Ch. 6

The next three weeks went by in a predictable fashion. I dutifully worked on my on-line classes. Some of the material I already knew, some of the material was mind-numbingly easy and some of it was so incredibly difficult that I was worried that I was going to need glasses from all of the hours spent trying to decipher it. My academy instructors were fairly helpful via e-mail, though, and before long I had finished the first semester's coursework in less than a month.

One night, I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, trying to complete one last assignment before falling asleep, when I heard a knock on my half-open door.

"Come in," I said, expecting it to be Jemma. She'd stop by from time to time to give me a pep talk. It was nice being around someone who had so recently graduated from the academy, even if it was in a different field.

"Hi," Coulson said as he entered my room. My mind scrambled automatically to try and figure out why he was there. Had I done something wrong once again? Hacked into the wrong website? Became Facebook friends with the wrong person? I was amazed at how many of my old Rising Tide acquaintances were on the FBI watch list.

"Hi, AC," I said with a smile, masking my distress. "Come right in."

"It's Agent Coulson," he sighed. "I just wanted to let you know that several of your instructors have contacted me."

"They have?" I asked, my throat tightening. Maybe I'd been a bit too snarky or pushy when I emailed them. It's so very hard to strike the right tone with people you've never met face to face.

"They've all been uniformly impressed. You're plowing through the coursework like no one they've ever seen. They had a proposal."

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"Well, given that you have completed the more basic coursework so quickly, they've decided to engineer a more streamlined program for you."

"What does that mean? Specifically," I said.

"You will focus only on the most advanced subjects and test out of the areas you already know. At your current rate, you should be done in about two or three more months," Coulson said, as he leaned against my door jam, arms crossed in front of him.

"Wow; that'd be great," I said, happy to finally have an end in sight.

"I'm proud of you, kiddo," Coulson said, with a wink and turned to go.

He was proud of me. He had no idea what those words meant to me. Is that what it felt like, when your dad says he's proud of you? When he looks at the hard work that you've done and he approves?

"Coulson?"

"Yeah," he said, turning back.

"Thanks, for everything. Thanks for believing in me. Thanks for going to bat for me. Thanks for putting your neck out for me. It . . . it means a lot to me." Whether or not Coulson was really my dad, I couldn't imagine having a better father.

"You're welcome, Skye. But, you should know, I did it, all of it, because you're worth it. You're worth believing in." He stood there for a moment, looking like he might say something more, but then he just turned to walk away. "Don't stay up too late," he called out over his shoulder.

"I won't," I called out to him as he walked away.

" . . . . Dad," I whispered ever so softly to myself.