A/N: Intrigue! Flashbacks! More MCU characters! Going to eat dinner (now that I'm done with this chapter)!
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Enjoy!
"Melinda May, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."
"Tony Stark, always kissing ass."
"Oh, no ma'am. Far too early for that."
"I agree." The other man who'd entered the office stuck out his hand. "It's good to see you again, Dr. May."
"And you as well, Dr. Banner."
"I hear you've got an interesting case for us," Bruce Banner said.
"Yeah – an autistic robot girl," Tony said from the corner, where he was juggling three of the decorative spheres Melinda had in a glass jar by the window.
"Put those down before you hurt yourself," Melinda said half-heartedly. She looked up at Bruce. "He's going to do it anyway, so…"
"Ow," came softly from the other side of the room as Tony whacked himself in the nose with the largest of the spheres.
Bruce rolled his eyes. "I think what Tony meant to say was, a young woman with autism who recently experienced significant trauma and has been discovered to have several devices of unknown origin and purpose inserted in her body."
"By her mother and associates of her mother," Melinda agreed. "They claim they were doing medical research, but apparently their definition of that is 'torturing disabled children.'"
She passed Tony the file on the strange machines found in Skye's body, and handed a file to Bruce detailing Skye's medical condition. "Coulson and I are hoping you'd both take a look at her. She's a puzzle for sure."
There was a knock at the office door.
"Come in," Melinda called.
Jemma entered, and stopped short at the sight of the two visitors. "Oh, I'm sorry. I can come back later."
"It's fine, Jemma," Melinda said. "These are my two consultants, Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner. They're here to see Skye."
"I'm here to see you about Skye as well," Jemma said. "Uh, last night I was going to get her something to eat, and I heard someone talking…"
"She was speaking?" Melinda furrowed her brow.
Jemma shook her head. "No, although the actual explanation is just as exciting."
Melinda leaned back in her chair.
"It was Wanda. Wanda was talking to her."
Melinda's eyes widened slightly, which Jemma knew was an expression of extreme surprise. "What? Are you sure?"
Jemma nodded. "I know! It was… it was unbelievable."
"That's incredible."
"That's Skye," Jemma said proudly. "She's… there's something special about her."
Then her face fell. "Um, but, getting back to the reason I came in… she's missing. They both are."
Melinda grabbed her phone and punched in a four-digit code. "Shield Memorial initiate lockdown protocol 8-2-A. Repeat initiate full lockdown, protocol 8-2-A."
"Where would they go?" Jemma wailed. "Skye wants to be in as small a space as possible, and Wanda…"
She threw up her hands.
"We'll figure it out," Melinda said. "Let's go."
Skye felt off. The light hurt her eyes, and she swayed as she followed Wanda down the hallway. Dressed in their loose hospital-issued pajamas, they definitely looked like they weren't supposed to be there. Everything was blurry and she walked with her hands out, trying to use her fingertips to figure out how the world had changed so quickly.
Dad? Head. Dad?
Skye pressed her fingers against the back of her head, where she knew the mysterious white-noise machine was located. She nearly sank to her knees with pain. Something was wrong.
"He's… he is…" Wanda stopped in front of a room.
Skye didn't like it here. There were too many people who were going to die. Too many beeping machines and clicking machines and wires and tubes and –
Wake up wake up wake up wake up
Before they do the same do the same do the same do the same
To you to you to you to you
Done it once they'll do it again
Skye pressed her hands against her ears and choked out something that sounded like a wail.
Too loud. Too loud. Too loud.
They're too loud. They're all too loud.
Wanda took a few steps back towards her and reached out her hand. "Is all right. I hear. Shh."
Skye was somewhere else, though, her head ringing. She felt Wanda's fingers carefully release as the older girl murmured, "Pietro."
Wanda entered the room in front of her, and Skye could tell she'd been forgotten. It wasn't the worst thing.
Then she heard the PA system: "Shield Memorial initiate lockdown protocol 8-2-A. Repeat initiate full lockdown protocol 8-2-A."
For us. They'll take us back. Take us back.
Hurt us. No. Hurt us.
Skye dropped to the floor, fingers twined in her hair. The white noise flooded her head, but she was too tired to follow it.
Make it stop. Make it stop. Have to make it stop.
No matter how hard she pulled on her hair the white noise wouldn't let up.
Want you to –ssshhhh – get up find – ssshhhh – don't you – shsshhhshhh – to be ignored – sshhhhh – stupid whore.
She slapped her head, over and over.
You're not strong enough – shhhwhshhh – ignore us – shhhsshhh – mother doesn't – shhshshh – how could she ever love you?
Skye whimpered. The tile floor under her felt cold and suddenly it was as though she was out of her body. She was somewhere else, someone else, and she was seeing…
… her house. The day it happened. She was sitting at the kitchen table, her computer under her fingers, her head tilted, watching her father. He stood at the kitchen sink, getting ready to prepare breakfast, but first he was trying to make her laugh by juggling oranges.
"Oh ma darlin', oh ma darlin', oh ma darlin', these aren't oranges they're clementines," he sang in his throaty, terrible-voiced way. He had a goofy smile on his face. "You sure you won't try an orange – oh, sorry, a clementine – this morning?"
"Heh," Skye said vocally, moving her fingers to her computer to type; she had to tell him she wouldn't put any citrus fruit in her mouth. As it turned out, she didn't need to say anything – he knew her far too well.
"I know, little flower," her father said. "You're not into citrus fruits. They're an acquired taste… and apparently, a not-autistic taste."
He did one more round of juggling with the oranges. "I'll get you the Cheerios."
"I can get them Dad" the computer informed him, and Skye slid from her seat.
Her father began peeling the clementines so he could separate them into slices. Skye stood in front of the pantry, looking up at the neatly-organized food items within. No matter how hard she looked she couldn't find the yellow box with her favorite cereal inside.
She turned to her father. "Hmm?" she asked him, tapping his box of off-brand granola and the empty space beside it where the Cheerios should have been.
"Oh, you know what?" her father asked, putting the fruit slices into his bowl of yogurt and granola, "I bought another box at the store the other day, but I think it ended up in the basement with the paper towels and the laundry soap."
The phone rang and he moved to answer it. Just before he picked up the receiver, he said, "If you wait until I'm done with whatever flavor of telemarketer or bill collector's calling down the line at the moment, I'll get them for you."
He picked up the handset. "Hello?"
She was bored nearly instantly. Bored, and hungry. And irritated.
On the schedule it was very clear – "Make Bed. Eat Breakfast. Brush Teeth." She couldn't do one without the others, and she'd made her bed. Now it was breakfast time.
The phone conversation flowed over her and around her like bubbles in a stream; she didn't understand what her father was saying – all of her attention was focused on a bowl of Cheerios.
Skye sighed and closed the pantry door. She slipped out of the kitchen and walked down the hall to the basement door. She tapped the doorknob, opened the door, and turned on the light. Her feet felt weird on the wooden planks of the basement floor, and then even stranger when she made it to the bottom of the stairs, where the floor was cement.
It wasn't that she didn't like the basement. She just didn't spend much time there anymore.
(Also, there was that thing where it kinda resembled one of the labs where she'd been… taken, and those kinds of places were the kinds of places that made Skye physically ill.)
She left her fingers on the stair railing as long as she could, moving only as far as her arm length would allow. She didn't see the Cheerios.
Eventually she found the courage to take a few steps away from the railing and take a better look around the basement. The Cheerios were in a bag with the laundry soap, just as her father had indicated. Skye grabbed them happily and headed back up the stairs, grateful to be away from the creepy dark space.
As she reached the top of the stairs a door slammed and Skye jumped. Then she heard yelling. A lot of yelling, way too loud for her to understand or even process the words. Everything slowed down around her and her arms went numb. The Cheerios fell to the floor.
The basement door flew open and her father was standing there. He looked terrified and there was blood on his face.
Skye let out a scream as her father scooped her up and ran her down the hallway to his room. He opened the closet door and pushed her in.
Skye whimpered up at him, trying to get her mouth to form at least a syllable or two.
"I'll be right back," her father said. "Don't move. Be quiet."
He closed the closet door and disappeared.
For six minutes thirty-eight seconds Skye didn't move. Everything around her went quiet.
Then she felt sick. Her stomach sloshed and she needed to throw up.
Her father had said he'd come back. But he hadn't. And if he was there, he'd let her go to the bathroom.
Skye pushed the closet door open and crawled across the floor to the hallway, across the hallway and into the bathroom, retching and sobbing the entire time. She made it to the bathroom just in time and threw up in the trash can.
Too much. Too much.
After that things came in blinks of blurry time-skips. She remembered being on the floor. Then on her feet. Then back on the floor. Then in the hallway looking up at her school pictures. Then hearing yelling from the kitchen. Then realizing she didn't have her computer and deciding to go look for it.
Then seeing a man in the kitchen standing over her father, yelling. The bad man had a gun. Her father did not. Her father was still bleeding.
Skye bit her fingers. She wanted her computer.
She took another step into the kitchen. There was another bad man on the floor back the back door and he was not moving.
Breathing started to hurt and Skye heard herself start to babble, long random strings of syllables that meant nothing and yet tried to say everything.
When she started making noise the man with the gun turned around. "Oh," he said, his voice one of sly satisfaction. "Daisy."
I AM NOT DAISY.
Skye looked at her father. His nose was bleeding.
"Daisy, that's it, come here," the man with the gun said.
I AM NOT DAISY EVER HE SAID I DON'T HAVE TO BE DAISY EVER EVER EVER AGAIN.
Skye looked over at the kitchen table. Her computer was right there. And so was the knife her father had been using to cut up apple slices for her breakfast.
"Leave her alone," her father said, his voice gravelly. "This isn't about her."
"Oh, Cal," the man with the gun said. "It's always been about her."
I AM NOT DAISY HAVE TO SHOW HIM I AM NOT DAISY.
I AM SORRY I AM SO SORRY.
The man with the gun turned further towards her father and Skye edged her way to the kitchen table.
A blink and the knife was in her hand.
Another blink and she was behind the man.
Another blink and she was driving the knife into the man, over and over, sobbing and screaming.
Then her father moving towards her, and Skye backing away, shaking. The sticky knife fell to the floor and Skye screamed, beating her head with her hands.
I had to he was hurting you. I had to make him go away.
He said I was Daisy I am not Daisy I am SO SORRY.
Her father wrapped his arms around her. "It's going to be all right," he whispered. "Go hide in your closet. I'm going to get help."
Somehow Skye made it back into her closet. Somehow she put her headphones and her sunglasses on. Somehow she let the darkness and the quiet pull her into a cocoon, a place she could forget about what she'd just done.
"Skye," a gentle voice said. "Skye, can you open your eyes?"
I am not Daisy.
Skye tried to figure out where she was. The floor under her was cool and smooth.
"Skye, I think it's over. You had a seizure," the gentle voice continued. "Can you open your eyes, please?"
Skye opened her eyes and saw Dr. Jemma kneeling next to her. She tasted blood in her mouth and she felt pain encircling her head and bright spears of pain running down her face.
"You're safe, sweetheart," Jemma said softly, and she stroked Skye's hair.
Skye sat up slowly, groggily, and reached out for Jemma. Her fingers were sticky with blood and as she reached up to touch her face, she realized that was where it was coming from. Long scratches, as though she'd been trying to take her face off.
Then she saw what Jemma was holding. Her computer.
Skye grabbed for it, feeling her breathing get more constricted. She was a ball of nothing, a blunted half-girl paper doll and she had to break out.
With her bloody fingers she turned it on, impatiently tapping the screen as she waited for it to power up. The typing window opened and she began pressing keys.
"I killed the man," the computer spoke. "I killed the man. I am so sorry I am not Daisy Daisy killed the man."
Skye couldn't look at Jemma after she typed that. She stared up at the ceiling tiles, flicking her fingers up towards her mouth.
"Oh, Skye," Jemma whispered.
Now she'll draw away. She won't want me anymore.
She knows I'm a monster.
"Thank you for telling me," Jemma said gently. "Will you come with me? I want to get you cleaned up and make sure you're safe."
"Oh," Skye vocalized, and she reached out for Jemma.
Though she had been expecting the doctor to pull away, or for an orderly to jab her with a syringe or for a nurse to throw her into restraints, none of those things happened. Instead Jemma leaned in, wrapping her arms around Skye. She smelled like clean clothes and lavender, and Skye felt her body relax.
It was one of the only hugs Skye hadn't wanted to pull away from.
Still a monster.
But in that moment, it didn't seem to matter so much.