A/N: To celebrate having a panic attack that left me drained emotionally and physically and also made me terribly embarrassed in front of several of my coworkers, I wrote this little chapter. I just keep reminding myself that last Saturday I met Chloe Bennet (and she hugged me), and I smiled for three straight days.
In the next chapter - what will happen when Bobbi, Mack, and "the Real SHIELD" show up?
Thanks for all the reviews and follows and favorites. You guys rock. Enjoy!
In her first 36 hours back at the Playground, Skye sleeps straight through 24 of them. At first it's as though she's in a coma, sleeping so deeply that Simmons is glad for the monitors recording the unconscious girl's heart rate, oxygen saturations, and temperature. Skye sleeps in a fetal position, her casted arms hugged to her chest, a thin oxygen cannula strung under her nose for breathing support. Simmons goes in and out of the room, pushing medicine through the IV line in the crook of Skye's elbow and gently moving the sleeping girl side to side every so often, as though reassuring herself Skye is really home.
After the first 18 hours, Skye wakes up every few hours to endure the indignities of medication and various treatments – the hated medicated mist and a new form of torture, a vest that cinches tightly around her chest and vibrates her chest wall via two thick tubes that push air in and out of a compressor. She's still gasping for air much of the time, and the treatments to get rid of the build-up in her chest hurt whenever she coughs.
During one of her five-minute awake periods, Skye holds Coulson's hand and mumbles about something. When he can see she's getting drowsy, he says, "I don't want to scare you, but when you wake up again, you'll be back in the Cage on the Bus, okay?"
It's clearly the wrong thing to say. Skye's heart rate jerks up and Simmons bolts back into the room at the sound of the monitor's alarm. "Sir?"
"I was just trying to explain to Skye that we think she'll be safer in the Cage," Coulson says.
Skye wheezes, coughs, chokes, and panics, her eyes going wild. She shoves herself upright and tries to rip off the oxygen tubes. "No," she begs, her voice raspy and scared. "No, no – you can't put me back in there."
"Skye, we want you to get better," Simmons says. "We think you have the best chance of that in the Cage, where you're fully safe."
"You put me in there!" Skye spits. "You drugged me and killed me like you said I killed Trip!"
Simmons and Coulson exchange a confused look. Simmons looks up at the monitors to see Skye's heart rate pounding at 180, and she notes Skye's fever has risen back up, though not dangerously.
Simmons kneels in front of the bed. "Skye," she says softly. "Why do you think we want to hurt you?"
Skye's eyes follow her friend, her breathing getting faster. "Told you," she protests, her teeth chattering.
Her eyes flicker and roll like uncertain marbles and she reaches out for Coulson. He stands and sits next to her on the bed, putting his arm around her and pulling her in close. "Shh, Skye," he murmurs, rubbing her back. He can hear the wheeze in her lungs and the rasp of air going in and out, realizing she's starting to struggle again.
Coulson nods to Simmons and she carefully moves forward trying to replace the slim oxygen cannula with a mask, which will give Skye the best chance to breathe deeply. Skye doesn't let the Brit get any closer to her, though; Skye's hand jerks up and Simmons stumbles backwards.
"Skye!" Coulson barks before he has a chance to think.
Skye pushes herself away from him and everything in the room starts shaking. "No, no," she mumbles, dropping to the floor. Before Simmons or Coulson can get to her, she dives under the bed, curling up into the fetal position that seems to give her so much comfort.
"I'll get May," Simmons says quietly, and she hurries out of the room.
Skye rocks under the bed, chest aching as she sobs. "Please, don't put me away. I'll try harder. I'll be good."
It breaks Coulson's heart all over again. "Shh, Skye," he whispers. Any step he moves towards the bed causes even more things to start shaking, so he carefully backs away.
Skye starts to cough, and Coulson looks up at the monitor, the bouncing red and green numbers meaning slightly more than nothing to him. The coughing rips through her chest and she whimpers as she tries to get more air in.
In the lab behind Skye, glassware wobbles, then crashes to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces. Overhead a light sways, and yet Coulson can hear is Skye sobbing and coughing.
Another moment passes before May arrives, Simmons in her wake. "What is it, Phil?" May asks softly.
Coulson mutely gestures to the bed, the only signs of Skye underneath the monitor wires and the oxygen tubing.
May kneels down next to the bed. "Skye," she says gently, "can we talk?"
"Don't want to go back in the box! I don't want to see them again!"
Simmons approaches Coulson with the tablet monitoring Skye's vital signs, and shows them to him silently. He notes Skye's temperature is rising again.
"She's not getting better," Simmons murmurs. "And the tremors are out of control."
"We can't take her back to the hospital," Coulson says. Of this he is certain. "She wasn't getting any better there either… and I think we broke too many expensive things."
Simmons just looks at him, her expression tired. He realizes, far too late, that she's shouldered nearly all the burden of Skye's illness by herself. Impulsively he reaches forward and squeezes her hand. "Go get some rest, Simmons."
"Oh, sir, I'm fine."
"You look like you're going to fall over. Go sleep for a few hours. May and I can handle this."
It's not the first lie he's told lately, but Simmons seems to take comfort in it. She hands him the tablet. "Agent Jennings understands her treatment schedule, if I'm not back by five o'clock."
Coulson nods and Simmons leaves without further argument.
Coulson looks down at the tablet and all he can think is God, we're in over our heads.
Skye can see May, and hear her, but the world is fuzzy and trembling. "I'm not back there?" she pleads, thinking she's still alone and dying on the floor of the cabin.
"You're home," May says, and her voice is full of kindness and finality. "You're safe."
"Don't put me back in the box."
"No one's going to take you anywhere you don't want to go," May answers firmly.
Skye rocks back and forth, her hands over her ears as tears stream down her face. Each of her breaths seems to take an hour, and pain shoots daggers through her chest and her arms every time she breathes or moves. "I can stay here? Stay here? Not in the box?"
"You're not going anywhere."
"What's… what's happening… to me?"
May reaches forward and then hesitates. "Skye, I want to touch your hand. Would that be all right?"
Skye just looks out from under the bed, her eyes exhausted. She doesn't answer, so May reaches out carefully and take Skye's hand in hers, gently wrapping her fingers around the girl's. She can feel Skye's pulse throbbing in her fingers; the rough straps of the cast and the thin smooth edges of the wires and tubes contrast sharply.
A bottle falls from the lab shelf behind Skye and May freezes, but after a few seconds her touch seems to calm Skye, and the younger agent's eyes begin to droop closed.
Skye asks her question again. "What's happening to me?" she whispers.
"We'll figure it out," May promises, though she has no idea how she can fulfill such a lofty vow.
Skye's grip on her SO's loosens just a tad more, and her breathing is evening out and slowing. "I'm scared," she breathes to May. "I'm so scared. So scared."
"Scared of what?"
Skye puts her head down on her knees and whispers two words that May wishes never would have been on Skye's mind in the first place: "Of me."