For all that Sister Jane had argued that Melinda and Phil would not be able to cope with taking care of eight-year-old Skye, she certainly proved her desire to be rid of the little girl herself, when all of the paperwork was rushed through in less than an hour. Phil was sure this hurried transfer of a child was frowned upon, but both he and his wife kept their mouths shut, signing whatever they were told to and assuring Abby they would be fine.

"Any problems, feel free to call me." Abby said, flicking through the paperwork. "Any time. Day or night, night or day. Any time."

"You don't need to worry." Phil assured her, signing again as the social worker pointed to yet another dotted line. He passed the paper along to Melinda. "You know better than anyone that this is not our first rodeo, so to say."

"I know, I know." Abby sighed. "And I know you've managed difficult children in the past, and Natasha's wonderful now, case and point, but-,"

"Abby," Melinda put a hand on the other woman's shoulder, "Phil and I will be able to cope. We've read her file cover to cover, several times. The kid just needs a home."

"That's what I've been saying for eights years, and so far, it hasn't gone great. She's had more homes than most of the kids out there, and not one has been a fit."

Phil smiled. "Yeah, well, she hasn't had a family. We can give her that."

Abby took the paperwork back off of Phil and straightened it on the desk. "Perhaps all Mary Sue needs is a family." She mused.

"Skye." Melinda corrected. "She seems to prefer 'Skye'."

…

While the papers were being signed, Skye had been sent up to her room to pack her things and to say goodbye to the other children, although the latter was unlikely. Skye didn't waste her time making friends in the orphanage and she didn't delude herself into thinking that when she left, that any of the other kids even cared.

The room she shared with nine other girls was empty when Skye entered. They weren't allowed to hang around in the bedrooms during the day because in Sister Margaret's own words it 'encouraged mischief'. The last time all ten occupants of Skye's room had been left alone, she'd ended up being pinned to the ground and spat on. That game had been a particular favourite with the girls in her room for a good few weeks during the summer, and when she had retaliated and kicked one of them in the face by accident, it had still somehow all been her fault. It wasn't fair.

Skye hated this bedroom. The peeling walls, the creaky floor, the bunk beds. Skye hated the bunk beds. But most of all, more than all of that, Skye hated the girls she had to share the room with.

The kids at St. Agnes' were lumped together in rooms divided by age and gender. The pre-school kids shared rooms, the teenagers shared rooms, but then somewhere in the middle, the children were sorted by what Skye suspected was a system consisting of 'who fits where?' And at the age of eight, when she had returned from her previous foster home to find the bed she had left, filled by a new girl, Skye had been shown to this new room filled with five bunk beds, five chests of drawers, and nine other girls, all older than her and all disgruntled that an eight year old had arrived to spoil their eleven and twelve year old fun. The only bed left had been the top bunk in the far corner.

The top bunk sucked.

Skye hated the top bunk almost as much as she hated her roommates. It was too hard to get down in the middle of the night when she'd…when she needed to get down. And sometimes the other kids took away the ladder in the middle of the night so she used to get stuck up there. Not anymore though, she'd perfected the 'top bunk jump' out of necessity. And actually, the 'top bunk jump' was kind of fun.

It didn't take Skye long to pack. Most of her stuff was already in the two plastic bags that constantly sat at the foot of her mattress (the girls she was supposed to share the dresser with were less than accommodating) and her really special things she kept in the backpack she used for school. That stayed under her pillow or under the duvet, away from sticky fingers.

That was it. Her whole life in three bags. It would be sad, except Skye's whole life had been in three bags for as long as she could remember, and really, that was fine, because she moved so much. It was pretty easy to carry three bags. Some of the other kids probably had less than her anyway, so she tried not to complain.

She was standing on the top bunk, stripping the sheets off the bed, when a voice startled her.

"Hey, you almost ready to go?"

Skye turned, stumbling slightly on the lumpy mattress, to see Mrs Coulson standing at the bedroom door. She smiled at Skye and came further into the room.

"Everything's all set," Mrs Coulson said, "we're ready when you are."

"Um," Skye swallowed, running her fingers over the frayed edge of the sheet, "I'm supposed to take off the sheets before I go. So they can wash 'um, I guess. For the next kid." Or for when I come back, Skye didn't say.

"I could help?" Mrs Coulson asked.

"S'okay. I can do it." Skye grinned. "I've done it lots of times b'fore, y'know, Mrs Coulson." She bragged.

"Call me Melinda." Mrs Coulson smiled, but nodded, and watched in amusement as the little girl wrestled with the sheets and duvet, until a pile of bedclothes thudded to the ground, Skye among them. Melinda's heart was in her throat for a second, before the child burst from the sheets with a manic grin and a giggle, dark hair all over the place.

"I like to pretend I'm being a parachute jumper!" She declared. "S'pecially when Sister Margaret can't tell me off for jumpin', even though there's no ladder! How does she 'spect me to get down? She's a meanie." Skye grumbled, kicking at the sheets.

"I agree." Melinda whispered, and Skye's eyes went wide. "That's why the sooner we get out of here, the better."

"Yeah." Skye nodded. Her eyes fell to the rumpled sheets, and she looked back up at Melinda. "I'm supposed to fold 'em."She said sadly.

Melinda took one look at the sheets and kicked them under the bed. "Yeah, well, I hate folding." She turned to the bags next to Skye on the ground. "This all your stuff?"

"Yep. Well, all 'sept my coat. Someone took it last week."

"Who took it?" Melinda frowned.

Skye shrugged. "Dunno. Probably one of the older kids being mean, but I don't know where it is, so…" She trailed off, kicking nothing with the holy toe of her sneaker.

"Hey." Melinda smiled when Skye looked back up at her. "Don't' worry about it. Let's go."

Skye nodded, and Melinda made to pick up the third bag on the ground, Skye's backpack, but the little girl jumped in front of it with a hard look at the woman.

"No! That's mine, you're not allowed to touch it!" She practically growled. "S'mine!"

Melinda backed off, palms out best she could with Skye's other two bags on her wrists. "Okay, I promise I won't touch it. Okay?"

The little girl nodded, but kept a tight grip on the ratty hand-me-down.

"I'm sorry I tried to touch your things without asking." Melinda said gently, crouching down in front of Skye. "That was wrong of me, I should have asked." Skye watched her sceptically. "I promise in the future, I will always ask before I touch your things. Is that okay?"

"I guess." She mumbled.

"I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

Skye frowned. She didn't think an adult had ever asked her to forgive them. It suddenly occurred to her that she could say 'No', she had the power to refuse forgiveness, but instead, she found herself saying, "Yes. I forgive you, Melinda."

Melinda smiled broadly and stood up straight. "Come on, Skye. Let's go home."

…

Mr Coulson was talking to Abby when Skye and Melinda came down the stairs from the bedrooms.

"So she's doing well?" Abby asked, smiling.

"Very well." Mr Coulson smiled proudly. "Both of them are."

"Oh, that's fantastic." Abby gushed. "You know I was worried about Natasha when she first arrived. I'm over the moon to know she's doing so well."

Skye followed behind Melinda quietly as they approached Abby and Mr Coulson.

Abby turned to Melinda. "And of course, you've got one back in England now, too." Abby shook her head in disbelief. "How old must she be by now?"

"She was twenty-five last month." Melinda said.

"Twenty-five?" Abby continued to shake her head.

Skye thought she looked like a nodding dog and that made her smile a bit, but she put her hand up to her mouth to hide it, just in case Abby saw and thought she was laughing at her. Skye always tried to be good for Abby; Abby was the one who found Skye homes.

The social worker smiled brightly. "You blink and they're so grown up. I swear Natasha was fourteen yesterday. Unbelievable. Making me feel old. They all grow up so fast." She turned to Skye. "That'll be you soon." Abby put a hand on Skye's shoulder.

Melinda and Mr Coulson nodded along with Abby. She always talked a lot. For as long as Skye could remember, Abby had talked too much. 'Chatty' was how Sister Jane described her, but Sister Margaret called Abby 'an infuriating hot-air artist'. Skye wasn't sure what that meant but it never sounded good when she said it.

Skye didn't know who or what they were talking about now. Abby kept patting her head and saying about how she would be 'twenty-five in the blink of an eye' just like 'the other one, back in England'. Skye was only eight, nowhere near to being twenty-five, and she still had no idea who was twenty-five. She wanted to ask, but the three adults were having a proper conversation and it was rude to interrupt, and Skye really didn't want them to shout at her on the first day.

"You've got kids all over the globe." Abby was saying to Melinda and Mr Coulson.

"Yes," Melinda smiled, "One at college in DC, one working in England, and now," She turned to Skye, "one back at home with us."

Skye smiled back and didn't flinch away when Melinda swept some hair out of her eyes. She felt a little bad about shouting at her for touching her backpack.

"Not to mention all the others scattered across the world from when you were doing emergency fostering." Abby laughed. "You must have cared for half the kids in the system."

"We do get a lot of Christmas cards." Mr Coulson smiled. He turned to Melinda and Skye, still smiling brightly. "All set?" He asked in one of Abby's rare gaps in conversation. "Ready to go, Skye?

Skye nodded and gripped her backpack. "Yes, sir."

"You want to say goodbye to anyone before we go?" He asked.

Skye grimaced. "No, thank you, Mr Coulson. M'good."

"Call me Phil."

"No, thank you, Phil." She corrected. Skye turned around to address the rest of the orphanage. No one was there, the nuns had made themselves scarce, and the rest of the kids were off in the rec room or playing outside, but every time she left she felt like she wanted to tell the actual building.

"Good riddance!" Skye shouted at the top of her voice.

Abby shook her head. "Every time."

"I guess she's eager to get out of here." Melinda smirked.

"I guess she is." Phil agreed. "Come on then, Skye, home time."

Skye smiled and nodded, shouldering her bag. Going to a new home was scary, and usually she got a tummy ache for a while when she first met who she was going to live with. Now, she had butterflies, like before her race at school on sports day, but her tummy didn't hurt.

Each time she went to a new home it was exciting, and nerve-wracking, but this felt different. Melinda and Phil were smiling, proper happy smiles, not fake ones, and they called her 'Skye' all of the time. That felt really good. She didn't have to keep reminding them of her real name. Maybe it would be a good place to stay for a while.

"Let's go." Skye grinned, and led the way to the parking lot.

…

Phil said the drive would be over an hour, so Melinda sat in the back of the car with Skye so she wouldn't get bored. They had a bag with snacks in for the journey and Melinda even said Skye could drink a juice box in the car. Skye liked that. Melinda and Phil were nice.

"Do I get my own room?" Skye asked on the way to the Coulson's house, picking at chip crumbs on the strap of her backpack, which sat in her lap. She always made sure to ask the most important questions before they got to the house.

"Yeah." Phil smiled at her in the rear-view mirror. "We have four bedrooms." Skye was impressed. "One is Mel's and I's, one is our daughter Natasha's and one belonged to our other daughter."

"Belonged?" Skye questioned, looking to Melinda. "Doesn't she want it anymore?"

"Well, technically it's still hers." Melinda clarified. "But she doesn't live with us anymore, she has her own apartment and all of her stuff is there, so we use it as a guest room."

Skye had never had her own proper room before. Some foster parents had big enough houses that she didn't need to share a bedroom, but it was never hers. She was never there long enough to properly lay claim to it. If she had her very own room, she would never ever want to give it up, no matter where she moved.

"Doesn't she mind?" Skye asked. "What if she wants to come home?"

"Not really. She hasn't lived with us for a very long time. And if she wanted it back, it'd still be waiting for her." Phil said.

Skye frowned. "How long since she lived there?"

"Ooh…" Phil said, watching the road ahead, "about four years? Mel?"

"Yeah, four years."

That was half as long as Skye had been alive. "That is a long time." She looked out of the window at the rolling greens on the edge of the highway. "If I had a Mommy and Daddy, I would never move out. I'd stay there forever and ever and ever."

"She almost did." Melinda laughed and Skye looked over to her in question. "She didn't want to leave Phil and I when she went to college, thought she'd miss us too much, so she stayed at home with us for three years and went to the one in the city. Drove there every day just so she could stay home."

Skye nodded. She could see why their daughter would want to do that. "Was that Natasha?" She asked. Skye was intrigued regarding this Natasha character Abby had been prattling on about.

"No," Phil answered, "our other daughter, Bobbi."

"Natasha's a few years younger, she goes to college in DC."

"That's where the president lives." Skye declared. She'd learned that in school once.

"Very true." Melinda laughed. "Although Natasha hasn't met him yet."

Skye looked back out at the grass rushing by. "Do you have lots of kids?" She asked. "My last foster parents already had four children…." Skye trailed off, tightening her grip on her backpack. "And they weren't very nice."

"Well, our kids are all grown up." Melinda said.

Skye looked at the woman's reflection in the car window. "How many though?"

"Just the two." Phil laughed.

"And Clint." Melinda added, laughing.

"Right." He agreed. "And Hunter."

"No, he doesn't count. He's Bobbi's problem."

"Clint was Nat's problem."

Melinda leaned forward in her seat. "Yes, but we fed and clothed Clint for almost a year, so, he counts."

"Fair enough." Phil smiled. "So, Skye, I guess that's two, and Clint. He's like a half."

"Who are all of these people?" Skye looked between Phil and Melinda. They just sniggered. "Seriously, guys. I'm not kidding." Skye put on her best 'serious face'.

Phil smirked at her in the rear-view mirror. "And there was Trip."

"Oh he's got to count for at least half, too."

"Half?" Skye asked.

"Like Clint, he's not really our son," Melinda explained, "but he stayed with us a lot when he was growing up, so he's got a place in our hearts."

"Wait," Skye shook her head to clear all the confusion of names, "Who's Clint?"

"Natasha's…" Phil trailed off and waved around with his hand not on the steering wheel. "Nat's… best friend? Boyfriend? All of the above?"

"Something like that." Melinda agreed.

Skye wiggled in her booster seat. It was new, she noticed, bought especially for her. "So who's everyone else?"

"Who else?" Melinda asked.

"Hunter." Skye counted off on her fingers. "And I still don't really know who Clint or Trip are. And Abby said you took care of half of the kids in the system." She held all ten fingers out to Melinda. "That's like, a lot."

"They are very long stories, are what they are." Phil said. "Long stories for another time, I think."

"Kay." Skye accepted, sensing this conversation was over, and anyway, things were beginning to get significantly more interesting out of the window. The expanse of green began to give way to suburban townage; parks, café's, schools, houses, all becoming more and more clustered the further Phil drove them.

"How far now?" Skye asked, craning her neck to keep her eyes trained on a particularly large swing set in someone's front yard as they passed.

"Not far now." Phil confirmed with a glance in the rear view mirror. "Five minutes. Tops."

"Cool." Skye muttered, too enamoured with the views of an upcoming playground to say anything else.

Melinda watched as the little girl pressed her nose to the glass of the car window as they passed the local playground. There were plenty of kids around playing on the equipment, as Phil slowed the car to a stop to allow a family to cross the street.

"We could go to the playground tomorrow, if you wanted?" Melinda suggested, tapping Skye on the shoulder.

Skye turned to face her as Phil pulled away. "S'okay." She shrugged.

"Looks like fun, Skye." Phil commented.

"Maybe. But it's okay." She didn't want to start demanding Melinda and Phil take her places, especially when they had no other reason to go to the playground. Their kids were all grown up. They were probably sick of taking kids to parks.

"We'll think about it again, tomorrow." Melinda smiled.

"Kay."

Without being told, Skye knew they must be nearing Phil and Melinda's house. The car began moving slower and slower as they entered a housing estate with shiny cars and garages and big front yards that looked like some of the pictures of houses in the books at school. Phil pulled up into a driveway of a house, smaller than some they had passed on their journey, but still pretty big, and it had a front yard with a fence around and everything.

"You guys are rich." Skye said, leaning forward in her seat to get a better look at the front of the house.

"Not rich." Phil said, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning around. "We're…comfortable."

Skye twisted her face. "That just means rich. That's how rich people say rich."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Did you guys win the lottery or something?"

"We've worked very hard to be comfortable." Melinda said. "We still work very hard." She unbuckled her own belt.

"Neither of us used to have money, but hard work got us to where we are." Phil said, getting out of the car and ducking around to open Skye's door.

Melinda too got out of the car, coming around to Skye's side, standing by Coulson. She helped Skye climb out of the back of the car, allowing the little girl to carry her backpack. Skye stared back up at the house. The grass in their front yard was a bit longer than everyone else's and there was a basketball hoop over the garage door that Skye really hoped they'd let her play with.

"Working hard and being kind and being your best is important. More than money and being 'rich'." Melinda said.

Skye turned to her, taking her eyes off the hoop. "That's awesome." She breathed, gawking at Melinda. "That's so cool. That's what I want to be like when I grow up."

Melinda frowned slightly. "Being wealthy isn't important, Skye. It's not awesome."

"No, no." Skye shook her head is frustration. "Not that. I want to be kind and to work hard." She said. "So I can be good."

Phil bent down in front of Skye, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You are good Skye. And kind and hard working."

Skye looked away at the marks on the fence of the front yard that were maybe meant to be goalposts. "M'not good." She mumbled. She tried so hard to be good, but she just couldn't be, families just kept bringing her back because she was bad. She was difficult.

"I think you're good." Phil smiled.

Skye turned back to him with a bored look. "You've only known me for like three hours." Skye said. "I can pretend to be good for three hours so you won't take me back."

She expected Phil to be sad when she told him she was only pretending and trying her best to seem good, but he just laughed and looked over at Melinda. She was smiling, too.

"Skye," Phil said, "you don't need to pretend to be anything with us, okay? Just be you."

"What if 'me' is bad and you want to send me back to Agnes'?"

Melinda brushed hair from Skye's face, like she had done back at the orphanage. It kind of felt nice, Skye thought. She kind of wanted to hug Melinda, but she just stood still and stayed quiet, being good.

"You know," Melinda said, "you're not the first little one to come stay with us who thought they were a bad person."

"I'm not?"

"Nope." Melinda brushed the pad of her thumb over her cheek. "And I'll tell you what I told her, what I still tell her when she's feeling down, so listen up, little one."

Skye did. She concentrated really hard to try and listen to Melinda. When Melinda bent down to her level, Skye even looked her in the eye, because that was polite when you were listening to what someone had to say.

Melinda stared at her. "There is no such thing as a 'bad person'." She said. "There are only bad decisions, and we will never stop taking care of you for making bad decisions, because everyone makes mistakes. Phil and I will forgive you for whatever you do, as long as you understand why you're sorry."

Skye kept on looking at Melinda even after she stopped talking, because the words were still going around in her mind in Melinda's voice.

"But what if I do lots of bad things?" Skye asked.

"Then we'll have lots of saying 'sorry' and forgiving." Melinda said. "You're not a bad person, Skye."

"You're a good person." Phil nodded. "I know that, and I've only known you three hours, so you must be really good if I already know that."

It felt nice to hear, but I didn't make sense. Maybe Phil wasn't lying, Skye thought, maybe he really did think that Skye was good, when she wasn't.

"If I'm so good, then how comes no one wants me to be in their family?" Skye asked to prove her point.

Phil's face softened and Melinda did the nice hair-stroking thing again.

"We want you in our family." Melinda said and Skye really wanted to hug her now.