Skye didn't sleep that night.

She'd managed to keep her anxious vibrations at bay (for the most part) but she couldn't bring herself to relax enough to sleep. Thoughts of her superior tight-lipped with clenched fists dominated her mind; memories from the Academy earlier that day turned over in her head, picked apart and mulled over as she analyzed every little thing she did, trying to figure out exactly what had upset Coulson and May.

And when she was certain that any longer she spent on that train of thought would make her lose control of the quakes bubbling under her skin, Skye spent the rest of the night curled up with her back against the wall with the door in her line of sight. Projections of purple, blue, and yellow swirled around on the ceiling, stars branching out in spirals and sweeping across the vibranium walls; she let herself get lost in the colors, allowed her heart rate slow down to match the tempo of the glimmering stars, soothing her mind at least for a few hours.

The door had been left wide open again – an olive branch, an invitation to be a part of the group.

(Skye mostly just appreciated that she could now see a threat coming rather than just sense one – maybe this was a team of allies, it sure seemed to be, but one could never be too sure.)

As usual, Jemma was timely with her daily check-in. Her vibrations, while still a tad muted from yesterday's devastation, seemed to perk right up when she entered the room. While Skye had been cleared yesterday, Jemma just wanted to be extra sure that her wounds were healed up fully, which, if Skye was being honest, she didn't mind too much – Jemma's presence was one of her favorites on the plane, second only to May.

Jemma spoke about the Big Bang and the creation of the universe and her hazel eyes sparkled with stars of their own as she described the event and her touch was gentle and sweet; Skye still flinched a little still, but not as much. After all, she was certain that there was no universe in which the young scientist would ever hurt anything or anyone.

(And Jemma smelled of cherry blossoms and jasmine as she leaned close to inspect the scabs and why was Skye's heart rate speeding up why could she feel the blood rushing to her ears-)

At one point Jemma's eyes skated over the neat, white lines on Skye's arm (something Skye noticed she often did, and when this happened her eyes would pool momentarily with a type of mournful pity before she quickly masked it away again) but today they landed on the new one, the one Skye had added in honor of Ace's aunt.

Her vibrations spiked with surprise, and then quickly morphed into confusion and sadness. She swiftly glanced up at Skye, the question on her tongue, but seemingly decided against asking, her voice holding the slightest tremor as she switched gears and described how scientists can see the echo of universe expansion through a phenomenon known as the cosmic microwave background.

(Relief flooded through Skye. She wasn't sure how she would even begin to explain herself to Jemma, and she couldn't bear the idea of making her sad – though that was inevitable, it seemed.)

"Would you like to join us upstairs for breakfast?" Jemma had asked her in that sweet, honeycomb voice when she'd finished up. "Coulson made scrambled eggs and toast, but we could fix you whatever you're in the mood for."

Skye considered for a moment. Admittedly, part of her really wanted to. She'd realized that she was starting to grow attached to this team. The way Fitz and Jemma treated her was almost like a friend and though Ward still scared the absolute shit out of her, he hadn't given her any passive-aggressive treatment since the Academy.

But the thought of going upstairs and being with Coulson and May, basically handing them the opportunity to lash out at her, made her bite her tongue and shake her head in response.

The disappointment on Jemma's face was almost soul-crushing.

"Oh." She quickly righted herself, offering a reassuring smile. "That's alright. Maybe later, or tomorrow. I'll send Coulson down with some breakfast in a bit."

(Of course. Skye should have realized that the other option was to be alone in a room with the man who was seemingly pissed at her.)

Jemma still looked a bit crestfallen as she stood, turning to leave, and Skye sort of resented the tugging at her conscience for upsetting her. She thought that maybe she did want to be with the team, a little bit at least – up until returning from the Academy (and the incident with Ward) this team had proven to be friendly and genuinely seemed to want her to feel comfortable and cared for and it was sweet, really it was. She just wasn't certain she could let go of what had been proven to be the truth in the past.

Nonetheless, Skye took a deep breath, and quietly she managed to muster a, "thank you. For everything."

Jemma turned, her eyes lighting up once more. "Of course, Skye. That's what friends are for."

There it was again.

Friend.

Something light stirred in Skye's chest, and unconsciously she found herself returning Jemma's smile as she left the room.

Not long after, Coulson came downstairs, a plate of food in hand. Like always, he sat down halfway across the room and slid the plate over to the mattress, but today he kept his eyes down at the plate rather than on her. "Eggs, maple sausage, and toast," he told her. "And some ketchup if you want it."

A nervous tremble wriggled its way to the surface. He wouldn't look directly at her, and his voice sounded worlds away as he spoke to her. He crossed his legs, keeping his eyes directed either past her or on the ground, but made it clear that like usual, he'd stay to make sure she at least ate something.

And though her stomach twisted with nausea and the little voice in her mind snickered that she'd done something wrong and she hadn't earned her food, she managed to nibble on some toast at the very least before placing it aside, hoping it would be enough to please him.

But instead, he raised an eyebrow. "Not hungry?"

She shrugged stiffly, dropping her gaze and tapping her fingertips on her knees, trying to resist the urge to pick at them or bite them.

He didn't push it, instead standing up. "I'll leave it down here with you, just in case you change your mind," he decided as he turned towards the door.

But Skye looked up sharply, her breath catching in her throat. He hadn't done anything – there was no explanation as to why things felt so tense between them now, or what she had done wrong, or how she'd be punished for whatever it was. Her superior had only let it hang in the air for a day before lashing out at her. She wasn't sure she could take the suspense any longer.

And as her heart started thudding loudly in her chest, she didn't even think as she opened her mouth to speak.

"Coulson-"

He stopped, tilting his head slightly in her direction to signify that he was listening.

Skye almost immediately dropped her gaze again, absently picking at the raw scabs on around her nailbeds, resisting the urge to bite them. "I- You won't-" She stopped, the words balling up and sticking in the back of her throat. A shuddery breath shook its way through her lungs, and in one, rushed out sentence she blurted out, "I don't know what I did wrong."

Coulson turned around fully to face her, and she instantly shrank back. His brows pulled together and the corners of his mouth turned downward and it almost resembled some strange scowl, but not quite. Her chest burned and her throat dried up and her hands quivered with unsettled vibrations and her head seemed to fill with water, sloshing around in her skull and making her head spin.

He took a few steps towards her; the ground suddenly trembled beneath them as a quake suddenly slipped from her grasp. "Skye," he murmured. "Skye, you did nothing wrong. Please, breathe Skye. I promise, you're okay."

She hadn't realized she had started wheezing.

Coulson took a few steps towards her, and instantly her breath hitched and she pushed herself back against the wall. He stopped dead in his tracks, holding his palms out as a sign of peace. "Okay, backing up," he told her. "I'm backing up. I'm not going to hurt you – I would never want to hurt you. Look, there isn't even any way I could theoretically hurt you. See? I'm unarmed, and I'm too far away from you to do anything."

Slight relief flickered in her chest as she quickly assessed his threat level and realized that he was, in fact, telling the truth. Skye's heart was still racing but she managed to suck in a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth slowly. An overabundance of nervous vibrations had built up inside of her, so she dispersed what she could into the soft, cushiony mattress, and then directed the rest of them back in on herself, wincing at the stress on her bones. She was sure underneath the sleeves of her hoodie, nasty-looking bruises were bubbling up on her skin.

"Okay." Coulson slowly crouched down where he was, sitting cross-legged on the other end of the room. "Okay. You're overwhelmed. What's going on? Talk to me, Skye – if you're comfortable, of course."

Skye sniffled – she hadn't realized she had been sort of crying either? – and unconsciously brought her thumb up to her mouth, pulling at one of the scabs with her teeth.

Coulson sat patiently, watching.

Summoning every ounce of strength she could muster, she batted her gaze back up to him, and in a small voice she admitted; "You won't look at me. Or talk to me. Not the same anyway. Not since the Academy."

"Oh."

She ducked her head, bracing herself for the blow.

And in her mind, Coulson stood up and stormed over to her, his vibrations angry and hot and coming at her in furious jabs that made her flinch away. In her mind he told her she was bad, that she was property and she wasn't good enough, that she was disrespectful and a pain in the ass.

In her mind, his fists connected with her face, she recoiled backwards, he wiped blood off his knuckles and spat on her. He told her to get up, that she deserved it, that she was lucky he didn't do worse.

Then he laughed and did it again.

But that wasn't what actually happened.

Coulson drew his own shuddery breath, and in an equally small voice he said to her; "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

She looked up sharply.

"I've been… trying to figure out where you came from," Coulson admitted. "We thought it might help with your memories, and that knowing your background would help us help you more effectively. I didn't mean to make you feel this way at all. We just – May and I, that is – we found some things, and it's been… hard to digest. And we originally had thought it would be better if it was left unsaid, but the more I've been thinking about it the guiltier I feel keeping it from you. You have every right to know, Skye."

Skye's breath caught in her throat.

A strange feeling tugged in her chest, almost a longing or a wariness, or a mixture of both. Her life before Hydra was a blur, something she'd boxed away, locked up and thrown out the key. There was no use dwelling on the past, and hell, it wasn't like she remembered it in its entirety anyway – maybe that was her own repression, or maybe that was Hydra's conditioning, it was hard to say.

But she knew that her childhood wasn't normal – it wasn't the picture perfect nuclear American family for sure, it wasn't stable, it wasn't happy.

And she knew this. And maybe that was why she'd locked it away.

(And maybe it's because she'd traded that life away, and because she knew if she'd been given the chance she would have traded back, but she dug her grave and now she had to lie in it.)

Coulson studied her face hesitantly, as if trying to gauge her response. This was the point in a conversation where she'd be expected to speak, she realized, and she coughed a little to try and get her voice unstuck. But the words were jumbled up and she couldn't quite pick out the right ones to express what she was feeling. "I- I don't know what to say, I…" she trailed off, searching Coulson's face to try and find the correct answer.

Perhaps, like every conversation she seemed to have with him, there simply wasn't one.

"What do you remember of your childhood?" Coulson asked her gently. "I can imagine it was tumultuous, as an orphan."

She nodded in response – she remembered St. Agnes Orphanage, the stained-glass windows and the way they painted colorful geometric shapes across the hallway floors; the rows of beds, each with the same ratty pillow and drab, gray quilt; the nuns wearing their habits and carrying silver crosses and telling the other kids to be good children of God and to say their prayers and that God had a plan for all of them.

(But Mary Sue Poots, you've got the devil in you-)

And she remembered countless adult faces and numerous rooms and surroundings, though nothing specific. She remembered the longing and the pain and the good and the bad – that sometimes she had hoped to stay and sometimes she was grateful to leave. But it was all a blur, truly.

(Bad, broken, not a good fit-)

Coulson's face was still knitted into that expression – but Skye determined it was less of a scowl and just another one of those pity faces he made, melancholic and concerned and regretful. "Do you want to know how you ended up in the system?" he asked her gently.

Without really thinking about it, she nodded. Part of her didn't want to know – part of her knew that it would only make her angry at her situation, that maybe if there was a possibility of not being in the system, she would never have made it to this point. That maybe she could have had a chance, and maybe she wouldn't have been so stupid.

(After all, this whole thing was her fault-)

But what Coulson was offering was information about her. He was offering her a chance to take back a portion of her own life, something that should rightfully be hers.

And there was no way she was passing that up.

Coulson shifted a little, taking a deep breath. "Okay," he said gently. "I'm just warning you… you might not like what you hear."

Skye shrugged. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't exhausted every intrusive thought about her origins. The truth couldn't be worse than what she'd imagined.

"Okay." Coulson sighed. Skye winced – usually a sigh meant exasperation or anger, but in this case she told herself he was bracing himself, logically that would make more sense. Coulson pondered for a moment, seemingly searching for the right words, before starting – his tone was somber as he spoke, his features tugged into a grim expression. "From the information you gave me – your legal name and the name of the orphanage you grew up in, we were able to trace back to the person who dropped you off there – she happened a SHIELD agent, Agent Linda Avery, now deceased. She was killed just a couple of days after dropping you off, and her partner, Agent Richard Lumley, went off the grid just a day later. May and I tracked him down to see if he had any insight."

Skye nodded tensely, hanging onto every word. A pit of apprehension was starting to form in her stomach.

"And this is what he told us." Coulson swallowed. "Twenty years ago, a senior SHIELD agent called in an 0-8-4 out of a village in the Hunan province in China. The entire village of about one-hundred people had been massacred trying to protect it. Avery and Lumley were fresh from the Academy, on a team with three other agents running back-end until they lost communication with the first team – then they went in."

The dread clawed its way to her throat.

"They found the senior agent dead underneath a bridge. He'd bled out from a gunshot wound to the neck, still holding onto the 0-8-4 – a baby girl, barely a few months old. She was covered in blood, and they thought she was dead, but she was sleeping in the dead agent's arms. It was unclear who was the monster that had been pursuing the baby, or if the baby had powers or something that made her special or desirable to the monster."

The baby.

That was her.

She was a SHIELD 0-8-4.

Skye's vision clouded over; Coulson in her sight became a blurry, watery image. She had no idea how to even react to any of this information. How could she, knowing that her entire life, she has left behind nothing but pain and suffering and destruction and death? That not only was she responsible directly for what could very well possibly be taking hundreds of lives – marked and unmarked, those who died at her hands, whose eyes burned into her soul every single day, and those buried in her wake, who'd died anonymously and unceremoniously – but she was also responsible for an entire village's brutal slaughter? An entire village, hellbent on protecting her from a monster hunting her down, because they believed she was special.

(And look at what she'd done with the life they'd allowed her to have.)

Coulson let those words hang in the air for a beat, carefully considering Skye's reaction. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her hands shaking uncontrollably in her lap as the gravity of the situation settled in. Deep in her core, a powerful quake writhed furiously, begging her to be let out; she shook her head, closing her eyes to tame the beast once more.

"There's more," she prompted in a shaky breath, digging her nails in her palms in an attempt to quell the tremors.

Coulson nodded, concern reflecting across his features as he regarded her. "There's more," he confirmed carefully. "Are you…"

"I need to know," Skye whispered, her voice quivering with resolve.

Coulson let out a breath. "Lumley's team helicoptered you out of China and back to the States. SHIELD has protocols in place for dealing with 0-8-4s, but an 0-8-4 is, by definition, an object of unknown origin. SHIELD had never experienced a human 0-8-4, let alone a baby. But within the next week, agents from that team were brutally crossed off one by one, and it was clear the monster was using SHIELD to try and find you. That's how you ended up in the foster system – Agent Avery faked the credentials of the deceased lead agent and delivered you to the orphanage herself, setting up an invisible protocol to make sure you never stayed in the same place for too long to ensure your safety. Not even 24 hours had passed, and she'd been slaughtered, leaving Lumley as the sole survivor."

Silence hung in the air. Skye truly didn't know what to say, or even what to think. It was a lot to process at once, so much new and absolutely horrible information. Her chest tightened up and all she wanted to do was sob, but the tears that pricked in her eyes stung and burned with fury. She bit the inside of her cheek, digging her nails into her palms in a desperate attempt to silence the emotional turmoil convulsing under her skin – especially now, knowing that she was responsible for twice the amount of death she originally thought, she refused to add any more to that toll.

She never really had a chance to begin with. There were no outcomes to this story that would have led her to that picture-perfect family she'd always longed for but never deserved.

She was an 0-8-4. An official SHIELD object of unknown origin. An entire town had been massacred trying to protect her from a monster – whom she could only assume was the very same monster she'd traded her life to, the one who called her his Daisy, who'd promised her that no one would ever touch her again before thrusting her into the most painful existence she could ever fathom.

And for as long as she could remember – six years, as she and Coulson had determined she'd been with Hydra – she'd been told SHIELD was the enemy, SHIELD was set to destroy the world and everyone in it, SHIELD was the reason Hydra had to make the tough call. That monster, her father, had said that Hydra can ensure her safety, that Hydra was all she needed to make sure that the evil organization SHIELD would never find her.

But SHIELD had been the ones trying to protect her this whole time.

"Skye…?"

Coulson's brow creased with unguarded worry – she must have had the most distraught look on her face, she figured, but it was already taking everything she had to keep the tremors at bay. She pulled her gaze up from the ground and managed to meet Coulson's before the tears suddenly came streaming down her cheeks; her hand flew up to her mouth to try and muffle the sobs that came next. In an instant Coulson was by her side, cautiously placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn't fully recoil away, and he started rubbing his thumb back and forth soothingly.

"I'm sorry Skye," Coulson murmured. "I'm so, so sorry."

She sniffled, pulling her hoodie sleeve over her palm and wiping tears off her face. Unconsciously, she'd leaned into Coulson's touch, letting the gentle, repetitive motion sooth the tumultuous churn of vibrations building inside of her. "I was told that SHIELD was the bad guys," she whispered, her voice as steady as she could make it. "And I always thought I was on my own, that no one was looking out for me. But… SHIELD was, or at least they were trying to, the whole time."

A shift in the man's vibrations betrayed slight surprise at this statement, but he didn't say anything else.

They sat together in a comfortable silence for a while afterwards. Coulson removed his hand once she'd stopped crying, instead sitting quietly next to her, offering friendly company so she wouldn't have to bear the newfound weight alone. Skye appreciated it – it was certainly strange, and different, and unlike anything she'd ever experienced before, but it was… nice.

Eventually, Coulson begrudgingly got up to check on the rest of the team – they were opening an investigation on a man by the name of Ian Quinn, who had been financially backing the device Donnie Gill and Seth Dormer built; and, apparently earlier the past few months had a concerning interest in Gravitonium (another substance, like Vibranium, that Skye had never come in contact with, and was undeniably interested in how her powers would react to it). He invited her upstairs, wondered if maybe she had any insight that might help, but she declined once more.

After everything he told her, she felt mentally drained and emotionally numb.

But the door was left open, the invitation always there for her should she choose to take it.

And after spending quite some time losing herself in the galaxies projected on the ceiling, she was starting to feel a little bit better, and after learning that SHIELD had genuinely been there for her this whole time, she decided it was time for her to pay her debts, starting with this team. Using her vibrational powers to, essentially, echolocate, she found everyone in the common room and found her way upstairs to regroup with them.

As she cautiously stepped into the room, everyone's surprise radiated off of them in waves that made her momentarily regret her decision. But Jemma quickly moved over and patted the seat next to her, and May headed to the stove to pour her a mug of tea. Skye accepted it graciously, sitting quietly and taking small sips as Coulson finished preparing dinner.

And it was nice. While she didn't participate much in the banter between Jemma, Fitz, and Ward, it was certainly entertaining to watch. And she was constantly fascinated by the group dynamics at play – both Coulson and May and Fitz and Jemma operated very much as their own units, practically speaking the same language; the main difference being that Coulson and May had a more silent, understated communication and base level of understanding between them, while Fitz and Jemma finished each other's sentences and seemed to follow the exact same train of thought.

(Maybe Skye felt a little twinge of jealousy, watching Jemma interact with Fitz this way-)

The next few days she spent a little less alone; SHIELD agents had saved her life as a baby, and now this team was offering her the same protections and extension of friendship, and she was determined to show her appreciation, even if it was difficult for her. She was grateful that they all seemed to understand that Hydra's programming was so deeply ingrained in her mind that a lot of basic things that they did every single day without thinking about it felt like mountains to for her to scale, and that for the most part they did their best to respect her boundaries. But it was time for her to start reciprocating, to meet them halfway.

Each day she allowed herself to be a little bit braver. The next day she started small, eating dinner with the team again.

A day later, she spent some time after lunch sitting in the silence of the cockpit with May, letting the stoic woman's soothing vibrations wash over her in gentle, lapping waves. Skye found her way to her by searching for her specific frequency. If May was surprised when Skye knocked gently on the door and joined her in the passenger seat, she didn't show it, and her vibrations didn't either. Instead, May kept her gaze forward, focusing on the sky ahead and allowing a comfortable silence to settle between them.

Skye was almost upset with herself that she hadn't taken this opportunity sooner. May's vibrations were practically therapeutic, and the cockpit offered the most wonderful view of the sky. She could spend hours in that seat, getting lost in the clouds, watching the sun paint bright colors across the horizon.

May didn't seem to mind her presence one bit, either.

The day after she chose to join Coulson in his office. She'd stood by the open door and knocked softly a couple times to announce her presence. When he looked up from his work, he practically glowed with excitement. "Skye!" he'd said cheerfully. "Please, take a seat if you'd like. I'm working on some paperwork – pretty boring stuff if you ask me – but you're more than welcome to make yourself at home."

Skye offered him a wobbly smile as a thank you and took a seat on the opposite side of his desk. He flashed her a grin, bending down to open a drawer by his feet and extracted some candy, holding it out in an open palm towards her. "I don't tell just anyone about my stash," he told her with a wink, and she accepted the Twizzler, nibbling on the sweet licorice and savoring every bite, stamping down that annoying little voice that told her she didn't deserve it. Once it was gone, she occupied herself by tracing along the grain of wood on his desk with her fingertip and letting the vibrations bounce back at her while he worked. He offered a little bit of light conversation here and there, leaving it open if she had the energy to respond but not quite expecting her to either, which she appreciated.

The sound of her own voice still made her shudder with anticipation of an electrical shock, but she also knew that on this team it was encouraged for her to speak. She did her best to give nonverbal cues that she was listening – Coulson deserved so much more but seemed so happy with what little she could offer him.

Honestly, the fact that she'd even joined him at all seemed to brighten his mood.

One day later, she pushed herself a little out of her comfort zone and sat in the corner of the lab with Jemma and Fitz, watching quietly as they worked. This was definitely more stressful for her, as their vibrations were the most chaotic out of everyone's and the lab reminded her of discovery-

-But nevertheless, she found herself enjoying their company. Jemma and Fitz worked very much the way they spoke – as a unit. They chattered back and forth, practically able to predict what the other would do at any given point in time, handing each other tools before asked and finishing each other's sentences with ease. They tried to explain some of what they were doing to Skye too, but it went right over her head.

At some points Skye even found herself entertaining some of the questions they had about her as well. After all, what better way to practice speaking than to field a couple of inquisitive scientists?

"How do your powers work, anyway?" Jemma had asked her. "They're molecular, correct?"

Skye had nodded. "Molecular and seismic. Manipulating, sensing, generating."

Jemma's eyes nearly popped out of her head, and hurriedly she jotted down some notes.

"Are they a technological enhancement or part of your DNA?" Fitz followed up, his pitch rising with excitement that she was offering information freely.

"DNA," Skye clarified.

"Were you born with powers, or did they develop over time?" Jemma asked.

Tapping her fingertips against her lap in an attempt to calm the anxious vibrations that had started dancing on her skin, she said, without going into too much detail; "They were dormant for a while, then sort of developed all at once."

The brown husk encased her body and crept up her neck, and her lungs seemed to deflate of all the oxygen she had as she realized that this was the end, this was her death, she'd traded in her freedom, let the white haired man with the round glasses drain all of the life from her body, and now she was going to die.

Then suddenly, she was shaken free from her cocoon, and the whole world seemed to tremble around her, almost as if it feared that she would destroy it.

"Skye?"

Skye clamped back down on the tremors buzzing at her fingertips and looked back up at Jemma, who regarded her with a sad smile. "We don't have to keep talking about this," she apologized.

"It's okay," Skye told her. The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint the sweet Brit. "I don't mind."

Maybe not entirely truthful, but it was okay. She never really had been with anyone anyway.

Jemma thought for a moment. "Um, if you're comfortable answering… what is the extent of your powers?" she asked gently. "Fitz and I had some running theories on what you could do. We've seen you create earthquakes and generate shockwaves, and more recently at the Academy, you manipulated the molecules in the ice to melt it down and free Donnie. Is there anything else you know you can do?"

Stop a woman's heart-

Skye shrugged, forcing the thought out of her head. "They didn't have me practice too much with stuff that wasn't shockwave or earthquake-based. Whenever I worked for them, that's all they wanted."

Fitz frowned. "Right. I suppose I never looked at it that way, but where you were must operate similarly to SHIELD. I don't suppose they paid you for the work you did?"

A wry, tired chuckle escaped Skye's lips, and in an almost snarky tone she said; "They let me live."

Jemma's hand flew to her mouth. "They let you- oh love." Her voice carried that pitiful, mournful tone that made Skye wince.

"Yeah, you were barely alive when we found you," Fitz remarked.

"Oh, Fitz!" Jemma scolded, shooting him a pointed look before glancing back over at Skye. Honestly, Skye just sort of found their reactions more humorous than anything else. Hesitantly, Jemma admitted; "…He's not wrong though."

Skye raised an eyebrow. Of course he wasn't – she'd been shot twice and had the shit kicked out of her, to put it bluntly. But she was still curious to hear Jemma's explanation (or maybe she just wanted to hear Jemma talk for a lengthy period of time).

"Well," Jemma started, glancing over at Fitz, "besides the obvious… circumstantial conditions you were in, your blood glucose levels were so low you could have gone into a coma at any point in time. You also have osteoporosis due to malnutrition, which is only worsened by your quakes – you've got hundreds of microfractures that just simply healed wrong as well. Your blood pressure is dangerously low, your weight should certainly not be in double digits… but, I mean, it's not all bad, you've healed quite rapidly and at this rate we can have you restored to full health in no time!"

Skye determined that as much as she enjoyed her time with Jemma and Fitz in the Lab, small doses were the way to go for now.

She concluded her experimental week by finding Ward down at the gym and watching him train from the corner. He hadn't shown himself to be a threat since that one incident, and Skye had good experiences with the rest of the team up until then, so she figured she'd test her luck.

(Plus, she could more thoroughly assess his threat level by studying his fighting style, just in case.)

His eyes flicked over in her direction in acknowledgement, but he said nothing, simply going about his workout, running a few laps around the gym to warm up before setting up the punching bag and starting to fall into a rhythm.

Skye noticed that the way he went about boxing was very different from how she'd been trained. She was told to focus on brute force and overtaking an opponent by being unpredictable. Ward, it seemed, had a very specific rhythm he followed, focusing on being more tactful with when and where he punched.

At one point, he turned towards her and tilted his head towards the punching bag – an invitation for her to jump in and try. A tremor rippled its way down her spine but she obediently stood, making her way across the mat to join him.

"Aren't you going to wrap your knuckles first?" he prompted.

She just looked at him quizzically. Her superiors had never had her do that before. She'd always trained with bare fists – the punching bags in Hydra's gym were permanently stained with her blood.

Ward grabbed some wrist tape off a shelf before crossing back over to her, instructing her to hold out her arms. She did as she was told, her hands trembling slightly at the close proximity. Ward was, thankfully, quick, and stepped away, allowing for a further distance between them for her comfort.

He gestured towards the punching bag, a quiet instruction to begin.

So she did.

He watched her for a few moments before grabbing the bag, stopping her. "You should widen your stance a little," he told her. "And keep yourself more grounded – keep your balance evenly distributed." Letting go, he told her to try again.

And she did, taking his corrections into account.

She grew exhausted quickly – usually she could go for hours, but after being practically benched for a couple weeks, it was no wonder she was getting soft. Ward told her to grab some water and sit down for a bit. "You did good," he told her gruffly, before teasingly adding, "rookie."

(There was certainly something to be said about being ruthlessly trained for six years in a rigorous facility, but she didn't feel like arguing. Between the two of them, she'd probably win a fight without her powers. But she was just grateful that the angry Grant Ward who had threatened her on her first day was nowhere to be found.)

At the very end of the week, after breakfast upstairs with the team, Coulson gathered them in the briefing room to go over the next operation.

They had managed to track down an invoice from one of Quinn Worldwide's subsidiaries – a ten-million-dollar purchase for something designed and built by Cybertek Inc. They'd also hired a private security outfit to transport the purchase consisting of former military and ex-mercenaries – which Ward had commented was "a lot of muscle to move one package."

Coulson expressed an interest in finding the Clairvoyant, who seemed to be behind everything. Upon Skye's confused expression – she'd heard of the Clairvoyant before, in the car on the way to Mindy's house, but she had absolutely no context for what that actually meant – he pulled her aside and quickly filled her in – from what they knew, the Clairvoyant was the one backing the Centipede Project, and seemed to be a running thread through a myriad of their operations. Raina mentioned the Clairvoyant, and now Quinn had too, which was certainly no coincidence.

That's how Skye had the sudden, crushing realization that Coulson had no idea what he was up against.

Because she obviously knew Raina, and she knew that she was a major player in the Centipede Project, which she knew was just an offshoot of a much larger corporation – Hydra – and she, honestly, couldn't remember a single time that Coulson had mentioned the organization by name, or even expressed the thought that Centipede was part of something even bigger.

(Though, his expression when talking about Centipede almost made her wonder if he was a few steps ahead of the game after all.)

Hydra pulled all of the strings practically everywhere. They lurked in the shadows and manipulated people and bought time and waited for the perfect moment to strike. Even she had no clue how far their reach was.

All she knew was that Coulson was a good man in for a rude awakening.