A/N: Disclaimer: The apartment manager referenced in this story is entirely fictional and in no way bears any resemblance to, nor is based on, the real apartment manager at The Cove in Lubbock, whom I have never met. ;)
Blood. Fear. Determination. Darkness.
Rubble falling through shafts of sunlight.
Grief that seared her lungs so that she couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She was paralyzed, choking, dying.
Skye's whole body convulsed before she opened her eyes and realized where she was. The table and chair were skittering around the floor of the Cage.
Another nightmare.
Skye took a deep breath, pulling herself together, then quickly leaned over the side of the cot to grab the reinforced box tied to its leg. She flipped the box open and pulled out the supplies she needed.
She wasn't sure she'd ever get the hang of putting a tourniquet on herself with one hand. But it had to be done.
Skye swabbed her arm with an alcohol wipe, then attached the needle to the holder and took another deep breath before sliding it into her arm. She pushed the collection tube onto the holder, wincing at the way the motion tweaked the needle, and was relieved to see the tube begin to fill with blood.
Oh good. She'd hit the vein the first time, this time. It was harder than Simmons made it look.
Especially when her hands were usually shaking.
The draw finished, Skye removed the tourniquet and pressed a cotton ball onto the site before popping the needle into the sharps container, exhaling in relief. She shook the tube of blood, then glanced over at her laptop (which had stopped shaking) to see what time it was. She wrote the time on the tube's label: 0137.
She carefully replaced the blood draw supplies in the box, putting the tube into the miniaturized refrigerator compartment Fitz had designed, then pulled a notebook out from under her pillow.
0137
Nightmare. San Juan. Fear, horror. Feeling of being trapped. Grief.
Her hand faltered, and she had to pause a moment before continuing.
Emotional intensity: 8.
Skye shoved the notebook and pen back under her pillow and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Eventually, exhaustion overcame her reluctance to sleep, and she dropped off again.
There was a knock on the door shortly after her alarm began sounding. Skye squinted at the laptop screen, wondering if she'd somehow fallen back to sleep and was late for tai chi. But it was only 3:32.
"Hang on," she called out groggily. She sat up, twisting her hair up into a knot and making sure her pj's were decent. She padded over to the door in bare feet. "Come in."
Hunter was standing in the hallway, stifling a yawn. Skye blinked in confusion. It was Sunday morning, and he wasn't due back until Monday at 0600. "What are you doing here?"
"My turn for overnight," he explained mildly, leaning heavily against the door frame. "I'll admit I haven't been awake the whole time, but I saw you had to do a blood draw around 0130. I've come to take it down to the lab for Simmons when she gets there."
Skye nodded blankly, still fuzzy from sleep. She shuffled back over to her cot and opened up the reinforced box, emptied the refrigerator compartment, then came back to deposit the contents in Hunter's gloved hand.
His eyes widened slightly as realization set in. "Three tubes?" he observed softly.
"Yeah. Crappy night."
"I'll say." He studied Skye cautiously for a moment, and she avoided his gaze by examining the blank gray wall. "I'm sorry. That's rough."
"Tell me about it."
"D'you need anything before tai chi? Oatmeal? Smoothie?" His voice was gentle and genuinely concerned, and Skye felt something in her heart break just a little. She scrambled to reinforce the walls around it, not wanting to melt down.
Not that Hunter hadn't seen her do it before. She just couldn't go there. Once the tears started, they might never stop.
"I'm fine, thanks," she replied, forcing herself to be courteous, even though she really felt too drained for pleasantries.
"D'you want to talk about it?"
That was the last thing she wanted. It would just make the floodgates open. "No."
Hunter continued examining her, and she continued looking everywhere but at him. "Listen," he offered quietly after a moment, "I know you've got a lot you're working through. If you ever need a listening ear, I've got two, and plenty of time on my hands. And you know where to find me."
"Thanks," she repeated, her voice quavering a little.
They stood facing one another, Skye carefully avoiding eye contact, until Hunter awkwardly nodded a goodbye and pulled the door closed.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
And she was locked in again.
Skye felt like a zombie in the briefing that morning. Her much-interrupted sleep, combined with a strange emotional numbness, left her in a kind of mental fog. She was only half-aware that Hunter - appearing on her screen today by virtue of ending up next to Coulson - kept tossing concerned glances in her direction.
The briefing proceeded as so many had lately - devoid of answers. Simmons' testing was all coming up empty. All the leads on the super-powered city-bus-moving guy in Lubbock were dead ends.
The video had been legit - posted by a college kid named Jonathan Stevens, who had a mediocre cell phone camera and a YouTube channel primarily consisting of video game walkthroughs and videos of his cat. (He had more hits in one day on the bus-moving video than he'd had total in four years.) Agent Thomson had brought him in for questioning and discovered that someone had paid him $50 to stand on that street corner at that time, but Stevens couldn't really describe the guy who'd done it. "Long trench coat and a hat," he'd said. "Sunglasses, even though it was a cloudy day. He was white, maybe 6'?"
"That narrows it down," Bobbi had observed dryly when she heard the report.
Her research at the apartment complex hadn't come up with much more. The studio apartment had been rented on a month-to-month basis by the man in the video, but all the documentation provided - under the name of James Smith - had been completely falsified. Agent Thomson had interrogated the apartment manager, too. He seemed clean, if a bit oblivious.
Apparently, though, Bobbi didn't agree with that assessment. Skye became aware that a mild confrontation was taking place.
"I find it incredible that the manager didn't follow up on any of the documentation," Bobbi stated bluntly. "Are you sure that Thomson's interrogation tactics were adequate?"
"Agent Thomson's tactics were more than adequate for the situation at hand," Coulson replied mildly.
"Sir, with all due respect, maybe we should consider a second round of interrogation. I'm more than willing to -"
"I'm satisfied with the results of Agent Thomson's interrogation, Agent Morse," Coulson interrupted, his tone pleasant, but with an undercurrent of steel. "But thank you for your willingness."
Skye caught how Hunter's jaw set as he glanced from Coulson to Bobbi and back.
Huh.
"Skye," Coulson turned to her, and she jumped. "What do we have from security and traffic cameras?"
"Squat," she summarized. "The place where Sunglasses met Stevens was a dead zone; there's nothing, coming or going, except Stevens a little while later. After the bus, Hulk walked down a side street and then just, like, literally vanished. Whoever these people are, they know where cameras are and how to avoid being caught by them unless they want to be."
Coulson let out an exasperated sigh. Skye had to fight not to zone out as he went back over what they knew - or, more precisely, didn't know - and they figured out the next steps.
"Simmons." Coulson pulled her aside after the briefing, nodding toward the laptop where Skye had just ended the transmission. "How is she doing?"
Simmons glanced at the laptop and back to him, pressing her lips together. "Not particularly well, sir," she admitted. "The strain of captivity is wearing on her, and that itself would be difficult enough without the losses she's unwilling to process. Unfortunately, to make any progress with sorting out her physiologic symptoms, I really need to see the effects of psychological distress when she is awake, as well as when she's asleep." Simmons' smile was tinged with sadness. "You know Skye - she always wants to be strong, to do what's necessary. Unfortunately, what's necessary right now is that she allow herself not to be strong, and that's a difficult pill for her to swallow."
Coulson nodded, frowning. "I'll go talk to her. I should have done it already, but..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing wearily. "It's been crazy around here."
Simmons smiled encouragingly. "I'm sure she would welcome a visit from you, sir."
A few feet away, Hunter leaned against the wall, listening.
The knock on Skye's door was quiet, and she almost didn't hear it at first. "Come in," she called, leaning back in her chair to stretch.
Coulson came in, closing the door behind him. He was the only one who ever came in, and it always made Skye a little nervous: even though there wasn't much in her room - in the Cage, she mentally corrected - that could become a projectile, the extent of her powers was still a mystery, and she felt safer when everyone was safe from her. But something in Coulson compelled him to come in person. She suspected it was the colossal over-responsibility he tended to carry.
He hadn't come in several days now, since before they'd started the blood draws. She had to admit, it was really good to see him. And to have another human in the room.
He came over and sat down on her cot, and she turned around backward in the chair to face him. "I heard you had a rough night," he began, lightly but empathetically.
Skye nodded carefully, her jaw working as she tried to maintain her composure.
"Simmons tells me you've been having lots of nightmares, but no manifestations during the day."
"Yeah."
"She also told me that she needs data from conscious episodes in order to draw accurate conclusions."
Skye cleared her throat. "Yeah."
"She also told me that, according to her assessment, you're in denial and keeping a pretty tight lid on your emotions."
Skye nodded.
"That's gotta suck," he observed mildly.
Skye couldn't help it. She laughed quietly.
Coulson smiled, then sobered, his eyes full of caring. "I know that this is hard for you," he went on quietly. "To tell you the truth, I don't really know how to handle it, either. We need you, and we need you able to keep it together...but Simmons tells me that what she needs, and what you need right now, is for you not to."
Skye nodded, holding his gaze. She knew she'd been avoiding what Simmons had asked her to do, hoping they'd be able to find out enough just from the results from her nightmares. But apparently that wasn't cutting it. She spoke in a low voice. "I'm afraid that once I open those doors, I won't be able to shut them."
Coulson nodded. "You may not be able to. Not at first."
She looked down at her hands. "I'm not sure I'll be able to function," she admitted.
Coulson reached toward her and took one of her hands in his. "You may not be able to at first. But you can't stay in here forever. As much as we need you to function, we also need you out of this room. And you need some answers. I know what that's like," he added quietly. "To have unexplained things happening to you, and to want answers. I want you to be able to find them. We can handle things out here while you take some time to work on that."
Skye nodded, that little something in her heart cracking again. Tears stood in her eyes. "Thanks, A.C."
He smiled. "No problem. Sorry I took so long between visits. Things are a little crazy out there."
"I know."
"But don't you worry about that. You do what you need to do, so you can get out of here and I can start sending you into the field instead of me. I'm getting too old for this." He winked at her, and Skye cracked a smile.
"I'll do what I can."
Coulson stood up. "Are they taking good care of you?"
Skye smiled up at him. "Yeah."
"Good." Coulson was serious. "If anything is lacking, you let me know."
"Hunter could stop asking me for tips."
Coulson's lips quirked in an amused grin. "Duly noted."
They looked at each other. "Thanks for coming," Skye said quietly.
Coulson nodded, a shadow crossing his face. "Hang in there. This is a rough road, but we're going to get to the end of it."
"Okay."
Coulson cast one last encouraging gaze at her on his way out the door.
Click. Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. Scrape.
Skye exhaled gustily, leaning her head against the back of the chair. After a moment, she made her way over to her cot, sitting cross-legged and resting her head back against the wall. She waved flippantly at Simmons (who, she knew, was on surveillance duty today) and then closed her eyes.
Skye took a couple of deep breaths, allowing the emotions percolating below the surface of her consciousness to begin to rise to it.
Pain
Confusion
Guilt
She felt her heart rate rising and heard the faint humming of vibrations.
Trip is gone. My mother is gone. Whitehall murdered her. Whitehall is dead.
Death. It followed her everywhere she went. First her father. Now her.
If he hadn't -
Skye was caught off guard by an overwhelming surge of anger, and the table and chair slammed into the wall of the Cage. The screen shook violently and creaked, almost breaking in half. The strength of her powers momentarily shocked her out of her thoughts, but the surge of emotion returned immediately with renewed intensity.
If he hadn't pursued me; if he had left me alone; if Ward hadn't been such a delusional asshole; if I hadn't gone down there, oh God, if I hadn't been such an idiot, none of this would have happened.
Skye's eyes were squeezed shut, and she was vaguely aware that she was jamming her fingernails into the palms of her hands. Her mind was overwhelmed with the screaming of her heart and the rattling of her surroundings.
I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't ask for my lunatic father to chase me across the world, to assault my friends, to drag me to some bizarre "destiny" that I didn't want; I didn't ask to be the daughter of a monster and someone "special". It isn't fair. It isn't right. It shouldn't be like this.
Trip shouldn't be gone. My mother shouldn't be gone. I shouldn't be here.
If I had never gone looking, if I'd left well enough alone, if I'd stayed the hell away from SHIELD, Trip would still be alive.
Her anguish demanded a physical vent, and she slammed her open hand against the wall of the Cage once - twice - three times before slumping against the wall, her palm stinging.
I never wanted to be special. I never wanted a big break. I just want all of this to stop. I want out of here. I have to stop being such a useless drain on everyone I care about.
The anger slowly softened into despair, and tears began to roll freely down Skye's cheeks.
A frightened, little-girl voice deep within her cried out. How long are they going to put up with me before they send me away?
Skye crumpled onto her pillow.
Over in the lab, Fitz turned to Simmons. "Are we going to do something to intervene?"
Simmons turned to him with a sad, watery smile. "I'm afraid there's nothing that we can do, Fitz. Skye's only way out of this is to work through it. And we need her to, if we're to discover what's behind the abilities she's manifesting. She's breaking, and it's painful, but it's progress."
A tear trailed down Simmons' cheek, and Fitz gingerly placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She covered it with her own hand and closed her eyes briefly, as if overcome, before opening them to continue watching Skye.