A/N: There was such an overwhelmingly positive reaction to the first part of this that I thought I should probably write some more. Unfortunately, I will be working for the majority of the weekend and I don't know if I'll have a new chapter up until maybe Tuesday, so I figured I would give you all this little bit while I work on the next chapter.
Enjoy!
Overnight Skye's fever spikes and she rocks back and forth in the bed, babbling and screaming. She can hear Simmons moving around the room, trying to bring down the fever, but she can't seem to figure out how to communicate rationally. Her fingers grip the blanket on the bed as sweat drips down her face. Around her she can hear things wobbling and shaking, and every part of her body aches.
"Please, Jemma, please," Skye begs. She doesn't know what she's asking for, only that she desperately needs something, anything. "Please, please make it stop."
"I'm trying," Simmons says. "You have to believe me, Skye. I'm trying."
Skye can feel her airway closing off, clogged with mucus, and she panics, trying to cough her way back to breathing. Her ribcage shoots daggers of pain into her lungs and it feels just like drowning. She reaches out for Simmons, or the blurry blob she thinks is Simmons, and sways on the bed.
Simmons catches her and Skye cries out in pain. From the kitchen she hears something crash to the floor.
A cup comes to Skye's lips, smelling of medicine, and she gags.
"Swallow it, Skye," Simmons says. "Drink, please."
It chokes Skye and she can't breathe, but somehow the medicine drips down her throat. She hears the whir of the mist machine and she tries to fight Simmons off. "No. No more. No more, please."
"I'm going to clear your airway," Simmons says, and a thin plastic tube slips into Skye's mouth.
Her instincts kick in and she reaches up, trying to grab Simmons' arms, to fight off her attacker. She swings at Simmons and thinks she's successfully connected when a sharp arc of pain rings across her head, not realizing the pain was from Simmons' hand connecting solidly with her head. Her ears ring and the room stops shaking.
"Skye," Simmons says, her voice very low, "the tube is to suck mucus out of your mouth and throat. If you'd like to breathe without vomiting, I suggest you let me do it."
Something in Skye gives in, and the tube goes back into her mouth. For a long minute she feels like she's drowning all over again, and then there's a pinhole-sized break in the mucus and cool air rushes down her throat.
"Oh," she says faintly when the machine stops humming.
"Skye, I want you to listen to me," Simmons says. "You are too agitated. Your fever is dangerously high again, and your coughing is causing more ruptures and fractures in your arms and chest. I want to give you a sedative, some supplemental oxygen, and let you sleep. I can administer painkillers and fever reducers."
"No," Skye protests. "No, please. Please don't put me to sleep."
Her teeth are chattering and she's crying again.
"Not to sleep," Simmons says, realizing that would be a terrible way to describe it. "I want to give you a medicine that will relax your body. You're already very tired and your illness is stressing your system. I'm worried that you will crash, and I honestly don't have the tools to help you if that happens."
"I don't want to go to sleep," Skye sobs. "I don't want to go back in the dark."
Her hands flutter up towards Simmons and she rocks back and forth.
"I will stay with you," Simmons says, trying to stay very calm. "I will be right here. You can call Coulson and ask him – he'll tell you the same thing. I will not go anywhere. I will stay right by you while you rest."
Skye's teeth chatter and she can hear the pans in the kitchen cupboard clanking against each other. The spears of pain are back in her chest, radiating down her spine, and she feels like a Halloween decoration, a skeleton ready to collapse in on itself, to be folded away in a box.
"Coulson," she says, clinging onto one word she recognized in Simmons' speech.
"We can call him," Simmons says, nodding.
"Then sleep?"
"Then I want you to rest," Simmons agrees.
"You'll stay?"
"I'll be right here."
Skye's eyes droop closed and she sways. Simmons catches her. "Let's call Coulson."
The director pops up on the computer screen almost immediately. "Hi, Skye," he says gently.
"I don't want to go to sleep!" Skye sobs to him.
"It's just to let your body rest," Coulson says. "Simmons will be right there with you."
"I don't want to be in the dark," Skye sobs, shaking. She can see Simmons out of the corner of her eyes, wringing her hands. "Don't put me back in the dark."
"A hundred and five temperature, sir," Simmons says softly. "It's getting difficult for her to breathe and she's broken at least one more rib coughing."
Skye looks down at her hands, bruised beyond recognition, and then back at Coulson. "I want to go home," she pleads, though her fevered brain has no idea where that is. "Let me come home."
"Skye, you are safe with Simmons," Coulson says gently. "She's going to take care of you so that you can get stronger and come home. Rest, please. Simmons will stay there with you. She'll make sure it's not dark."
"I don't know where I am," Skye sobs to Coulson. "It all hurts."
"Let Simmons help," Coulson says. "She can make the pain go away."
The room tilts and Skye sees the next few movements in long, slow blinks. Simmons has her arm around Skye and they somehow get the last ten feet to the bed. Skye tenses her body, preparing for the crash into the bed, and lets out an unearthly howl as pain ricochets through her.
She blinks again and Simmons is settling an oxygen mask over her face, tethering her to the bed with a long, thin tube. Another blink and Simmons is approaching her with a syringe.
"Not in the dark," Skye begs.
"No," Simmons reassures her softly. "Not in the dark."
"Trip's in the dark," Skye says. "Trip was in the dark and now he's gone."
Simmons halts, the syringe inches from Skye's arm. For a long moment she can't figure out what to say. Then, as gently as she slides the needle into Skye's arm, she says, "We'll talk about that when you wake up."
One more blink, eyelids going down slowly and definitely, and then Skye doesn't blink again.