to dawdle twice. Quick as she could, she dropped the soapy sponge back into the bucket, dried her hand, and thundered down the stairs towards the front hall. More focused on the thousand questions that were zipping through her mind for Miss Hand than on her surroundings, Skye nearly barreled straight into Sister Margaret waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

"Slow down, Mary Sue. Haste exalts folly."

"Yes, sister," Skye said automatically, not bothering to look up at the stern woman. "Sorry."

"Did you finish with the showers?"

"Yes," Skye lied. She knew if she told the truth, Sister Margaret would make her go and do them before letting her see Miss Hand. She did look at Sister Margaret this time, doing her best to convey honesty through wide, sappy eyes. Puppy dog eyes, Phil would call them. He once told her that puppy dog eyes were his best trick for getting May to agree to things, his own eyes sparkling with mischief as he told her that. Thinking about Phil made a pang of nervousness and longing fire straight through her stomach, driving any concern about her dishonesty from Skye's mind. Lying didn't matter if it meant she could see Miss Hand and get some answers sooner.

"I expect to find the washrooms in pristine condition later," Sister Margaret said, pursing her lips slightly. "Come along for now, though. Let's not keep Miss Hand waiting."

The sight of Miss Hand, looking like she always did, sitting in the chair in front of Sister Margaret's desk, flooded Skye with more relief than she had expected. She had no way of knowing whether the news Miss Hand was likely bringing was good or bad, but the fact that she was a familiar face, a friendly face, did wonders to calm Skye's surging nerves.

She stepped into the office, guided by the sharp, bony hand of Sister Margaret, and tried not to wince too noticeably when Sister Margaret pulled the door closed behind them with a snap that rattled through Skye's bones like an explosion. Skye swallowed hard and did her best to focus on Miss Hand – red streaks in her dark hair, squared off glasses' frames, neutral expression on her face – instead of on how her heart started beating faster once the door was shut.

"Hi Skye," Miss Hand said warmly. A faint smile softened the space around her eyes, and Skye felt her stomach do a backflip, almost silly with hope that she might actually be about to hear something good. She had promised herself she wouldn't get lost in hope anymore, but it was hard to keep the ebullient bubbles from starting their simmer. "How are you?"

"Fine," Skye replied. "Are you here to…?" The words died in her throat, too precious and fragile to be brought into the world. Even as hope was springing up inside her, she knew better than to succumb to it completely.

"I'm here to take you home," Miss Hand told her, a real smile, a full, big, happy one, breaking across her face. "Mr. Sitwell finished his investigation this morning, and you all are allowed to go back with May and Phil. You're going home, Skye."

"I'm… I'm going…" Skye's knees felt like they had been turned to water, and she felt her eyes start to brim. "Really?"

"Really," nodded Miss Hand. If Skye hadn't known any better, she would have sworn that Miss Hand's eyes were shining, too, just like her own. "Go get your things, Skye, and meet me back here when you're ready to leave."

In a daze, Skye flitted up the stairs, barely hearing Sister Margaret's call to slow down. She flung open the door to her dormitory, dragged her bag out from under the bed where she'd been stashing it away from prying eyes and sticky fingers, and gave the room a quick once-over to make sure she wasn't leaving anything else behind. There wasn't much – she hadn't been able to force herself to unpack yet, so everything that she cared about keeping was still sitting in the duffel from May and Phil's house. She was going home. She was going home and she was so excited and happy and relieved that she didn't even care that she had abandoned the hedge words she normally forced herself to consider. No 'for now,' no 'foster' in front. She was going home, and that's all she cared about.

"I called May and Phil first," Miss Hand explained, as she drove them north up I-43 towards Manitowoc. "Told them the good news. Jemma's getting released from the hospital in Two Rivers today, too, so they drove up there to pick her up. Then I called Bobbi, got her on my way down to get you, and dropped her off at May and Phil's. I tried to call St. Agnes to let you know ahead of time that I was coming, but I think you were all still at church."

"So they'll all be there?" Skye asked, trying, and failing, not to bounce up and down a little in her seat as she leaned forward to talk to Miss Hand through the gap between the driver's and passenger's seats. "When we get there, they'll all be home?"

"They will be," Miss Hand smiled. "And I know they're all very eager to see you."

"And Jemma's okay? She's okay to leave the hospital?"

"She's still in some pain, I'm sure, and it will take a little longer for her to get her strength back, but the doctors said she was cleared to leave today. She still has some medicine to take, as do you, I imagine."

Skye made a face. "I've been taking it. The pills are hard to swallow, though, and Sister Margaret only has those tiny paper cups for water in her office."

"Well, a hard-to-swallow pill is better than an infection," Miss Hand said sagely. "Short term unpleasantness for long term benefit."

"Like staying at St. Agnes last week," Skye grumbled, not quite as out-of-earshot as she probably should have. The corners of Miss Hand's mouth twitched in the rearview mirror, like she was trying not to laugh.

"A little like that," she agreed. "Although I don't think anyone would call a week at St. Agnes medicinal."

It took Skye a second to realize that Miss Hand was making a joke, but once she caught the playful gleam in Miss Hand's eyes, she felt her own face crack into a grin.

"I didn't know you were allowed to talk bad about St. Agnes," Skye quipped.

"Today's a special day."

The conversation dwindled the closer they got to Manitowoc, the sights of familiar streets and buildings giving Skye's insides a jolt that turned her excitement into somewhat unexpected nerves. As they wound their way through the neighborhoods, Skye found herself taking a page from Jemma's book and nervously ticking off the corners they passed in her mind, counting down the blocks until they would turn onto May and Phil's street, her heart pounding harder with every new intersection. It almost didn't feel real, to be so close to the only thing she had been able to think of for the past six days. She tried her best to ignore the twinges of anxiety that flashed around in her stomach, firecrackers of apprehension that flared up with each passing house and corner. She had no reason to feel so nervous, and she didn't understand why it was happening, but she couldn't help it.

Skye's breath snagged in her throat as Miss Hand eased the car into the driveway and she got her first good look at Phil and May's house. It looked like how she remembered, how she wanted it to look: same tidy yard, same jaunty mailbox, same warm light spilling from the front porch, even though it wasn't exactly dark yet. It looked inviting and friendly and safe. It looked like home, and it startled her a little at how easily that thought had popped into her brain.

"Ready?" Miss Hand asked, turning off the car and swiveling slightly in her seat to look back at Skye.

Skye nodded and swallowed hard, vanquishing the lump that had just formed in her throat. She wasn't going to cry. This was supposed to be a happy thing, and nobody wanted to deal with her waterworks right off the bat. She was happy. She was ready. She was nervous and skittish, because maybe things would feel too different, maybe they wouldn't be as excited to see her as she was them, maybe they still secretly blamed her for all the trouble she'd caused, maybe, maybe, maybe. The maybes made her motionless in the backseat.

"Skye? Everything okay?"

Skye swallowed again, looked ahead of her, staring hard at nothing, trying to talk herself into getting out of the car. She was about to get all she had wanted for days, so why couldn't she move?

There was the sound of a car door opening, some vague movement in the corner of Skye's eye, and then, before she knew it, Miss Hand was sliding into the backseat next to her.

"Are you nervous?"

Skye felt her ears grow warm and she ducked her head, dragging her eyes down toward her lap. She nodded.

"It's okay to be nervous," Miss Hand said. "This is a big deal, and you've been through a lot of big deals the last several days. It's a lot for anybody."

"I want it to be good," Skye whispered. "But what if it's not? What if it's not good anymore? If I ruined it?"

"Skye, I can guarantee you, you haven't ruined anything. When I called May and Phil earlier today, to let them know the good news, they were some of the happiest people I'd ever talked to."

The lump returned to Skye's throat against her will. "I don't know if I can be happy enough for them," she admitted, face burning. "I'm too nervous to feel happy anymore."

"It can be overwhelming to open yourself up to other people's emotions," Miss Hand nodded. "Especially after you've locked yours up for so long. But I think however you feel will be just fine with everyone. They're just going to be glad to see you, whether you're happy or scared or sad. And I would imagine that you'll be glad to see them, even if you're apprehensive about the reunion."

"Yeah. I missed them."

"Do you think you're ready to try heading in?"

"I think so."

They got out of the car then, Miss Hand sliding gracefully, somehow, and Skye clambering after her. Miss Hand had just put her hand out to ring the bell when, before she could push the button, the door swung open, revealing the radiant face of Phil, eyes shining and mouth collapsing into the biggest smile Skye had ever seen.

"Skye, thank god you're home!"

In an instant, he had wrapped her up in a gigantic hug, squeezing her tight and pressing a kiss onto the top of her head as he pulled her close. A beat later, though, he pulled away.

"Sorry," he said quickly, "I forgot to ask first—"

Skye didn't let him finish. She flung her own arms around him, cast and all, and locked her fingers together so that nothing could pull them apart again. She buried her face in the front of his shirt, inhaling deeply, and giving up entirely on the notion that she would get through this reunion without crying.

"Come in, come in," Phil said finally, once Skye's grip on him had slackened ever so slightly. "Come out of the cold and get in here where everybody can see you."

And there they were. All in the living room, all waiting for her, all smiling and with wet eyes, just like Phil, just like her.

"Skye!" Jemma tumbled into her first, clinging to her like a life preserver, tapping away on Skye's arm and grinning like she had just been asked to travel to space.

"Be careful," came May's voice, but a quick glance up revealed that she was smiling just as wide as the others. "Don't hurt yourself, Jemma, try to take it easy."

"You're back," Jemma whispered. Her head was tipped forward, so that their two foreheads were pressed into one another, noses almost touching. "We're all back."

"I missed you," Skye said thickly, leaning hard into Jemma's touch and tapping a message back on Jemma's nearest arm. "Thanks for not letting me give up."

Bobbi came next, a little more hesitantly, but Skye opened her arms for a hug from her, too. Bobbi didn't hug very much, but Skye was hoping she wouldn't mind this time, and she turned out to be right. Bobbi gave her a tight squeeze, blinking back tears, and pressed her face into a watery smile.

"I'm glad you're home," she said softly. "I couldn't stop thinking about you and Jemma the whole time."

"Me too."

And then, last but never least, May came over to take her turn. For the briefest moment, she and Skye stood apart, like they were holding their breath together, remembering all the anguish and sorrow they had shared the last time they'd seen each other. Then, just as quickly, the moment passed, and May caught her up in a strong hug, just shy of being too tight.

"Oh Skye. My love."

Skye had already been crying, but at May's words, a full, shuddery sob of relief and joy wrenched its way out of her lungs, and she sagged into May's arms, crying hard into her shirt.

"You got me back," Skye choked out, her words muffled by the fabric of May's shirt. "You kept your promise."

Somehow, despite the universe, despite the insurmountable odds that always seemed to face Skye, May had kept her promise, the most important promise anyone had ever made her. She had been so afraid to believe it would be so, so afraid to trust and hope and love again, but right now, with the room full of the people she loved most – the only people who had ever kept their promises to her, people who wanted her and fought for her and loved her – she felt fear slip away, melting from her bones and evaporating from her insides. She didn't have to be afraid. She was home.

"You are the promise I'll always keep, my love," May whispered. "You are my promise."

"I love you," Skye said, turning her tear-stained face upwards to look into May's streaming eyes. She had gotten the chance to tell Phil, but she wanted to make sure May knew it too, now. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Skye. Welcome home."

You can see why I wanted to get us to this point with the update :) Couldn't leave you all with another cliffhanger whether they were coming home or not! You all are so wonderful and amazing and I'm so grateful to you!

Oh also, I forgot last time, but I wanted to write back to some of the guest reviews, who I can't message directly! To the guest who's writing a story with their friend, first of all, gosh, I'm beyond excited to hear that this story inspired you!. Second of all, you should let us know if/when you publish it - I'm sure people would love to see it :) To the guest who's learning Russian, I'm so stoked to hear that at least some of my terrible Russian was recognizable to you! Also I snuck a borscht reference in a later chapter, just for you ;) You're right, it was criminal of me to forget it the first time around!

Thank y'all so much!