A/N: I don't know where all this came from, except that this week has been very stressful at work and I've been reading a lot of awesome fanfic lately, so those two things apparently conspired to create this chapter. Also, I realized in the middle that my story took somewhat of a Skimmons twist if you squint, but that's not where it was intended to go.
Thanks for all your reviews, messages, and favorites! They keep me going and give me something to look foward to in the days after I post a new chapter.
Also, I really hate Gonzales, so I kind of made him a jerk in this chapter (and in possible future chapters). Let me know if you think he's over the top or just right... I'm still trying to figure out where things are going to go after this.
Enjoy!
Simmons stumbles out of her bunk two hours later and is nearly punched in the face by Fitz, who is clearly ready to pound on her door. "What is it?" she asks blearily. "Skye?"
"It's Mack and Bobbi," Fitz whispers, a panicked look on his face. "They just stormed in here with some old guy and about forty other people. I was in the lab when they came in, but I hid under the table and waited until they passed and they didn't see me but I could hear them talking and…"
"Wait, slow down. What?"
"There's a whole bunch of them, and they're going to cut the power, and…"
Panic arcs through Simmons. "We have to stop them. If they cut the power off…"
"Skye dies," Fitz finishes.
Simons nods. "She's dependent on the monitors and the oxygen and the suction to clear her airway… and all of it. But they might get killed if she gets upset and can't control the tremors."
"They're scared of her," Fitz whispers. "They want to take her and…"
"Experiment on her."
Fitz nods.
"We can't let that happen, Fitz."
Fitz shakes his head.
"What's the plan?"
"You have to get down there and tell Coulson and May. Although I'm fairly sure they'll figure it out when…"
An explosion rips through the compound, enough to vibrate all the bones in Simmons' body. "What the hell do they want?" she wonders. A thought occurs to her. "Are they HYDRA?"
"I don't know," Fitz says. "We can figure that out later. If we're not dead."
"Phil," May whispers, some time later.
"What?"
"Her fever's up again," May replies, shifting Skye's body in her arms. Agents Jennings had been kind enough to come into the quarantine chamber to start the girl's treatments and had determined that further breathing support was necessary. As usual, Skye had fought it, literally kicking and screaming – and shaking everything in the room. Now she lay still and feverish in May's embrace, occasionally reaching up to pick at the mask he'd fitted over her face.
"I know," Coulson says, looking up at the monitor. "What do we do, May?"
Simmons sprints back into the room. "Sir!" she manages to get out. "We've got trouble."
It takes her a few harried seconds to stammer out what Fitz saw – Mack and Bobbi, a group of people ready for some kind of a fight, and the explosion upstairs. "They want Skye," she gets out. "And if they kill the generator like they said they would, she's not going to do so well."
Coulson and May have an extremely brief eye conversation. May speaks first. "We'll go take care of them. Lock yourself in here and take care of Skye."
May gently repositions Skye's body on the bed. Skye mumbles and reaches up for the mask over her face, but her bruised fingers fall short of touching it.
"What will you need?" Coulson asks Simmons.
"Just grab it all," she tells him, pointing to a few stacked bins of supplies. There's no telling how long they'll be stuck in the quarantine chamber, and Skye is nothing if not unpredictable.
It only takes a few minutes to get all of the bins – full of medical supplies but also magazines, a few board games, a deck of cards, and emergency rations of water and food – into the quarantine chamber, and Simmons watches while Coulson pressurizes the chamber and locks it, punching it a pass-code only he knows.
"We'll come back and get you," he says. "And if it's not me, it'll have to be Fitz, and he'll have to reverse-engineer the lock."
Fitz. Simmons' heart beats just a tad faster at that. He'd run off to the server room to shut down the computer core, making sure that whatever Mack and Bobbi were after, they wouldn't be able to find it. If he got out with the backups, he was going to put them somewhere secure, but he hadn't had enough time to tell Simmons exactly where that was.
"All right," she says to Coulson, even though her heart is beating nearly as fast as Skye's. She has so many unanswered questions. What should she do if Skye starts to crash? What if Skye's powers get unstable again – can the quarantine chamber explode, or should she just use an ICER? Why the hell would Mack and Bobbi betray SHIELD like this?
"Simmons," May says quietly, as Coulson heads towards the stairs leading up towards the fray, "I promise we'll be back for you. Both of you."
"I know," Simmons murmurs.
"Do you have an ICER?" May asks, obviously thinking along the same lines as she looks at Skye with worried eyes.
Simmons nods. "Two, in fact. And a great deal of other sedating agents, some of which obviously won't be the best choice for Skye since she's already experiencing breathing difficulties, and sedatives tend to depress the respiratory system, so…"
"Good," May says, cutting her off. She gives the girls one final look, as though trying to memorize them, and then hurries after Coulson.
Simmons sighs as she watches them go, unsure why she feels as though she's just lost the last rope holding her boat to a dock, and now she and Skye are drifting out into rough and open seas.
Alone.
Skye opens her eyes and lets out a feverish hum. Her body feels like several sacks of wet cement, and it's hard to get her brain and limbs to coordinate. She can feel the hated positive pressure mask over her face, and though she hates the way it feels, she can't complain about how much easier it is to breathe. Her skin feels like it's on fire, and she wants desperately to writhe and scratch until the burning subsides, but she can't get her hands to work.
"Hi," Simmons whispers, and Skye blinks at her. "I just gave you something to help with your fever."
"Itches," Skye slurs at her, her mouth somehow not moving in time with her body.
"It itches? Oh, dear." Simmons looks wildly concerned. "You may have had an allergic reaction to the medication, or perhaps your fever is inducing prickly skin."
"Where's Coulson?" Skye asks, but Simmons is already bouncing around the quarantine chamber, pulling open drawers and banging things around.
Skye pushes herself upright and pulls the mask from her face. "Simmons… what's going… on?" she wheezes.
Simmons turns with a packet of Benadryl in her hand. "Put that back on," she orders Skye, something of the old Dr. Simmons in her tone. "Can't you hear yourself try to breathe?"
Skye barks out a cough and the room vibrates around them. "Tell me," she gets out, her airway somewhat clear.
Simmons stops frantically opening drawers and walks towards Skye, her shoulders slumping. "It's Bobbi and Mack," she says quietly. "They've been working for someone else… and they just stormed back in here."
Skye's mouth drops open. "HYDRA?" she manages to squeak.
"I don't know," Simmons replies. "Fitz and I were talking and…"
"We need to go help them!" Skye tries to push herself off the bed and actually gets both of her sock-encased feet to the floor and makes it almost upright before her knees give out and Simmons finds herself grabbing tubes and wires so Skye doesn't yank anything out as she hits the concrete.
"What help do you think you'll be to anyone?" Simmons demands. Her heart is pounding now and she can hear her pulse in her ears, like some sort of demented ocean. "You can't even stand up, why in the world would you think I'd let you go upstairs and get yourself killed? You've got an IV line tunneled into your arm and you're gasping like a fish out of water. What use do you think you'd be to them? Do you honestly think it's in my plan to save your life again?"
Far too late, she realizes she's screaming at Skye, and far too late, she realizes Skye has curled herself into a ball again. Simmons can hear the wheezes of Skye's too-fast breathing and she hates herself.
"I'm so sorry," Simmons whispers, kneeling down next to Skye. Her friend has tears in her eyes, and she's scratching at the skin on her bruised and broken arms fiercely. "Shh, Skye, stop."
Simmons gently takes Skye's hands in hers, trying not to put any pressure on the skin. "I'm so sorry," she repeats. "I just… with you, and with everyone else being up there, and Fitz went to go shut down the computer core, and…"
Skye reaches up and softly touches Simmons' face. "It's okay," she chokes out between body-shaking coughs. "Can I… can I maybe have that… the mask on?"
"Can I clear your airway first?"
Skye nods, and Simmons suctions out her mouth and throat before replacing the positive pressure mask over her face. Skye leans into the breathing support, and she relaxes against Simmons.
"They said they'd come find us when it's all over," Simmons murmurs, flicking off the suction machine and settling her arm around Skye. Her friend is dangerously warm, like something left in a car on a boiling summer day, and Simmons forces herself to stop worrying and give the medicine time to work. Instead she brings one hand up and awkwardly strokes Skye's head.
"Thank you," Skye mumbles into the mask.
For a few long moments they sit together on the floor; Skye going in and out of a feverish haze, Simmons spending far too much time worrying about what's happening upstairs.
At last Skye speaks. "Hey."
"Hmm?"
"'S all my stuff still in here?"
Simmons brings her head up and looks around, spying Skye's backpack in the corner of the quarantine chamber. "Your knapsack is."
Behind the mask Skye gives her a slow smile. "Will you bring it here?"
Thinking Skye has something terrifically girly, like nail polish or a Cosmo magazine, Simmons sighs, props Skye against the bed, and moves across the room to grab it. She hands it to the hacker and then, when it becomes clear Skye can't get the zipper undone with her fingers, opens the bag.
Skye slides her laptop out and opens it.
"Skye, I don't want to watch cat videos," Simmons groans. "And they've probably knocked out all the communications signals anyway…"
"We can watch cat videos later," Skye says. Her voice is getting stronger, as though just being in contact with something useful is giving her power. "Also, the security cameras run on a separate feed. It's not controlled by the computer core."
"Skye, you're brilliant!" Simmons exclaims.
"Well, not completely," Skye says, looking up at her. "I can't figure out how to type with this hose in my face."
She gestures with her thumb at the thick hose running out from the bottom of the mask. "Can you hold it out of my face?"
Simmons smiles and sits down next to her friend. Though they look like some odd dragon or sea-creature, moving in tandem with the tubes and wires and the bipap hose, Simmons is willing to do pretty much anything if it means they can, in some way, keep an eye on the people they care about the most – the people facing off (again) against people they thought they could trust.
"Phil," the gray-haired man behind the desk says, rising with only some difficulty.
"Agent Gonzales," Coulson answers. "You know that's my desk, right?"
Gonzales waves his hand. "I'm not intending on moving in."
"Funny, that's exactly what it looks like when you blow a hole in my base and storm your way in."
"I didn't want to do any of this."
Coulson looks over at May. May gives him the tiniest of shrugs.
"You know, I think it's strange how people usually say that after they do all the things they supposedly don't want to do," Coulson says.
A flicker of irritation crosses Gonzales' face. "It's time to come clean, Coulson."
"How about you start by cleaning up the mess you made when you set off that bomb?" Coulson knows this is the wrong time for jokes, but he's suddenly desperate to keep Gonzales here.
A quick look at May proves she's thinking the same thing. They have to keep Gonzales away from Skye.
"All in good time," Gonzales replies. "Now, I'm a reasonable man, Coulson…"
"Reasonable would have been a phone call," Coulson interrupts. "A bomb through the wall suggests more psychopathy with a touch of Unabomber for whimsy."
"You're in over your head with all this mindless chasing you've been doing," Gonzales says. "Looking into aliens, and people with powers. Have you forgotten what SHIELD stands for?"
"Protecting the rest of the world from a much weirder part of the world," Coulson answers, thinking of an answer Ward one gave to Maria Hill.
"Protect being the most important word," Gonzales says. "And it's hardly protecting if you let one of them into your base, give her special treatment, and hell – even make her an agent. You've put everyone else at risk, and what's worse, you know it."
It's not the time for it, but suddenly Coulson's remembering all of the training May gave him, once upon a time, on how to breathe with the universe. At the time he'd thought it was a bunch of nonsense, but now he can feel his brain trying to pulse out of his ears and he has to think of something before steam comes out of his mouth and nose like he's some sort of man-dragon.
"Now, I've sent Agent Morse to find your alien experiment," Gonzales continues. "For the safety of all SHIELD personnel…"
"You think you can honestly call yourself SHIELD after this?" Coulson snaps. "Who do you work for, anyway?"
"SHIELD," Gonzales says. "The real SHIELD."
"As opposed to what?" Coulson asks. "Are we SHIELD light? Same great taste, half the calories?"
Again, he knows jokes are wrong in this moment, especially to the face of a man whose plan involved high explosives, but he just can't stop himself. People worry differently – May has chosen silence, so Coulson's going to go with sarcasm.
"I don't know what you are," Gonzales says simply. "It all depends on your actions from here on out."
He moves towards the door. "We're really only interested in two things, Phil."
Coulson decides he doesn't like being called Phil, at least not by Gonzales.
"We'll take your alien agent with us, and…"
"She's only half-alien," Coulson gets out before he can stop himself. "She's a hybrid."
May gives him a look that clearly says You're crazy and you're going to get us all killed.
"What?" Gonzales turns around.
"You know, a hybrid. Like a Prius. Or that corn that has white and yellow kernels."
Now May's look says I'm going to slap you later.
"Also, she has a name," Coulson goes on.
Gonzales sighs. "SHIELD will be safe when she's with us. We'll Index her, run some tests to determine the nature and liability risks of her powers, and we'll figure out a place for her to be released and monitored. And we'll need Fury's toolbox."
Ice cold fear shoots down Coulson's spine.
"We're not too keen on giving you either," May says, speaking for the first time.
"Come now, Agent May. You've seen the destruction those with powers can cause," Gonzales says. "It is for your own safety that we remove possible threats from interfering with SHIELD operations. Right now, Skye is interfering with the well-being and protection of everyone."
He says her name like it tastes like chalk in his mouth, then shakes his head and moves towards the door. Neither Coulson nor May stops him.
"Stay here," Gonzales says before he leaves. "I'll have an agent look in on you in a few minutes."
He exits, and one of his goons closes the office door and locks it from the outside. Coulson didn't even know that was a possibility.
But apparently, a lot of things happening today were always possible… just improbable.
The two girls are sitting so close together, so nearly one symbiotic organism that Bobbi gets within six feet of the glass before Simmons notices her. Due to the mask over her face, her high fever, and the fact that she's obsessively tapping into all of the base's cameras, it takes Skye a bit longer. A not-so-gentle nudge in her side from Simmons gets her attention.
Bobbi looks in at them, two hamsters in a glass cage, and she and Simmons engage in a long stare. Simmons is determined not to speak first, and she finds herself wishing Skye won't speak either. It would just be a standoff, a silent standoff.
Then Bobbi speaks. "Jemma, I need your help."
"Not bloody likely," Simmons mutters.
"Mack was hurt when the bomb went off," Bobbi goes on. "Agent Weaver wants you to take a look at his injuries."
Simmons shrugs off the fact that Agent Weaver is apparently still alive and gives Bobbi her steeliest stare. "Perhaps Mack shouldn't have been anywhere near explosives, and perhaps those explosives shouldn't have been anywhere near our base."
Skye looks up at Bobbi and her breath catches in her chest. For a long moment she coughs and chokes; eventually she has no choice but to yank the positive pressure mask off.
Simmons flicks the suction machine back on and hands the flexible tubing to Skye, who gasps, coughs, and retches, then manages to clear her own airway before sliding the mask back on.
"Leave us alone," Skye says once she can speak again.
"I didn't want it to be like this," Bobbi says.
"You marched in here with a group of armed men and a bomb," Simmons says, feeling her blood pulse hot in her veins. "What did you think it was going to be like?"
"All I wanted was to keep the people I care about safe."
"Please see previous comment about armed men and bombs," Simmons snaps.
Behind her, she can hear something start wobbling on a shelf, and she feels more than sees Skye clench her hands. The monitor beeps as it picks up the increase in Skye's respiratory rate, and Simmons forces herself to take a deep breath and stand up, approaching the glass to look Bobbi in the face.
"I trusted you," she says.
Bobbi stares at her for a moment. "I trust you," she says. "And I'm not the one you should be worried about."
She doesn't have to finish that sentence, but Simmons knows exactly who she's talking about.
"This is about Skye?"
Bobbi doesn't respond.
"This is about Skye," Simmons rephrases.
"We just want to take her somewhere safe."
"She is safe," Simmons replies. "In case you hadn't noticed, she's very ill and somewhat attached to all of that medical equipment. Taking her out of here would be a serious detriment to her condition."
She gets closer to the glass, looking Bobbi straight in the eye. "And to be honest, in the last week she's had two seizures, a fever of more than a hundred and eight, and she nearly died on me twice, so even if you figure out how to get us out of here, which would probably involve torture of some sort or another explosive, since you seem to be so fond of those, I swear I will fight you myself. She doesn't need to go with your band of HYDRA vigilantes…"
Bobbi holds up her hand. "Who told you we were HYDRA?"
"It's kind of the thing HYDRA does," Simmons says. "Betrayal, followed by invasion, followed by hurting."
"We're not HYDRA."
"That doesn't matter," Skye says from behind Simmons. "People who want to solve things peacefully usually start with a phone call. Or a lunch."
Bobbi takes a deep breath. "Jemma, you saw what Skye is capable of. She could have killed all of us."
"But she didn't."
"Her powers are uncontrollable. What happens if she was to lose control and hurt someone – maybe Fitz? Or Coulson?"
"That is definitely playing dirty," Skye mutters from behind Simmons.
"Right now I'm more concerned about what would happen if she was to have an interruption in her medical care," Simmons answers firmly. "And would I really be in here, apparently risking my own safety, if I was so concerned about her hurting someone?"
"We'll treat her well," Bobbi says.
"Just so you know, I'm not going with you," Skye says. "So you can tell me all about your fancy not-HYDRA prison, but I'm not really interested. Also, the last time I stood up I got woozy in about ten seconds and ended up here on the floor, so at the moment I'm really only a threat to myself."
She's not sure why she's trying to pacify Bobbi, except for a thought deep down that maybe Bobbi will get frustrated with her lack of success and leave.
"Coulson has gone too far," Bobbi says. "He's moved away from the ideals of SHIELD."
"You know what's really against the ideals of SHIELD?" Skye asks. "Betraying the people on your team."
That is apparently the straw that breaks Bobbi's back, and she steps back from the glass. She looks like she wants to say something else, or burst into tears, but only for a split second. Without another word, she turns and leaves.
When it's clear she's gone, Simmons helps Skye to her feet and forces her to lie down on the bed. "Your fever's rising again," she says. "I'll watch the security feeds while you have a nap."
"Find Fitz," Skye murmurs sleepily, curling in on herself.
"I will," Simmons says. She hesitates for a moment. "Skye?"
"Hmm?"
Simmons pauses again and bites her lip. "What I said earlier… about not wanting to save your life again… I didn't mean it."
Skye blinks at her. "I know," she mumbles. "It's just… worrying about everyone."
Simmons nods.
"And besides, you like me," Skye says, and she smiles at Simmons.
"For now," Simmons replies, returning the smile.
Skye's eyes slide closed and Simmons turns back to the computer, begging the cameras to show her the locations and conditions of the people she depends on the most – except for the one now sleeping next to her, kept behind glass with her like they were some sort of rare butterfly collection, priceless and endangered and above all, trapped.