"Where's Skye?"
"You know Agent Coulson, it's dangerous to send her in like that, all alone, when she means so much to you. Don't you think she's suffered enough already?" Quinn's features were pulled into a smug grin, but May narrowed her eyes – there was a strange glint in his, an almost mournful, regretful tightness to his brow.
Not that it mattered if Quinn had a shred of morality. He still shot a defenseless young woman.
(But she had still shot a defenseless little girl-)
Coulson gritted his teeth, anger crossing his face in an instant.
And then Quinn was on the ground, clutching his jaw and groaning in agony.
"Search the house! Find her!" Coulson barked at the team. "Now!"
May set her jaw, letting the tightness in her chest burn for only a moment more before pushing back the flame. She had a job to do.
Quinn grunted as she forced his hands behind his back, the click of handcuffs locking onto his wrists punctuating her furious silence. "It's not my fault," he spit out. When May didn't respond – (she was too busy quelling the embers that had reignited in her chest at his declaration) – he uttered again, "it's not my fault."
"Bullshit," was all she could muster, before a frantic, angry shout sounded from somewhere in the house.
"Simmons! Get down here!"
May's heart dropped to her feet.
No.
Voices drifted up the stairs as she descended-
"She's been shot-"
No-
"Keep her upright-"
Please, no-
"I've got no pulse-"
God, no, no, no-
"She's lost too much blood-"
Fucking god, please no-
The basement air was stale and stank of mildew and musk and blood and death. An eerie warm light cast harsh shadows across the floor, illuminating the team, crouched and crowded on the ground.
May froze in the doorframe.
Skye was propped up on Coulson's lap, pale and bloodied and so absolutely lifeless. Sweat beaded her brow and streaks of scarlet coated her face and soaked her stomach, crusting her shirt to her skin.
Nausea rolled in May's stomach.
Simmons' watery eyes searched desperately around the room, as if hoping the cure would fall from the sky. The Brit was absolutely shell-shocked; a hopeless cry escaped her lips before her sight landed on the chamber in the corner. "Put her in there," she instructed with a finality and desperation that could command an army.
"Do you even know what that thing is?" Ward growled. May snapped her attention over to the specialist; he was acting oddly protective of the one he'd been threatening only about a week ago.
"It's a hyperbaric chamber and I said put her in there. Now."
May was by Coulson's side in an instant, supporting Skye as they carried her to the chamber. "Gentle!" she reminded them, their hurried footsteps jostling Skye's body too much.
"I need to get her temperature down, Fitz," Simmons gasped as they set the girl down in the chamber. May's breaths shuddered in her lungs as she took a step back, watching as Fitz frantically tapped buttons on the screen. Simmons rushed to his side, her hands pressed against the glass as she scanned Skye's lifeless body, holding her breath. Coulson brushed a shaky hand against May's back, and she fought to steady her breathing the best that she could as they stared down into the chamber.
"Temperature's dropping," Fitz managed to utter.
"Pressure's stabilizing," Simmons finished, her voice trembling.
"Is it working?" May demanded, cringing internally at how desperate she sounded.
Simmons didn't answer.
"Is it working?" Coulson shouted, his eyes narrowed and his brow creased in horror.
No one could peel their eyes off of the dying girl in the hyperbaric chamber. May felt her whole body shiver uncontrollably, her head spinning wildly with each passing moment. Unconsciously, she stepped a little closer to Coulson, whose muscles were tense and rigid as he held his breath, his teeth gritted in determination, as if he could will Skye back to life.
After what felt like an eternity, a tiny exhale fogged up the glass from inside.
Simmons let out a breath, taking a step back and casting a quick glance across the team. "For now." Her voice was smaller than it had been, her eyes full of tears threatening to spill and her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth.
"We need to get her out of here," May decided, steeling herself once more and straightening up (and stepping away from Coulson, folding her arms across her chest).
Fitz's eyes clouded with grief, and he took a step back. "This is my fault," he uttered. "This is all my bloody fault, I should never have-"
"Stop it," Simmons whispered, barely holding it together. "It's not your fault."
Ward's hands clenched into fists. "I'll kill that son of a bitch," he growled.
Coulson shot him a glare. "One thing at a time," he told him. "Let's just get Skye back on the Bus, and back in the air. Then we'll deal with Quinn."
There were very few instances where Coulson found himself frozen and irrational, rendered unable to think straight, paralyzed by fear.
One of those times was the very first instance when he visited Melinda after Bahrain.
She'd gone AWOL after the mission – didn't report to HQ for two weeks, no messages, nothing. Coulson figured she'd need some time. He had no idea what happened in the building, but when she'd come back out she had a strange look in her eye, her face paled like she'd seen a ghost, but quickly rearranging into an uncharacteristic cold lifeless nothing.
(Uncharacteristic for her at the time – because pre-Bahrain May was bubbly and warm and sweet and so full of life and love and-)
Andrew reached out a few days later, asking what had happened – why Melinda was so unresponsive, what had made her recede. Coulson couldn't provide answers, but it made him uneasy knowing that even in her own home, Melinda was off.
After a couple of weeks, Coulson took a ride down to the couple's home, in his arms carrying a gift bag of all Melinda's favorite things; loose leaf green tea from her favorite brand, jasmine candles, the works. Andrew greeted him at the door, his friendly smile not quite reaching his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept well in days, his brow permanently creased with concern and worry constantly etched on his features.
In the other room sat Melinda May, staring blankly at the wall.
Coulson stopped breathing.
He hadn't meant to freeze up like that. Truly, he didn't – he worried he made things worse doing so. But there was his field partner, utterly unrecognizable, fundamentally changed and scarred and traumatized. Her eyes no longer held any of her playful light, and she looked so much older, as if going into that building had aged her a couple of decades. All of the life seemed to have drained right out of her, replaced with a cold, dark nothingness that took root in her chest.
She didn't look up to acknowledge him. She muttered, "leave me alone."
And Coulson shouldn't have. But he had no clue how to proceed, where to even begin.
He cast an uneasy glance at Andrew. Andrew told him he'd been trying so hard to pull the old Melinda out of her, but he was worried she was gone.
He promised Andrew he'd continue trying.
He was unsuccessful.
That had been the last time Coulson froze up. After that, he figured nothing would ever affect him like seeing his partner that way, from watching her soul leave her body and the light die from her eyes, never to return.
He was wrong.
Skye's body had been cold and limp and lifeless on the ground when he'd found her.
The floor was smeared with blood – her blood – and so was she; sticky crimson streaks painted her stomach and muddied her face and dirtied her hands. And she was pale, so, so pale, and sweaty and barely breathing and tears had streaked her cheeks and dirt clung to her wounds and fucking god, no, no, please, not again, she didn't deserve to go through this again, please, please, please-
They'd just saved her life not too long ago, she'd just started to get better, they were making progress, she was learning to be okay again, please-
"I've got no pulse!" Desperation shook his voice.
"Is it working?" He'd snapped, he'd demanded, he needed it to work, shit, it had to work.
"We'll deal with Quinn." And the thinly veiled threat was uttered, a snarl that had escaped him almost unconsciously, granting permission to every member of the team to take everything out on the man who'd shot Skye. And maybe it was unprofessional, too subjective, not the right call. Maybe he should have had better control over his emotions and not let his personal feelings get in the way of what had to be done.
(But Melinda May was trembling, her voice shivered as it left her lips, her eyes glistening and her jaw set. The "queen of the cold" herself looked utterly horrified, unable to get a handle on her own emotions).
Maybe he should never have sent Skye out in the first place.
If he hadn't, she'd still be on the path to recovery.
(Skye's ashen, bloodied face looked so, so young through the glass of the hyperbaric chamber. Coulson couldn't peel his eyes off of her the entire time. Shit, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair – how could such a young woman get swept up in all of this? He was old enough to be her father, for fuck's sake, and yet she's endured so much, she's taken so many bullets already, she was simply used as a pawn in a game she never wanted to play. Was it even ethical to keep her in SHIELD? Was it morally correct to want her on the team? Was May right this whole time? If he had just listened, Skye's blood wouldn't be on his hands, god, her blood was on his hands-)
"Her core temperature is hovering around 44 degrees Fahrenheit. If we don't bring her back up to temp in the next few hours, she could sustain permanent brain damage. We need to get her to a medical facility and fast. Until then I'll do everything I can to keep her alive." Simmons' voice held no emotion as she spoke, sounding slightly strangled as she mustered the words, barely keeping herself together. With a shaky, wispy breath, she excused herself, the tiniest sob wrenching its way up from her throat as she practically ran into the other room.
Fitz looked like he'd seen a ghost. "I- uh… I should check on her," he whispered, barely able to speak. His hands shook, and he shoved them into his pockets, his entire body rigid as he spun on his heel and followed after Simmons.
Ward leaned against the doorframe, out of the way of everyone else, his teeth gritted as he wordlessly surveyed the scene.
Coulson glanced over at May, watching her as she held herself straight, her jaw set tightly and her brow slightly creased. She didn't meet his gaze – made it a point to not look him in the eye – instead focusing on Skye and Skye alone. She held a certain melancholic softness in her eyes, eclipsed by a furious fire that burned deep within her, threatening to ignite everything in its path.
He turned his attention back to Skye. If he could help it, he was never letting her out of his sight again.
Somewhere behind him, footsteps grew further and further away. The door closed behind him, angry thuds of fists against some surface following.
Coulson was alone.
And as he looked down through the glass, at her youthful face marred with scarlet, at her small, frail body, he suddenly remembered that even death had a loophole – he was living proof of that.
All he had to do was find it.
"She was shot twice in the abdomen at close range almost two hours ago."
"She's tachycardic, hypotensive, and lost a significant amount of blood. We had to lower her core body temp in order to transport her here."
"It's probably what kept her alive this long. We'll do everything we can."
May watched helplessly as their Skye was taken out of their hands, wheeled away out of their sight and out of their control.
All they could do was wait.
(And pace and shake and cry and hold their breath and think too much and stare at the wall and-)
Coulson, on the way to the hospital, had leaned over to her, his voice hushed so as to not be heard by Fitz-Simmons or Ward. "Is bringing her to a hospital the best idea?" he'd wondered aloud. "Would that just put her back on enemy radar? SHIELD doesn't know we have her, would that cause a problem? She has no records whatsoever, isn't that-"
"It's the only thing we can do for her," she'd hissed back.
"What if… what if there was another way," Coulson had suggested, casting a swift glance in the others' direction before speaking.
May gritted her teeth and kept her eyes on the sky. One thing at a time.
(She knew what he was suggesting. She knew it. But her job was to keep that very thing out of his knowledge.)
(But a young woman who had suffered too much was dying unfairly right behind her. A barely-an-adult who had managed to both terrify her and worm her way into May's heart. And maybe… maybe screw protocol, if it meant she could have a chance to save her again and do it right this time.)
Six hours.
Six hours of the team sitting in a deafening, sickening silence.
Six hours of Fitz-Simmons and Ward and Coulson trading the blame, each insisting it was their fault.
Six hours of Coulson making phone call after phone call, desperately trying to get ahold of Director Fury.
(Six hours of May discreetly glancing in his direction, noting his resolve, his desperation, and realizing that there was no way in hell that this man was not going to get the information he needed in order to save Skye.)
Six hours, forty-five minutes, thirty-seven seconds until the doctor made her appearance once more.
"The shots perforated her stomach and penetrated her large and small intestines. We resected what we could, but… there's been too much damage."
The air thinned.
May's lungs burned.
(The hungry flame in her chest grew stronger.)
"We can keep her comfortable. But you'll need to make a decision on whether you want to keep her on life support."
The room spun.
May's breaths shallowed.
"…You're saying there's nothing we can do?"
Coulson's voice was hollow.
"I'm saying you need to call her family and get them here as soon as possible."
Those words hung in the air, settling thickly among the team as they each processed in their own way. May dropped her gaze, gritting her teeth, focusing her energy on trying to calm down the flickering anger in her chest.
Skye had no family. She was robbed of her chance of ever having one.
But Coulson's words surprised her – then, they resonated. "We're her family," he told the doctor with finality.
May pressed her lips together. She remembered vividly the first night with Skye, how absolutely terrified and small she seemed; she remembered thinking back to Peru that night and how unsettled and possibly even scared of her she had been, of her powers and how far she was willing to go.
May thought back to all the times Coulson insisted that he wanted to save Skye. How determined he had been to get her away from her abusers and give her a second chance, a new path, show her the light. And they did everything they could to do so. And she thought of how Simmons cared so deeply and tried so hard to keep her comfortable and make her feel safe; and how Fitz was so gentle and sweet, and made sure that Skye felt included and normal.
And more than anything May remembered sitting on the mattress on Skye's first night and running her fingers through her hair – the first gentle physical contact the girl probably had in who knows how long – and the silent tears rolling down Skye's cheeks. Her muscles untensed and the little staticky, unsettled vibrations that had been bouncing off the girl's skin subsided, and May was struck with an overwhelming softness and warmth that she hadn't felt in a long time.
So maybe…
Maybe they were her family after all.
The doctor's gaze swept across the agents – from Fitz and Simmons, who stood close together, on the verge of tears, to Ward, who had stepped back, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression completely unreadable, and over to May, who had straightened up, her jaw set and her chin raised as she fought tears of her own.
The next words the doctor spoke were utterly soul crushing.
"In that case, I'm very sorry."
The team looked absolutely heartbroken, completely defeated. Coulson especially, he took a few staggering steps back as if someone had punched him in the gut and looked around from face to face on his team, his eyes wide and full of shock and regret and absolute devastation. He glanced over at May, and she found herself dropping her gaze, unable to hold his – it was too much for her to take in, the air was so thick with anguish and hopelessness, and May took a step back, crossing her arms defensively across her stomach.
No.
May would not accept that.
Not after they fought so hard for Skye.
Not after they were starting to break through to her.
No.
She knew Coulson would do everything he could to save her.
But the man who was responsible deserved to pay.
Her jaw tight and her hands balled into fists, May stormed out of the waiting room and back on the plane.
"Finally." Quinn's smug voice echoed off the walls of the Cage – Skye's Cage, he was sitting at a table and Skye's mattress was still on the ground on the opposite wall, the very few things she owned all lined up nicely on top, ready to be moved into her own bunk next to Fitz's. His smile was absolutely sickening, like he knew that he was taking the space of the girl he'd murdered. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten-"
May couldn't hold herself back any longer. The fury consumed her, a fire raging in her bones as she smashed his head against the table. Quinn gasped and grunted in pain, caught completely off guard as she ripped the chair out from under him and threw him to the ground.
"Wait-" he sputtered, spitting blood on the floor. "You can't-"
"Why?" she growled, grabbing him by the shirt. "'Cause you're defenseless?" Through gritted teeth, she spat, "Like she was?"
Blinded by fury, her fist connected with his face again.
And again.
"May!"
And again.
"May!"
She stopped, her fist in the air, her grip still strong on Quinn's shirt. He coughed; droplets of blood sprayed from his mouth.
"Outside," Coulson told her sternly. "Now."
With one last glance down at the filthy bastard in her grasp, she threw him down and followed Coulson outside.
Unable to stop herself, she blurted bitterly, "he deserves to die, not her. I'm not losing her."
"I know." Coulson told her gently. She whipped around, casting a scathing glance at Ward, who shifted his uneasy gaze from her to Coulson before slowly backing away. Coulson frowned, stepping closer. "I know Mel. I agree. But Quinn doesn't matter right now. Only Skye does."
"I'm not losing her," May repeated, the angry edge to her voice bleeding into a tone of desperation against her will.
"I promise. We won't," Coulson insisted. "Okay? I won't let that happen if I can help it. But I need you to take a deep breath, so you can pilot the plane."
"You heard what the doctor said!" May's voice was dangerously close to breaking, her eyes welling up once more.
"She said there was nothing more that they can do for her," Coulson started. "But there are doctors who brought me back from the dead. If they can do that, I'm betting they can save Skye."
May's stomach flipped.
It was coming down to Fury's secret or saving an innocent girl.
And shit, protocol be damned, she would do anything for Skye.
Fitz-Simmons and Ward were filled in about Coulson's history – how he had died, how he'd been dead for days, his heart torn in half and his pulse completely still, no longer beating. How the doctors were able to bring him back with extensive procedures and drugs. Simmons barely believed it, insisting it was medically impossible, but she and Fitz were set to work scouring Coulson's file for anything they could use to save Skye.
May was silently seething in the cockpit, her jaw set and her eyes burning. Ward joined her soon after, leaving Coulson standing quietly by the med pod, keeping a watch on Skye.
At some point, HQ demanded for him to hand over Quinn for interrogation and transfer to the fridge – an order he promptly ignored and pushed aside, that of course became a bigger issue just an hour later, when they were boarded by another SHIELD jet.
"If they scratch my paint, I'm gonna be pissed," Coulson snarked to Ward as they met up in the common area, waiting for their unwelcome visitors.
"I'll await your orders, sir," Ward told him.
It wasn't long after that Coulson was face-to-face with someone he hadn't seen in years.
An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. Something about this was off.
"Garrett." Garrett greeted him with a wide, yet unfriendly grin. "The hell are you doing here?"
"Well, as opposed to the Level 8 jackass I'm staring at, I still follow orders." Garret stepped forward, his presence commanding as if he owned the plane.
"You're the worst at following orders," Coulson retorted.
"Maybe," Garrett agreed, reaching into his coat to draw out a folded-up piece of paper. "But I like this one." Holding it up and waving it tauntingly, he recited, "You are to immediately turn Quinn over for transport to the Fridge."
A thud interrupted the conversation, and another man walked in, his shoulders back and his footsteps confident. "Agent Antoine Triplett," Garrett introduced. "Agent Phillip Coulson. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Phil's one of our finest."
"An honor, sir," Triplett said, his voice full of genuine respect.
"Trip joined me as my specialist after Ward came to your circus," Garrett supplemented before turning back to Trip. "Go secure the prisoner."
"Yes sir."
"Phil, come on," Garrett continued as they headed for Coulson's office. "Just because Fury gave you this pretty plane doesn't mean they won't shoot it out of the sky."
Coulson turned, sizing him up. "Why are you really here, Garrett? SHIELD could have sent any security team to collect Quinn. Why you?" Garrett stayed smugly quiet for a beat, before Coulson filled in for him. "You've been chasing him too," he realized.
"Since Malta." Garrett nodded in confirmation. "Then yesterday, your little Italian job cost my team weeks of work."
"You can't have him," Coulson told him. "Not yet."
"This isn't a request."
"Quinn shot one of my agents," he told him, somewhat begrudgingly. He couldn't keep Skye hidden forever, after all, especially now, it was absolutely vital that he do whatever it took to get her back on her feet. "She's on life support in a med pod downstairs." Garrett narrowed his eyes. "We are taking her to the trauma center in Bethesda."
"Quinn actually pulled the trigger?" Garrett mused. "I never took him for a triggerman. He pays others for that." His voice grew somber. "I've lost three of my own chasing him."
"Then you understand why I can't give him to you until we save my agent." Coulson met his gaze evenly, his teeth gritted with resolve. Garrett nodded in understanding.
They found Ward and Trip in the common room fighting, quickly breaking it up and filling the two agents in before heading downstairs to interrogate Quinn. He looked up from the table warily, his face still crusted with dried blood.
"Ian Quinn, this is Agent Garrett," Coulson informed the prisoner, pushing back the twinge of disgust swirling in his stomach at the sight of the man who shot Skye. "He's here to ask you some questions."
"No thank you," Quinn snarked back. "My head's still ringing from the last visitor."
"At least the last visitor left you with a head," Garrett growled. "I'm not always that considerate. I'm interested in one of your newer projects."
"Hm?" The corners of Quinn's mouth ticked upwards in a teasing manner. "Oh, but there's so many to choose fr-" In one swift motion Garrett lunged forward and grabbed Quinn's tongue.
Coulson cringed, something in his chest twisting.
(Somewhere in the back of his mind he silenced an alarm bell that went off – Garrett had always been rough around the edges anyway.)
"Let me be clear, you have no rights. You have no lawyer. The only thing keeping Agent Coulson here from throwing you out of this plane is the very weak heartbeat of a young agent downstairs, and the only incentive I have for not tearing your tongue out is that you use it to answer my questions. Is that clear?"
Quinn mumbled around Garrett's fingers. Garrett turned back to Coulson. "You understand that?"
"No."
Garrett twisted Quinn's tongue, causing the man to grunt in pain, nodding his head more enthusiastically. Satisfied, Garrett sat back, casually prompting, "tell us about Cybertek and the Deathlok program."
"Deathlok?"
"Catchy, right? Sounds like some wrestler from the 80s. What is it really?"
"Those are dangerous waters, and the last agent that waded in them wound up with two in her stomach." Coulson lunged forward, but Garrett held him back, punching him himself.
Quinn looked over at Coulson, a sudden intrigue on his face. "Is she even an agent? That's a very gray area, isn't it?"
Garrett looked over at Quinn, then back at Coulson, confusion etched briefly on his face. Coulson suppressed a sigh, instead keeping his face straight as he glared back at Quinn. He didn't quite want to address the nature of Skye's position with Garrett, or really with anyone else outside of his team, not yet anyway, but he supposed he'd have to tell Garrett at some point – though, he couldn't help the unease that prickled in his skin at the thought of sharing that information with someone like Garrett.
"So, she's still alive?" Quinn figured.
"Yeah, and you better hope she stays that way," Garrett growled.
"Is that why you shot her?" Coulson challenged. "Because she saw what Cybertek delivered?"
"No." Quinn glared back up at Coulson. "I shot Quake because that's what the Clairvoyant told me to do."
"Quake?" Garrett turned to Coulson, his expression unreadable – maybe confused, maybe intrigued… maybe a flicker of something else he couldn't quite place.
"I'll explain later," Coulson reassured him, making a mental note to get his story straight later.
Garrett leaned back in the chair, folding his hands on his stomach. "What I find surprising is how a big shot billionaire could fall for this psychic mumbo-jumbo," he mused.
"Oh, I doubted it at first," Quinn explained, his voice cocky. "But then I realized it would be mutually beneficial."
"He must have something pretty terrible on you," Coulson accused. "Shooting an unarmed girl."
"Let's just say I learned the hard way that obeying was in my best interest," Quinn murmured.
Coulson narrowed his eyes. "There's something more."
Quinn's gaze flitted between Coulson and Garrett. Keeping his head up, he responded with finality, "that's it." But he reached into his coat pocket and drew a piece of paper and a pen. Without looking down at it, he scrawled some messy letters onto the paper and then slid it across the table. Coulson glanced over at Garrett before discreetly slipping the scrap off the table – Garrett held out his hand (his prisoner, his paper) and Coulson begrudgingly gave it to him.
Quinn revealed that the Clairvoyant had been behind the three agents that were crossed off of Garrett's team, claiming that the Clairvoyant saw everything except for what had happened to Coulson to bring him back from the dead. This caught Garrett off guard, and Coulson (begrudgingly) filled him in on what he knew.
Coulson was caught in a trap. The Clairvoyant ordered Quinn to shoot Skye to pigeon-hole him into figuring out exactly how SHIELD brought him back from the dead, or to let the girl die to keep the secret.
But Coulson wasn't about to let Skye die.
So… he had no choice.
The doctors who treated Coulson didn't exist.
Fitz-Simmons found that Coulson's file was full of secrets – experimental drugs, unknown surgical procedures, people who disappeared.
And May had the sudden, uncomfortable realization that ethically, this procedure was severely flawed.
(Coulson had begged to die, pleaded his doctors to just let him go-)
(Skye was on the ground, bleeding and bruised and wheezing. Coulson started to reach for her, to pick her up and carry her to safety, when, without warning, she snatched May's ICER from her hip and aimed for her own head, pulling the trigger without a moment's hesitation, like she refused to pass up the chance to end her own life.)
(Coulson's gaze grew somber as he recounted; "she told me – she begged me – to kill her. And nothing I said would help convince her she's safe now, and that there was nothing to worry about.")
Not only was it a little too morally ambiguous for everyone's liking, but it was also playing right into the Clairvoyant's hands – finding a miracle drug for the dying girl downstairs would give them exactly what they wanted.
"It's a risk we have to take," Coulson said simply, as if it were that easy.
(Maybe it was.)
A drug called GH-325 seemed to be their answer – at least, that's what Simmons found. Supposedly, Coulson was injected with it and literally minutes later, his cells showed signs of regeneration. Simmons figured that if Skye was injected with this drug, it would regenerate her cells enough for her immune system to take over; a hypothesis formed from the data in Coulson's file as well as the structures of Skye's own DNA from the blood samples Simmons took earlier and her own observations from the last time Skye was shot – over and over, Simmons continued to be awestruck by how quickly Skye recovered.
(How convenient that they had so much medical data on Skye now, that they could hypothesize exactly how her body would heal from a bullet wound, May mused bitterly. Convenient and utterly horrifying, that is.)
Fitz took this information and managed to track down a location - the "Guest House" - for this drug through a virtual paper trail using some device – May wasn't ever entirely certain of his tech, but never questioned or doubted him.
She found Garrett standing outside the med pod, looking through the glass at Skye, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Everything okay?" May asked, unable to quell the suspicion rising in her chest.
"Wanted to get a look at the victim before we went in," Garrett explained, straightening up. "You know. Fuel the fire."
May nodded slowly but didn't respond.
"This is Quake?" Garrett asked. "Quinn slipped her name. Didn't really take her for that type though."
"Her name is Skye," May told him firmly. "She's not Quake."
"What's her story?" Garrett wanted to know. "Quinn said that her being an agent was a 'gray area' and she's not on Coulson's original team. Is she some sort of consultant?"
May narrowed her eyes slightly. "Yes," was all she said.
Garrett seemed a little put off by her noncommittal answers but dropped the subject. "Well, girl seems like a fighter if she's survived this long. We'll find those doctors, and if not, we'll get that drug."
May didn't move from her spot, her eyes following Garrett as he left until he was out of her sight – she lingered just a moment longer, sweeping her gaze across Skye and letting her emotions stir inside of her before locking them back down and turning her back to the girl.
I'm not losing you, she promised the girl internally, before heading back to join the others.
Coulson, Garrett, Ward, and Fitz were headed in to find the doctors who worked on Coulson and see if they could work on Skye – otherwise, Fitz was there to find anything Simmons could use to do the job herself.
They hacked their way into the compound when the agents inside wouldn't let them in, and then managed to bust their way into the main area and take out the two hostile agents who opened fire at them. (Coulson hadn't wanted it to go this way, he was really hoping to keep it peaceful, but of course, that never was the way when it came to these things.)
And of course, like all things, there was a catch – a timer set to blow the compound down, with only about nine minutes left on the clock.
(Coulson didn't really know what he was expecting here, but at this point in time he wished it was a bunch of nice doctors in their scrubs and masks, their operating room set up and ready to go. Maybe some decent snacks while they waited and some jazzy music to lift their spirits, and a concrete cure that would guarantee Skye's survival. Of course, this was never a plausible outcome, but a guy could dream.)
They split up – Ward and Garrett stayed back to figure out a way out, while Coulson and Fitz headed deeper into the compound in search of the GH-325. The deeper they went, the more apprehensive Coulson felt.
They entered a room. Fitz started scanning some of the shelves, but something drew Coulson towards the window. Almost unconsciously, his legs carried him, and he froze, his stomach churning sickeningly, his blood turning to ice.
Let me die-
This room overlooked the operating room; an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu settled in his chest, phantom sharp pains jabbing in his skull as he laid eyes on the massive mechanical arm hanging from the ceiling – the one he was certain they'd used on his brain.
Let me die-
"Is that… where…?"
"Yeah."
Coulson's throat felt like sandpaper, but he pushed his memories back, stepping away from the window and beckoning Fitz to follow. They made their way to a biohazard containment room and entered (unprotected by PPE, despite Fitz's frantic protests). Overly aware of how much time must have passed already, Coulson began frantically searching through the shelves, rifling through every little piece of glassware that looked like it might lead to what they needed.
Just as Fitz unlocked one of the cabinets that looked like it had their drug, Ward's voice sounded behind them; "Time to go! We couldn't stop it – four minutes and counting."
"Almost there," Coulson told him absently, his focus on the little bottles Fitz was extracting.
"This is it," Fitz breathed, snatching it from its spot and holding it up. "325. This is the one we want."
"We gotta go," Coulson told him urgently. "Get it up to Simmons."
Fitz took off towards the exit, but something behind him caught Coulson's eye – a door labeled "T.A.H.I.T.I." in big, fading letters. Behind him, Ward called out, "sir-"
"I'll be right behind you," Coulson reassured him, taking unconscious strides towards the door. "Go!"
After getting the plane off the ground, May wasted absolutely no time making her way back to the med pod, her breath caught in her lungs as Simmons pulled the needle out of Skye's stomach.
"It's working," Garrett announced.
A hopeful smile lifted the corners of Simmons' mouth, and she focused her attention back down to Skye. Whatever the drug was, it seemed to be taking to Skye almost naturally, and her vitals rose at a surprisingly stable pace.
May cast a quick glance over to Coulson, hoping to catch his eye – but the man was pale and seemed a little lost, like he'd seen a ghost. She frowned, turning back to Skye. Simmons was stroking her hair gently, and the rest of the team seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Ward and Fitz fist-bumped, and Garrett and Trip nodded at each other proudly.
"What was that stuff you just gave her?" Trip wanted to know.
Simmons looked over at Coulson, her eyebrows knitted in a type of confused intrigue. The look he returned seemed to spook her, and she quickly dropped her gaze. "I don't know," she admitted. "All I know is that it worked."
May nudged Coulson to get his attention, then offered him a soft smile. "Hey," she murmured gently. "You did it." Almost disoriented, he excused himself silently and slunk out of the room. May glanced around at the rest of the team before leaning towards Garrett. "Something happen down there?"
"Not sure." Garrett lowered his voice, so as to not be heard by the lower-level agents. "One minute he was fine. The next, it was like he'd seen a ghost."
May frowned. "I'm gonna talk to him," she told Garrett. "You can take Quinn now, he's all yours."
Garrett drew a piece of paper from his coat pocket. "This is from Quinn," he said. "I didn't read it – and quite frankly I don't care to." He nodded towards the door as May took it. "Go to Coulson."
May glanced down at the scrap before quickly folding it in half and shoving it in her pocket, turning on her heel, and marching after Coulson.
She found him sitting in his office, staring at the wall. After announcing her presence and entering the room, she sat down across from him – he snapped out of it, casting her a friendly smile (but May noted that it didn't quite reach his eyes, which were still worlds away). "Hey," she murmured. "You did the impossible today. You saved Skye's life. Why aren't you happy about it?" He didn't respond, and she sighed. "They told me you were yelling to not use the drug, to not use it on Skye. Why? What made you change your mind?"
His gaze drifted to the corner, horror eclipsing his features until she was certain she'd lost him entirely. "Phil," she prompted, and when he didn't respond she reached out and grabbed his hand. "Phil!"
He snapped his attention back to her and gave a weak, wobbly smile. "I just… being down there. Stirred up some things, that's all. I didn't want Skye to suffer the way I had."
May frowned. "Phil… you can tell me things you know."
He shook his head, almost as if to dismiss the fears, then looked her in the eye. "You can too," he told her. She shifted uncomfortably. "Is there anything you feel like you need to tell me?"
She held his gaze. "No."
(But that's a lie. That's a lie, and he knew it.)
(And the deeper they went with this dishonesty, this rift between them, the stronger of a sense she got that they would soon reach a point of no return.)
Swiftly, eager to change the subject, she pulled the scrap of paper out of her pocket. "Garrett gave me this."
Coulson raised an eyebrow. "That's Quinn's. I'm surprised he gave it to you."
"Said he didn't care enough to read it." May flicked it over to him. "You have the honors."
Coulson thumbed it open, his eyes scanning the words scrawled messily on the page, his brow knitting. He turned it over to May, worry etched onto his face. "Melinda…"
In messy, black ink, four words were scrawled onto the crinkled paper.
They have my son.
Please-
Please-
Keep breathing-
Coulson… and May… Fitz-Simmons…
Skye…
Please…
Hey… Skye…
Coulson… May…
Come on Skye…
Simmons… Fitz…
"Skye…?"
Light burned behind her eyelids. Hesitantly, she blinked, letting the searing brightness into her eyes, before screwing them shut again with a soft groan. As a steady beeping registered in her ears, her heart started thudding in her chest.
Discovery requires-
"Skye! Goodness, Skye, please, take a deep breath, you're okay."
But her heart raced and her skin prickled and she couldn't breathe-
And water sloshed in her skull and a rubber band constricted her lungs and the man with the round glasses and discovery and scalpels and needles and experimentation and-
"Skye, Skye, focus on me."
A hand grasped hers. Her breath snagged in her throat and she shook uncontrollably, squinting and registering Jemma in her vision. The British scientist looked absolutely shell-shocked, and suddenly Skye was aware that her hand wasn't the only one trembling.
Jemma Simmons.
Skye forced herself to steady her breathing; and when she did, the sound of glass clinking together registered. She sighed, pulling the vibrations back towards her and forcing herself to calm down before her quakes got the better of her. Jemma let out a shuddery sigh, her lips unconsciously pulling into a relieved smile.
"That's better isn't it?" she murmured, running her thumb across Skye's knuckles comfortingly. Skye felt her muscles untense at the feeling – Jemma must have noticed, because she continued the motion until Skye stopped shaking entirely. "You're okay," she cooed. "It's alright. I promise."
Skye sank down into the bed, suddenly exhausted. The tubing and lights and astringent, pristine chemical smell made her uneasy, but she felt better having Jemma by her side, at least a little bit anyway. Jemma wouldn't ever hurt anyone; she was sure of it.
(But the man, the one with the round glasses glinting under the harsh lights, entirely shrouded in shadow as he stood over her; but the scalpel setting fire to her skin; but the three-word phrase he'd uttered, a smirk playing on his lips because he'd enjoy it-)
"Wha-hap'n'd?" Skye unconsciously slurred, blinking to adjust to the lights. Simmons smiled at her.
"I'm surprised to see you awake so soon," she told her. "We just injected you not too long ago with a drug that saved your life." Upon Skye's confused - and probably disoriented - expression, she explained; "You took two bullets to the stomach in Quinn's mansion."
Skye hummed in response, her cheeks burning. Everything felt numb and fuzzy, but she was becoming aware of sharp, stabbing pains in her abdomen, and she wished her body had just let her sleep.
"My goodness Skye, you sure are quite the bullet magnet!" Jemma's voice broke her out of her thoughts, and she released her hand, giving a nervous laugh as if to try and mask or brush off the underlying, residual anxiety. She turned away, picking up some paperwork and thumbing through it, scrawling something at the bottom of one of the pages with a black pen. "Honestly though, you had me absolutely terrified. I really hope this whole 'me saving your life' situation doesn't become our thing – although I would save you a hundred times over, I promise."
For a moment, Skye felt a twinge of guilt at how much panic she'd caused – and at all the time and resources they'd wasted on her again. But something outside the window pulled her attention and she froze, her blood turning to ice.
Putting yourself in danger like that… careful…
Jemma's voice seemed to fade in the background, a ringing in her ears and the faint beeping increasing in frequency taking over her senses. The world went a little blurry, the edges of her vision growing hazy as she caught two figures outside the med pod-
If it wasn't for… we got lucky… oh..?
It was hard to tell, and her head was still spinning and she couldn't quite see straight… But- but-
Skye? What's going on? Your heart rate-
But it couldn't be. It couldn't be. No, no, no, it can't- It had been so long, and maybe she was delirious, after all, she couldn't even trust her own mind half the time, but- but-
"Skye!"
Skye ripped her attention back over towards Jemma, who had paled, her eyes widened in dismay. "Skye, what happened? Are you alright?" she gasped. "I lost you there for a second. Are you feeling side effects of the drug? Any dizziness, frailness, migraines, anything?"
The words were jumbled up and stuck in the back of her throat. Skye offered her a wobbly, feeble smile, quickly glancing back over to the window to double check, but the figures she'd seen were gone.
"Skye?" Jemma pressed urgently. "Skye, please-"
Skye drew a shuddery breath. "Yeah," she croaked, her entire body shivering with effort. "T-tired."
Jemma let out a relieved sigh, reaching slowly before placing her gentle hand on Skye's forehead, stroking it softly. "Get some rest, love," she murmured. "You've had a long couple of days. If there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to call any of us."
Skye nodded weakly in response. Jemma lingered for a moment, her fingertips tracing Skye's cheek, before she took a step back. She stopped in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder at her friend almost as if to reassure herself that Skye was, in fact, still there, before whirling back around and shutting the door behind her.
Skye inched herself up on the bed and craned her neck to look back out the window, searching for any glimpse of the figures she had been so sure she'd seen. They felt so real, it was so real-
But they were gone, and there was no way of knowing for sure-
But for that moment… for that one, single moment-
Skye had been certain she'd seen the smiling superior talking to Phil Coulson.