A/N: More MCU characters are going to show up in the future, so here's the introduction of one and the hint of another. And plot and stuff. You know the drill.

Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites. I appreciate all the support.

Enjoy!

"She told us not to touch it," Trip said to Jemma.

"We're not going to touch it," Jemma answered. "We're going to… scan it. Find out more about it. And draw her blood, run some more tests."

Trip slowed, slowing the gurney along with him. "You don't think this is going too far?"

Jemma shifted the charts in her arms. "She has a strange implant in her that produced an electrical shock. We have no idea why it's there, what it's doing, or what it might do in the future. Or if it's changed something in her system. If we want to keep her safe, we need to know as much as possible about her."

Trip looked down at Skye's motionless form on the gurney. After they'd ascertained that Skye was fully asleep, Dr. Coulson had administered a sedative and Jemma had called down to Shield Memorial's imaging labs to let them know they were bringing a psych patient down. As the labs readied, Dr. Coulson, Dr. May, and Jemma had held a quick conference, leading them to the plan they were in the middle of enacting.

"We can't keep her safe," Trip said quietly.

Jemma tilted her head and looked at him. "What's your gut telling you?"

Trip's gut was famous on the eighth floor. He often had feelings that led him to make decisions that averted crises. He once felt called to take a patient from the Lavender Room out into the hallway for a walk; not five minutes later a piece of construction equipment fell through the window. Trip had been on his way out of work after a shift when he turned around and went into the dayroom, where he'd arrived just in time to stop a young man from using a stolen razor blade to kill himself.

Needless to say, Jemma trusted Trip's gut. Everyone did, except for Mack, but Mack didn't trust most things he couldn't explain or understand.

"She's part of something bigger," Trip said, gently reaching down to brush hair away from Skye's face. "This thing in her shoulder… it might have been the first thing we're going to find but it's not going to be the last."

"You think she's a robot?"

"I think…" Trip shook his head. "I don't think at this point. But I went back and read all of the news stories and the police reports that came out of the lab she was rescued from, and those people were up to some sick stuff."

He rubbed his forehead. "They did something to her. Something we're not gonna like."

Jemma readjusted the charts again. "I've been over her medical records, Trip. She was diagnosed with autism at the age of four, after her family moved here from China. She's been this way since she was little – it's not anything new."

"Whatever they put in her is," Trip replied. "New enough that the test results aren't going to give us the kind of answers you're looking for."

"I guess we'll have to decide after we see the results," Jemma said. "Now, let's get this show on the road. MacNally and Rand don't like latecomers, and if we wait any longer, we'll end up behind a geriatric patient and time will come to a standstill."

"It always does," Trip said, and with his usual easygoing smile, he resumed pushing the gurney.

The test results aren't going to give us the kind of answers you're looking for.

"Or any answers," Jemma muttered as she flipped through the files.

The device in Skye's shoulder was made of a type of metal that Jemma had never heard of. It had a power source the scans couldn't identify. Its purpose was unknown. Its effects were unknown. And whoever had implanted it into the girl had made sure it was intricately woven into her nervous system.

In short, it was no less a mystery than it had been before the tests, and possibly even more mystifying was that Trip's gut had been right again. The scans revealed two other devices of unknown origin and composition, one located at the base of Skye's spine, and the other directly at the base of her skull.

Those people were up to some sick stuff.

"Couldn't agree more, Trip." Jemma rubbed her eyes. Skye was even more of a mystery now, and Jemma wasn't the kind of detective who could figure these things out.

Skye woke in the closet, feeling safe and swaddled, and she smiled.

Then she realized that the pain in her shoulder had stopped, but the low hum in the base of her skull had started again. It was like radio white noise, as though some invisible hand was twisting the dial across all the spectrums, then running that twisty hissing thrumming like a ribbon through the whatever-it-was that had been implanted where her head and her neck met.

At first it had hurt, but shortly thereafter Skye had realized the easiest way to get the pain to stop was to do whatever that white noise wanted her to do.

She pushed herself out of the nest of blankets and pillows, pushed the closet doors open, and tumbled out. The rest of the psych ward was quiet around her; she didn't have any idea what time it was, but it was significantly later than when she'd fallen asleep. As she got to her feet, she could see that it was dark outside.

The hum lowered in intensity as she staggered the first few steps to the door. Finally getting her feet under her, she moved out into the hallway.

Skye missed her computer. It was always easier to explain things to her father when she could type, when she could tell him what was happening. She didn't like the way he looked at her, as though his entire world was crumbling into pieces, when she told him she needed to go right now to make the humming stop.

Before she got the computer, the only way to make the humming stop was to beat her head against the floor. It still worked now, but she preferred just to go figure it out, since the head-beating had only resulted in unpleasant consequences, like migraines. And a helmet, prescribed by the county's home-bound teacher.

In the hallway she took a few cautious steps to one side, then the next, following the hum as it lowered the pressure against her skull.

The hallway was dimly lit, but it felt cozy rather than distressing. Between the hum and the cozy lights, Skye was feeling drowsy, but she knew she couldn't stop, or the humming would push up her skull and squeeze her into unconsciousness, and the things that happened after that were never good.

Each room went by in a blur of color. Blue, green, yellow, lavender.

Red.

The humming decreased as Skye stopped in front of the red room's door. She tilted her head, making sure she had it right.

The white noise straightened out into blips of words, pulsing at the base of Skye's skull.

Girl in there – wssshhhhh – missing someone – wshhhhh – help tell her – wsssshhhhh – tell her tell her now now now.

Without any further hesitation Skye stepped forward into the red room, waiting for the humming to stop, for her mission to become clearer.

It was only when she met the dark eyes of the girl on the bed that she realized she had no way of communicating her message.

Shit.

Computer. Computer. Need computer.

Dad. Dad?

Need to type.

She froze.

The girl on the bed looked at her for a long moment. Then she brought her hand up and beckoned Skye into the room.

The pressure in Skye's head eased even further as the humming stopped. She curled up on the bed next to the dark-haired girl, and she didn't flinch away when a gentle hand came down, stroking her head carefully.

For a time Skye floated in the room with the red walls, wrapping around her like a caress. The hand on her head moved rhythmically, always gently, a kind of touch Skye hadn't known she was missing.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before the girl spoke.

"Have you seen… my brother?"

The voice was lower-pitched than Skye had imagined, the words spoken slowly as though the girl was drugged, the sentence twisty with an Eastern European accent.

"I am… looking for…"

Wssshhhhh.

The white noise blared in Skye's head and she arched her head back, trying to get away from the sudden pressure.

"Is okay, darling," the girl said.

She stroked Skye's head. "Be over soon."

Skye closed her eyes and waited.

"I am… I am Wanda," the girl went on, still speaking carefully. "You are Skye."

You are Skye.

Skye liked the way she said that so confidently. In this place where everything was new or confusing or painful or all three, there were some things she just needed to hear.

"Have you seen… my brother?"

No.

As though she'd spoken aloud, Wanda nodded. "I have thought so. He is… he is gone?"

The white noise says so.

Pain flared in the back of Skye's skull and she tried to pull away from it, whimpering.

"Is okay… is okay, beautiful. I am… I am… I am here."

Skye reached up and clenched her hands around Wanda's arms.

Make it stop. Make it stop.

Too loud. Too loud.

Room too big. Room too big.

Can't breathe. Can't breathe.

FIX IT FIX IT FIX IT FIX IT –

She didn't realize she was screaming until Wanda's hands moved to her face. "Shh, beautiful. I hear. I hear. Shhh, shh…"

The pain pinched in deeper, but Skye couldn't take a breath to continue screaming.

"Shhh, shh, beautiful."

Wanda brought one hand up and resumed stroking her hair. A few seconds later, she began singing, her voice light and sweet. Skye couldn't understand the words; they were in some foreign language, but she understood their meaning all the same.

See the lovely birch in the meadow…

The fist of pain punching the back of Skye's skull dissipated slowly, but not without consequences – she found herself drifting, entwined with the sounds of Wanda's lullaby.

Far in the background she could hear her mother's voice, cruel and cold and sarcastic, but the white noise drowned it out, and for that Skye was grateful.

The hand on her head didn't stop its gentle ministrations, so when the other hand came down to carefully trace some of the words carved into her skin, Skye didn't flinch away. Wanda's fingers on her scars felt different than everyone else's.

Like she wasn't a mute autistic freak stuck in a body that spoke louder than she ever could.

Like maybe she'd been beautiful once.

Like maybe she could be beautiful again.

Jemma sighed and closed the file. "I can't work on this any longer," she said to Dr. May, who was sitting across from her.

"Any further leads?"

"Not a one." Jemma shook her head.

"I've got a call in to a colleague who specializes in medical engineering," Dr. May said. "If these devices were made by anyone in the industry, he'll know what they are and how we can best help Skye."

Jemma gave an affirmative sort of noise and rubbed her eyes. "When they brought her in, I thought she was just an autistic young woman who had witnessed terrible trauma."

"No one's ever as simple as that," Dr. May said.

"We are adrift in a sea that no one's ever charted before," Jemma said. "We don't have any way to make a map, no compass to guide us."

Dr. May leaned back in the chair. "We have a compass."

Jemma raised her head.

Dr. May was smiling, something rare for her. "She's about yea high" – she raises her hand a bit above her shoulders – "skinny, dark-haired, stubborn, courageous…"

I would have let her lead.

Jemma's words on the first day of Skye's stay came flooding back to her. "You're right."

Dr. May nodded. "We all know our patients are bigger than their bodies, than whatever's tying down their minds. We have to be willing to work a little harder for the girl, but think about how much extra work she's doing to even stay upright in a new place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and voices and sights and smells and tastes."

Tastes.

"Oh, God, I don't think she got any dinner," Jemma said, standing up hurriedly. "And she only eats certain things, and…"

Dr. May stood up as well. "Slow down a bit there, Dr. Simmons. I asked Bobbi to call in a few favors with food services, and they were able to send us up some greater quantities of the things Skye will eat. Dr. Coulson and I put them in a cabinet in the patients' kitchen."

"Oh. Thank you," Jemma said.

"We all want to be able to help Skye as much as we can," Dr. May said. "Please let me know if there's anything I or any other member of our treatment team can do to pitch in."

Jemma nodded. "I will," she said softly.

When Dr. May had gone, Jemma made her way down the hallway to the patients' kitchen, thinking she could at least bring Skye some pretzels and an apple.

She ground to a halt outside the Red Room. She could hear a voice – singing, it sounded like.

It can't be.

And yet the lilting syllables were foreign and exotic. There was only one person who could be making those kinds of sounds.

Wanda Maximoff was a refugee from some god-forsaken Eastern European country that had been war-torn nearly as long as it had been in existence. Her parents had scrimped and saved to send Wanda and her twin brother to stay with relatives in America, relatives who had taken the money and left the twins destitute and barely able to speak English. They had been living in an abandoned house when two other homeless youths broke in. There had been a scuffle and somehow Wanda's brother had been shot.

He was still alive, but comatose in Shield Memorial's long-term ventilator-dependent ward. Wanda hadn't seen him since the events in the house, since nearly immediately afterwards, she had experienced a terrifying psychotic break. She had gone after the two attackers, knocking one unconscious and hurting another so badly that the amputation of two fingers was necessary.

She remembered none of it.

And she hadn't spoken, or made any noises, since she'd been brought to the eighth floor.

The song slowed, and then there was silence. Jemma found that she was holding her breath, but she didn't have to wait for long.

"Sleep here… beautiful. Stay safe. None of the… bad dreams now, yes?"

Wanda's voice sounded beautiful. Jemma wanted to rush into the room and hug the Sokovian girl, but she knew that would ruin all of it, and possibly frighten Wanda into silence again.

"Have you seen... my brother? I am looking… for my brother. He is… my twin brother. I want… my brother."

Silence fell again, and then Wanda spoke. "Beautiful girl… very quiet girl… my brother? Yes? We find?"

Another few beats of silence.

"I see your… skin words… is okay. You are still beautiful. Beautiful girl."

Jemma froze again. Wanda wasn't just talking – she was talking to someone. Specifically, to Skye.

She's part of something bigger, Trip had said.

His gut had been right again.

But now Jemma was terrified of what the ramifications of that "something bigger" might be.

Something was telling her it wasn't all going to be positive, like hearing Wanda's voice.

Like the strange devices in Skye's body, that something bigger was shady, and mysterious, and almost certainly wrong.