A/N: Okay, so, this isn't how I thought this was going to go, but after the season finale last night I realized what I really wanted to write today. There was going to be another chapter in between the last one and this one, but I felt like this needed to be written (and things changed in reference to what that mystery non-existent chapter would have been).

Anyway, I think after this I'll have one more chapter, or maybe two to make it to ten. I'll see how things go, how much more I have to say.

Thanks for all your support. Enjoy!

When he gets back with the case everyone else is in the room and Skye is still coughing. Simmons is next to her with the suction wand, and Skye keeps trying to push her away. Whether she means to or not, Skye's setting off little jolts of power towards Simmons whenever she tries to shove the suction wand away; Simmons calmly readjusts her position each time and continues suctioning.

"Keep going," Simmons says softly. "You're getting a lot of the junk up, I promise."

Fitz is making himself useful by passing towels to May, who is mopping up everything coming out of Skye's mouth that Simmons can't get with the suction.

When Skye sees Coulson, she reaches out towards him and garbles something that he assumes is "gloves."

She gags and retches and Simmons steps back. A wobble goes through the room and Skye folds in at the waist, struggling to breathe.

"Skye, are you sure about this?" Coulson asks.

She looks up at him, blinking like her eyes hurt. She looks exhausted, the skin at the base of her throat retracting every time she breathes. Coulson knows it's not a good sign. Only moments ago she had the strength to rip out her own breathing tube, and apparently almost every other piece of medical equipment – all with her hands in casts – and now she looks defeated, broken, chewed up and spit out.

"Gloves," she whispers to Coulson. "Please."

Heart breaking, Coulson opens the case and steps towards her. Simmons hands the suction wand to May and gently reaches in to remove Skye's casts. Skye whimpers and the room starts vibrating, but Simmons manages to get the first cast off. Coulson passes her the first glove and she slips it over Skye's bruised arm. Carefully they repeat the process for the other arm, Skye biting her lip and shaking her head fiercely as the second cast comes off.

The moment the gloves are on, something like a wave of calm passes through the room. Skye's pinched and tortured face relaxes, as does her bent and hacking body. She leans back against the bed, looking floppy and almost dreamy, and doesn't fight Simmons or May when they start to clean her up. Simmons clears out Skye's mouth and May gently wipes Skye's face.

"Going back," Skye whispers, her eyes drooping closed.

"Where are you going?" Coulson asks quietly.

A dopey smile crosses her face and she raises two of her fingers, powerless and somehow hopeful all at once. "Going to see a man about a girl," she replies, her voice dropping off into a slurry mess at the end.

And then she takes a deep, slow breath, her first since arriving at the hospital, and goes very still on the bed.

Simmons looks up at the monitors. Skye's heart rate falls, but in a slow and controlled manner. Within a few minutes it's at 60 beats per minute.

"What just happened?" Fitz asks. His voice sounds very loud in the very quiet room.

Simmons leans in and checks the temperature probe on Skye's ear. "Fever's a hundred and two – down at least four degrees since they started the cooling system. Whatever this is, it's progress."

She regrets those words only seconds later when one of the monitors goes off, showing that Skye's oxygen levels are dropping.

Dr. Mayerstein, who had entered the room shortly before Skye's descent into sleep, steps forward. "She did just forcibly extubate herself," the doctor says. "We can give her some breathing support until she's more comfortable breathing on her own."

"Fitz, let's go get some snacks," May suggests. "We'll let Skye rest."

"Oh… okay," Fitz agrees. "I could go for a chocolate bar. And maybe some crisps. And a cup of tea wouldn't be a bad thing -"

"We'll bring everyone back something," May says, and after washing her hands, she ushers Fitz out of the room.

Coulson sits back down in the chair he'd vacated earlier, and watches as Dr. Mayerstein and Simmons hook up tubes and wires, eventually placing a thick plastic mask over Skye's face that connects to a thick plastic tube.

"It's bilateral positive pressure," Simmons says to Coulson. "It'll support her breathing and if necessary we can ventilate her without putting the tube back down her throat."

Coulson doesn't respond for a moment, and Simmons takes the opportunity to scrub her hands. He looks over at her. "Is she really that scared of us, Jemma? Of what we think of her? Of what we might do to her?"

Simmons wipes her hands on paper towels and puts them in the trash. "The emotional part of my brain says yes, sir. That she's terrified we'll hurt her, or send her away, or let her become an experiment. But the science part of my brain knows that she has been delirious since we evacuated her from the cabin, in control of very little of what she's saying or doing. I don't know how that might affect what she perceives when she's unconscious. I'm surprised she was even able to type for Fitz."

Coulson leans forward and takes Skye's hand in his. He feels a little buzz of electricity, but that could just be his emotional state.

"Sir?" Simmons' voice is soft.

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to clean her up a bit," Simmons says. "Change her gown, comb her hair, find new blankets and sheets. I'll close the curtain for a bit, but you can remain in the room if you'd like."

Coulson feels like he can't move anyway, and so he nods. Simmons pulls the curtains around Skye's bed, and the two girls disappear.

For the next several minutes he can hear Simmons moving around, quietly explaining to Skye what she's going to do before she does it.

"Simmons?" Coulson says as he sees her feet come back to his side of the bed.

"Yes, sir?"

"What do you think she meant by that? Going to see a man about a girl?"

"I'm not sure, sir." Simmons hesitates. "But it seemed to calm her down dramatically. Maybe… maybe it's exactly what she needs."

Skye opens her eyes and knows immediately that she's safe. She's lying on a soft bed in a green room, and the space around her smells like lavender. Gray light comes in through the windows, and Skye can hear rain pattering on the roof overhead. The room is small enough that it sounds like it's raining right on her, and she loves that idea.

She slips out of the bed and slowly moves through the room. The house is beautiful, safe and warm, snug, obviously loved, decorated in green and soft earth tones. Skye belongs here. She's never seen the house before, but she knows she belongs.

She looks down at her body, expecting to see her hospital gown and gloved arms. Instead she's back in her normal casual clothes, the ones she was wearing the day before everything fell apart at the cabin, and her casts. Nothing seems wrong, though, and so Skye walks carefully down the stairs.

In the small but well-appointed kitchen the back door is open, and Skye sees lush green trees overhanging lapping water. It's obviously the ocean, but somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. Now she's positive she's never seen this place before, but even more convinced it's where she's meant to be.

A very familiar, very beloved voice floats through the back door. "Girl, you gonna stand in the kitchen all day or you gonna come out here and join me?"

Tears flood Skye's eyes and she practically sprints out the back door.

Trip is sitting in an Adirondack chair, holding a tall glass of something. Oddly enough, he's wearing the military uniform he sported the day he posed as General Jones. He raises the glass in Skye's direction, and his smile melts her heart. "Hey, girl."

Skye steps out onto the covered porch and he stands. She flings her arms around him, not even caring that they throb with pain. She just wants to hug him forever, to never let him go.

Trip leans back from the hug and brings his thumb up, gently wiping the tears from her eyes. "What's the situation, Shake-n-Quake?"

The nickname brings a smile to Skye's face, and she lets Trip lead her over to an empty Adirondack chair. She holds his hand and looks out at the ocean, wave after wave after wave. It's peaceful and perfect.

"Can I stay here with you?" Skye asks, her voice puny.

Trip gives her a smile. "Girl, you know that's not going to happen. You've got a big world to go out and conquer."

"I can't conquer. I keep shaking things and breaking things and everyone wants to get rid of me."

"I can't think of anyone who'd want to get rid of you," Trip says. "Why would they? You're smart, you're pretty, you dance like a superstar…"

"And I can pound Mountain Dew-and-vodka shooters faster than anyone else."

"That was an interesting Fourth of July. Also, apparently, you're modest."

Skye smiles at him. "I miss you," she says.

"I know."

"I want to stay."

"I know."

"I feel safe here, safe for the first time in… days," Skye says. "First I got alien powers and you…" She trails off. "And then I was in quarantine, and then some Kree tried to kill me and Lady Sif tried to steal me, so I shot myself, well, ICED myself, and then May's ex-husband got called in to evaluate me… psychiatrically… and the it turns out I was directing the quakes inward and fractured my arms and ruptured all these blood vessels, and then I was in the Cage for a while and then I was at a cabin to keep me safe… or to keep everyone else safe. I don't know. Then I got sick, and then I got sicker, and now part of me is in a SHIELD hospital trying to kick the bucket."

Trip produces another tall glass out of seemingly nowhere, and hands it to her. "It's not a Mountain Dew-and-vodka shooter, but it's just as good."

"I kinda gave those up," Skye says. "As it turns out, those illegal fireworks that Fitz lit off weren't the only fireworks… those things were just as fizzy coming up as they were going down."

She takes the glass and looks down into it. "A milkshake?"

"What's not to love about milkshakes?"

"I guess nothing."

For a few long beats they sip and sit in silence, listening to the rain and the ocean.

"Hey," Trip says finally.

Skye looks over at him, resplendent in his military garb, and she can't help but smile. I love his style. I miss him. I wish he could come back with me. I wish… I wish I wasn't the one who watched him die.

"I know you're in some terrifying new place in your life, and sometimes life's like that. There will always be new things to fear, but at the same time there are always new things to conquer. Sometimes those things get sprung on you, like when you find out your former SO was the Hydra poster boy… or when you get sealed in a subterranean temple and blasted with alien mist.

"So you're not the same person. Or that's what you think. I think you're wrong, and I'm going to prove it to you."

"Oh, are you?"

"I sure am," Trip replies. "I've got my mental list of Skye facts ready to go…"

"Daisy," she interrupts him, unsure of why it matters.

"What?"

"That's my real name."

"Come on, girl," Trip says, an easy smile on his face. "You and I both know your real name is the one you chose."

It's true, and Skye just wants him to keep talking. She crosses her legs and leans forward.

"Okay, let's see if you've become some hideous new person," Trip says. "Favorite food?"

"Cake. Although May never lets me have any anymore."

"Still the same. Favorite movie?"

"Singin' in the Rain. And Pitch Perfect is a close second."

"Same," Trip sings out. "Favorite place to hide contraband?"

Skye blushes. "What do you know about that?"

"I know you keep snack cakes somewhere," Trip answers.

"Fine, fine, Lola's trunk," Skye says.

"Samesies. Board game you can beat the pants off anyone at?"

"Trivial Pursuit."

"That's the same too. Trust me on this one, Agent Skye, you're just the same as before, with added new shake mode."

He sounds like an infomercial and Skye giggles.

"What I'm saying is, you don't have to be anyone you don't want to be," Trip says. "You didn't play getting into SHIELD by the rules, you didn't become an agent by any of the normal rules, you broke the rules and came back from basically dead, and you don't have to have superpowers by the book either. You think outside the box, and I know this is going to sound absolutely ridiculous based on what you told me earlier about your experiences since we parted, but you don't have to live in one either."

Skye thinks of the quarantine chamber, the Cage, the cabin. "I was just trying to keep them safe," she whispers.

"Then is it so hard to believe that's what they want for you too? Can it be more of a relationship thing and less of a captive and captor situation?"

"I'm scared of me, Trip."

"Well, that's downright ridiculous. You should be scared of breaking everyone's hearts if you don't wake up."

"I don't want to be like this."

Trip gives her a sad smile. "I don't want to be like this either, girl. But we all have our roads to travel, and we don't get to pick which ones we drive on. Sometimes those roads are all uphill and the engine's busted and we have to push the car… and sometimes we get to drive by the ocean, feel the wind in our hair."

Skye goes quiet.

"Can I at least tell you one more thing?" Trip asks.

Skye nods, afraid that if she tries to speak she'll cry.

Trip puts down his milkshake and takes her hand, looking seriously into her eyes. "What happened to me was not your fault."

"But…"

"Not your fault," Trip repeats firmly. "I made a choice, and I'd make it again and again. You're worth saving, Skye. You always will be."

He helps her to her feet and brings her hand to his mouth, gently kissing her bruised fingers. "Even if you don't see it, those around you do. They see value in you, and they'll keep seeing it until you can see it too."

Emotion chokes Skye's throat and she forces back tears.

"Now, I've got some things to tell you," Trip says, all business. "First, take those damn gloves off. Casts I understand, but those gloves are nothing but trouble. You don't need prisons – you need… a flashlight. Something to guide you along the path in the dark until it gets light again."

Skye nods, looking up at his face, trying to memorize every inch of it.

"Second, every day you need to show those around you that you care for them. You don't have to say 'I love you,' 'cause let's face it, May would make you do sprints until you puked if you said that, but letting them know you care reminds them that they care.

"And third, you tell Coulson that death's nothing like what he said." Trip grins.

Skye can feel her body getting heavy, and she tries to hang onto Trip's hand. "Trip, can I come here and visit you again?"

"I'll be here any time, girl, but I think you've got some living to do."

He can see that's not the answer she wants, and he leans in and hugs her close. "If you need me, I'll be here."

"I love you, Trip," Skye whispers.

"Come on, girl," he says, and the rain and the ocean and the chairs and the milkshakes fade out, and Skye sinks into blessed unconsciousness, deep dreamless sleep.

Coulson finishes his Oatmeal Crème Pie and drinks the rest of his coffee. He stands and puts the garbage in the can, then sits back down next to Skye. They're alone in the room; Fitz and Simmons are sleeping in the adjacent lounge and May, if he knows her, is pacing the hallway.

Skye looks the best he's seen her in the past few days. Simmons had completely remade the bed, pillowcase and blanket and sheets, changed Skye into a clean gown, washed the remnants of blood and mucus off the girl's face, cleaned around the bipap mask, and combed the snarls out of Skye's hair. Apart from the mask, the monitors, the IVs, and the general hospital setting, Skye looks just like she's sleeping, the way she does when he catches her on the couch in the lounge having a nap.

She's peaceful, he thinks. Heart rate and oxygen levels finally in the safe range, fever hovering just at a hundred, body relaxed.

"Skye," he says quietly, "when you wake up, we're going to figure this thing out. Somewhere out there there's got to be someone who knows how to work with your gifts. We'll find them, and you'll get control. I know you can. You are the most hard-headed person I know, and yet at the same time your heart is so full of compassion and wonder. You figured out how to make yourself out of the nothing you were given, and we'll figure out how to make you that same kickass person… just in control."

Coulson leans back in his chair, fighting the urge to close his eyes. The room is softly lit and the backbeat of the equipment provides a heartbeat-esque tattoo. One noise confuses him, though at first he thinks he hears just the murmur of the breathing equipment, but then he realizes there's a slightly louder noise underneath it.

"Hmmm…?"

He sits forward in his chair.

Skye rolls her head to one side and takes in a deep breath. She blinks a few times and then sleepily opens her eyes. Upon seeing Coulson she smiles.

He finds himself smiling in return. "Hi, you," he says.

"I saw him," Skye says, or at least that's what he thinks she says.

Coulson leans in and carefully undoes one of the straps holding the bipap mask to her face, making sure to leave it within close enough distance to still provide her with oxygen. "What did you say?"

"I saw him," she repeats, still smiling. "He told me everything was going to be okay."

She holds up her arms. "Can you take these off?"

"Are you sure?"

Skye nods. "He told me I don't need them. Just the casts until they heal, and then… and by then I'll know what road I'm on."

She coughs, and Coulson quickly puts the mask back over her face, reminding himself that she still has pneumonia, even if the other worrisome symptoms have faded.

When the spasm ends, he pulls the mask back down. "Skye, who are you talking about?"

Her smile broadens. "Trip."

Coulson's heart breaks a bit more. "You talked to Trip?"

"It was perfect," Skye whispers, and though she's still smiling, he can see tears in her eyes. "He told me that I don't have to be afraid. He said I'm worth saving."

She reaches up and wipes her eyes. "And he said that what happened wasn't my fault."

Coulson holds back from telling her that he said the same thing. Clearly she needed to hear it from the source. "I'm glad you got that closure."

"He told me I had to wake up," Skye goes on. "He said I've got living to do."

"You do," Coulson agrees.

Skye yawns. "And I think I'll start… after I stop all this being sick thing."

"It's okay if you want to sleep."

Her eyes are almost closed, but then she seems to remember something. "Coulson?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we go home?"

"I'll check with Simmons, but I don't think that will be an issue. Now you rest."

He stands up, preparing to leave.

"Coulson?"

"What is it, Skye?" he asks, giving her a smile.

"Trip said death isn't anything like you said," Skye murmurs. "But he's okay where he is."

She snuggles down under her blanket, and Coulson lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he leans in to remove the gloves.