A/N: So, here's the next chapter...I've got some bad news.

I'm being dragged away for a caravan holiday against my will for a week on Saturday and there's not going to be any wifi from what I can tell. This means the next chapter will most likely be delayed until after that, unless by some miracle I either finish it before Saturday OR find internet when I'm away.

Don't miss me too much!

That night in the hospital had been the worst night that Melinda had ever experienced, and that included the night four years before when Natasha had taken off at two in the morning after a fight with her, and tried to find her own way back to Russia. That in itself had been the worst night Melinda could think of to date, until her baby girl had been ripped away from her and all she had were the memories of Skye's pleas fresh in her mind.

Nat and Clint remained in the room, curled together on the plastic-coated armchair in the corner, falling in and out of fitful sleeps. Mel hadn't slept, she knew that for sure, awake and suspended in a dreary haze of guilt and devastation. Her mind was too active, thinking only of Skye in that horrible orphanage, and at the same time, dulled and sluggish with the absence of adrenalin and utter exhaustion.

Somewhere in her lower abdomen there was a twinge, like the baby was giving reminders of its presence. Mel rubbed her belly.

Phil didn't sleep either, or not that Mel had noticed. He remained stoic in the other chair in the room, watching her quietly and occasionally cringing when he jostled his broken ribs. Neither of them spoke, and in the dark room, Melinda found it difficult to distinguish any of expressions.

Nurses checked up on them every so often and when it became clear that Phil had no intentions of leaving Mel and going back to his own bed, they brought in a reclining chair for him to sleep on. Not that it aided his sleep in any way, but Mel was pleased to see he seemed a lot more comfortable after he settled himself on the recliner.

The silence in the room was something that Melinda would maybe have blamed on not wanting to wake the kids if she had wanted to delude herself into thinking that the lack of conversation between her and her husband was healthy. As it happened, she had been through enough in the past day to harbour any such delusions, and instead admitted to herself that it was all down to fear.

Melinda was terrified of what Phil thought of her. She was frightened and needed the comfort of her husband beside her in the bed, his warmth and safety and solidity, but she dared not ask in case he said 'no'. She had lost their little girl. She had caused this. She glanced over at him in the reclining chair, and he smiled at her in the light of the dawn.

"Hey." He said quietly. It was the first time she had heard him speak in hours, and his voice was unusually raspy. "Morning."

Melinda glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost too early to even be considered to be morning, but Phil had always been under the impression that when the sun woke up, he did, too. She looked back at her husband and ran her eyes over the bruises on his face and the bandage on his arm. Melinda sucked in a shaky breath.

"I'm so sorry, Phil."

Phil eased himself out of the chair and hobbled over to the bed. "Stop that." He said gently, sitting on the edge. "You stop that."

"What?"

"Blaming yourself for this. It's not your fault."

"I crashed the car." Mel whispered. "Skye would still be with us if I had been paying more attention."

Phil nudged her side until she scooted over on the bed, and climbed in with her. It was a squeeze, and Phil made more pained noises than Melinda liked hearing as he settled, but eventually the two of them found a comfortable position. He kissed her temple.

"I'll never blame you for this, because I truly don't think you're to blame." Phil said.

Mel shook her head. "What would you know, you can't remember crap." She couldn't help but smile at his attempt at looking offended. "Well, you can't." She reminded him.

"Fair enough." He said. "But it's been coming back to me. Here and there."

"Yeah?"

"Hm." Phil rubbed his eyes, then winced when he put too much pressure on the bruises there. "We fought." He said.

Mel looked away at the band-aid on his hand where the IV had been. "We did. Again, that was my fault."

"I'm ignoring your self pitying and little guilt party you have going on." He laced his fingers with hers. "I can't remember what our fight was about though."

"You didn't know." She said.

"Huh?"

"You never knew what the fight was even about." Melinda smiled at him. "It was more like, I was fighting with you and you were just confused and shouting."

Phil nodded. "Confused shouting. That's exactly what I remember." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "So, why were you mad at me? What did I do?"

Mel sighed. She had to tell me. She wanted to tell him, or rather she had wanted to in the afterglow of her ultrasound with her little girl by her side, not like this. To tell him like this seemed cruel and unfair but to keep him in the dark for any longer just seemed even worse. She moved their joined hands to rest over her stomach.

"You said something that got to me." She admitted, eyes trained on their hands. "And I just had a moment and flipped out."

"Flipped out? That's not usually your style."

"Call it hormones." Mel muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." Melinda turned to Phil. "I'm so sorry. We need to fix this."

"We do." Phil agreed. "And we will." He kissed her. "Don't you worry about that."

"Phil," Melinda squeezed his hand, "I need to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"Mom?" Nat's voice reached her from across the room and Melinda looked up to see her daughter rubbing her eyes and extracting herself from Clint. "What time is it?"

"Early." Phil said. "Go back to sleep, honey."

Nat grumbled and stretched out her arms. "I don't think I can. Chairs aren't comfy."

Phil made and sympathetic sound and held out an arm to her. Nat smiled at him but made her way to Mel's side of the bed instead, awkwardly leaning over the bed to hug her. Melinda held her little girl tightly.

"Natasha." Mel sighed, running her fingers through Nat's red hair. It was half up in a ponytail, the rest having fallen out over the course of the night, and Mel's fingers caught on little tangles. "You should go home, baby. Get some rest."

Natasha shook her head. "I'm not leaving you."

"We'll be okay." Mel assured her. "You must be hungry. Go on, honey. Take Clint, get a cab home, have something to eat, get a shower."

"No."

Phil reached over and touched Nat's cheek. "We worry about you."

Natasha rolled her eyes, a gesture so familiar that it made Melinda feel at ease for half a second. "You worry about me?" Nat scoffed. "I wasn't in a car accident yesterday, you dumbs."

Phil chuckled. "Natasha, you are the light in the dark, you know that?"

Nat blushed. "I don't want you to be sad." She said. "Even though you can't be anything else." The teenager stood up straight and squared her shoulders. "Bobbi's going to make everything better."

"Oh yeah?" Phil said gently.

"Of course." Nat said with utter certainty, so sure of herself that she made Melinda truly believe, too. "Bobbi can do anything. She's like a superhero."

Phil smiled. "That she is."

"Anyway," Natasha said, walking over the armchair and kicking Clint in the shin, "I'm not leaving you guys."

Clint woke up groggily and muttered something at Natasha that she ignored, rubbing his shin.

Nat smiled at Mel. "Except to pee. I need to leave to pee, but I'll be back in a few minutes and until then, Clint can keep an eye on you." She ruffled his hair. "Right, Clint?"

"Hm?" He frowned at Nat and she signed something quickly. "Oh, yeah. Sure."

Nat turned his face to hers. "Do not fall asleep." She enunciated each word, exaggerating the movement of her mouth.

"I won't." Clint crossed his heart. "Promise." A yawn obscured most of the word but apparently Nat got the gist because she gave them all a little wave and left the room.

Clint fell asleep within the minute.

"Poor kid." Phil said with a little smirk. "Nat's going to kill him."

Mel smiled. "As if. She loves that boy way too much."

"Hm." Phil hummed. "So, what did you need to tell me?"

Melinda opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it again. Perhaps it wasn't fair to keep her pregnancy from him for any longer, but she didn't want him to find out like this, not when they were holed up in a hospital room just waiting for their daughter to return at any moment and throttle her boyfriend. No. Mel wanted for Phil to find out when it was their moment, a moment for just the two of them to share. She loved her children like hell, but this needed to be a private conversation. Truth be told, Melinda still was unsure about how Phil would react.

She shook her head and snuggled close to him. "It doesn't matter."

"Really?"

"No. It does matter. It matters a hell of a lot, but it's not the time." Mel said.

Phil kissed her. "When will it be the time?"

"Soon." She squeezed his hand. "Soon."

"We'll get our baby back soon, too. I promise." Phil nodded. "Skye's our daughter. I'm not letting her go…"

"Without a fight?" Mel finished for him and he shook his head.

"No. I'm not letting her go. Fight or no fight, I'm not letting Skye go."

…

Skye had thought she wouldn't sleep, or if she did, she would be plagued with nightmares of being abandoned and dumped like was her past reality. Neither seemed to have been the case when Skye awakened naturally in the little boxy room in the orphanage. She hadn't slept particularly well, she had kept waking up cold and unable to get warm even with the blankets, but she hadn't had any nightmares. There had just been nothing.

The room the nuns had put her in the night before was one held purely for the purpose of children coming in for emergency care or care at short notice, and only had one bunk bed with no other furniture. It was a room away from most of the other bedrooms, and therefore a little isolated from the other children. For that, Skye was grateful. She didn't want to see any of the kids.

There was a window at one side, but it wasn't real glass, just a hardy plastic covered in scratches and crude drawings etched into the pane. Skye had been in the room before when returning from placements at short-notice, and there were mean words scratched into the plastic window that had been there for years.

It had no curtains either, and that was how Skye found herself blinking awake in the early hours, turning away from the window and towards the wall against which the bed had been pushed. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, only to remember too late that one hand was now hindered by a cast, and hitting herself in the face with the heavy limb.

"Ouch." She said automatically, even though it hadn't really hurt. She ran her other hand over the pale blue surface of the cast, pressing her fingers into the rough texture until they stung.

She lay in the strange bed for a long time, watching the shadow from the upper bunk move slowly across the peeling white paint of the wall as the morning progressed. Her head felt strange, the inside where her thoughts lived not the outside where Thor had glued it back together. It felt full of too many things, and nothing at all. Empty, and filled with everything all at once.

Skye thought that she might cry, but then the feeling passed, and the unusual 'nothing' returned.

She lay in the bed and pulled the covers right up to her neck, so only her face was peeking out. The bed wasn't like Skye's at home. Skye's bed at home was always warm and cosy, and it had her special fluffy blue blanket, and Mr. Snow was there to cuddle. Skye curled her cold fingers into loose fists and tried to pretend she wasn't back in this horrible place, that she was at home with Mommy and Daddy. But it was too hard to pretend, and with every movement of her hands or twitch of her toes, the feeling of the scratchy sheets and lumpy bed brought her back to reality.

A little while after Skye had almost cried, the feeling happened again, and this time she did cry. Skye cried hard, making her whole body jerk with the effort of the sobs. There were too many things to cry about, and Skye could barely even focus on one at a time before thoughts of the next thing flooded her little head, and a new wave of sorrow overcame her.

Mommy. Daddy. Natasha. Bobbi. Mommy. Natasha. Hunter. Daddy. Daddy. Mommy. Clint. Mommy. Natasha. Bobbi. Daddy. Mommy. Daddy. Mommy. Baby. Thomas. Grant. Mommy. Baby. Mommy.

Skye wanted to go home.

The door to the room opened and Sister Margaret poked her head in. Skye shrank back under the blankets and wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

"Breakfast?" Sister Margaret asked.

Skye could hear the sounds of the younger children in the background, some laughing, some chattering, the wail of one of the younger ones. She shook her head and the nun sighed.

"So you're not going to eat?" She snapped.

Skye shook her head again.

Sister Margaret grumbled. "More trouble than you're worth." She left and pulled the door closed after her, making Skye jump when it slammed.

Skye sat up in the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to go home. She wanted her Mommy and Daddy to come and get her and to take her home and read her stories and play with the Barbies with her.

Her tummy hurt a lot and Skye didn't know why. It just did. Her wrist felt itchy under the cast and there was nothing Skye could so about it, so she cried.

It was a long time before anyone else came into the room where Skye was staying, and when they did, Skye was in the tiny little bathroom off to the side of the room. It wasn't a very nice bathroom, and once Sister Jane had told Skye that it used to be a closet, and that's why it was so small, but Skye didn't mind. It was small and smelled a little, but she didn't have to leave the bedroom to go to the bathroom, and when someone entered the bedroom, Skye could hear them clearly.

"Skye?" The person, Abby, called. "Are you in there?" There was a gentle knock on the door.

Skye wasn't going to answer. She didn't want to talk to Abby, she had taken her away from Mommy and Daddy, but then Abby knocked again.

"Skye? Everything alright?"

"Yes." Skye said quietly, even though she was having a little difficulty washing her hands because she wasn't meant to get the cast wet. "I'm just washing my hands."

"Okay." Abby said. "I'll wait out here for you."

It took a little effort to not get the soap on the cast, but after a couple of minutes, Skye opened the bathroom door and shuffled out.

"Hey." Abby smiled at her.

"Hi."

Abby was sitting on the bed, the blankets had been smoothed out and folded neatly at the bottom of the mattress. It was what Skye was supposed to do, but hadn't. Abby had a pile of things on her lap and there was a plastic tray with a juice box and some chips and candy on it. Skye frowned. They never got candy and chips at the orphanage, so Abby must have brought them in from home.

"You feel guilty." Skye said, leaning against the closed door of the bathroom. Abby raised an eyebrow in question and Skye nodded at the tray. "Candy." She said.

Abby sighed. "I just thought you deserved a treat."

"Thanks." Skye mumbled but made no move towards the food. Her tummy hurt pretty bad still, and she thought part of it may have been because she hadn't eaten in a long time, but Skye didn't want Abby's food. She didn't want Abby to feel better by giving Skye presents.

"I brought you these, too." Abby said, moving to sit on the floor and spread out the things on her lap. "I thought you might be bored."

Skye craned her neck to see all of the items on the carpet, without moving any closer. From what she could tell it was a selection of activity books with stickers and pens. A couple of them looked new, but most of them had the tell-tale signs of wear and tear that meant they had most likely been liberated from the common room of St Agnes'. Skye didn't say thank you this time.

"You're mad at me." Abby said, and Skye looked at her feet.

"Yeah, I am." She said. The socks were grubby from walking around the hospital in them. "I'm more mad at you than I've ever been in my whole life."

"That's a lot." Abby said.

"Yeah."

Abby walked over and kneeled in front of her. "I'm sorry, Skye." She said, and Skye glanced up at her. She wasn't wearing any make-up and her hair was tied back messily with bumps in the hair where it was usually smooth and sleek. "I wish I hadn't had to take you away."

"Then why did you?"

"Because my boss told me I had to."

Skye frowned. "If your boss told you to jump off a bridge, would you?"

Abby chuckled. "That's different, and you know it."

"I want to go home." Skye said, and her lip began quivering, no matter how much she tried to stop it.

Abby put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm working on it, okay? I'm really trying."

"Try harder."

Abby gave her a silly salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Abby left Skye alone in the room once more, although this time Skye had the food and craft things to entertain her a little. She really didn't want Abby's presents, but her tummy hurt and she really was thirsty, so Skye allowed herself the juice box and a bag of chips. She found herself practically inhaling the food, but refused to eat the candy out of principal. Plus, Mommy didn't let Skye have candy so early in the morning.

Skye ignored the activity books that appeared to be new, even though one of them had really cool silvery space stickers attached to the front of it, and instead flicked through some of the used colouring books. Most of the pages were either ripped or had scribbles on them, so Skye hoarded the selection of felt-tips that worked, and tucked herself into the corner of the room to begin drawing on her cast.

…

Bobbi had known Lance Hunter for five years. She had known Tony Stark for a little longer, and all three of them had hung out an awful lot together in that time. They had had some pretty weird nights. When Bobbi was twenty three, Tony had decided one night at two in the morning that it was entirely necessary to fly to Vegas to buy a very specific type of tequila from a hotel there. Bobbi and Hunter had been dragged along (perhaps not too unwillingly) with him, and ended up awakening in the bathroom of a Denny's in Austin, Texas sixteen hours later. Even that night was only top five.

This night however, had been the weirdest that Bobbi had ever spent with Hunter and Tony, for entirely different reasons.

"It doesn't look real." Hunter was arguing with Tony, both guys bent over several sheets of paper on the dining room table of a house that Bobbi hadn't even been aware Tony had owned.

"It's fine." Tony huffed. "Look." He held up two sets of documents, both almost identical aside from the names on them, and pushed them into Bobbi's face. "Can you tell the difference?" Tony asked her.

Bobbi inspected the two sheets of paper. Apparently they were deeds to the house, or at least the one with Tony's name on was, the other, featuring the full names and signatures of her and Hunter, was a forged copy. She ran her finger over the notarised stamp on the illegal forgery that Tony had got there with some computer magic. Bobbi wasn't particularly well-versed in home deed forgeries, but this one looked pretty legit to her.

"It looks the same to me." She said.

Tony grinned. "See," he said to Hunter, "you're just being paranoid. As far as anyone can tell, you two have owned this house for the past three years," Tony held up the deed, "and you've both got incredible credit scores," he picked up another couple of papers, "and you're even on the Stark Industries payroll, so you've both got jobs that can sustain a lifestyle with a kid."

Hunter nodded and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. They hadn't slept yet, none of them, although it seemed Tony was faring better than either Bobbi or Hunter were, despite the lack of caffeine he had ingested.

"We need to go get groceries." Bobbi said with that train of thought. Both men looked at her blankly. "Lance, when you called Abby this morning you said she said she was sending someone around to 'inspect' us."

"Yeah?" Hunter said.

"Yeah. That means they're going to look at more than house deeds and credit scores. They need to walk in here," she held her arm outstretched, "and it needs to look lived-in. We need food in the cupboards and shit like that."

Tony nodded and began tapping away at his phone. "On it."

Bobbi sat down on the pristine grey velvet couch and dropped her head into her hands. "What if this doesn't work?"

Hunter sat down next to her and wrapped his arm sound her shoulders. Bobbi leaned into him automatically and he laced his fingers with hers. "It'll work." He said quietly. He dropped his voice even lower. "I have faith in Tony."

Bobbi smirked at him. "Me, too. But we can never tell him that."

"Never." Lance agreed.

She kissed his cheek and let herself relax into the plush cushions of the sofa. Despite the exhaustion, Bobbi was simply too wired to sleep. Hunter, too, appeared to be in the same boat. His eyes had dark circles under them, but his foot was tapping on the rug incessantly.

Hunter's foot-tapping was irritating, but the man was finding things just as difficult as Bobbi, if not more so given the unquestionable feelings regarding his little sister the whole situation was dredging up, so Bobbi just let him be. She ignored the tapping best she could, distracting herself with an inspection of the house.

It was a nice house, small, discreet, in a quiet area only a short distance from her parents' neighbourhood. The house wasn't anything special from the outside, and inside, it was just as ordinary with a pale décor. It was everything Tony Stark wasn't.

"How did you end up with this house, anyway?" Bobbi asked, looking over at the table where Tony was still tapping away on his phone.

He didn't say anything for a couple of seconds, just continued to pay attention to his phone, then looked up at Bobbi with a shrug. "Long story."

"I want to know." She said. "Since this is my house now."

"Our house." Hunter reminded her.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Your house temporarily."

"But, it's just so not you." Bobbi said. She rubbed the velvet on the arm of the couch the wrong way, making the colour a shade darker. "I mean, I assume this couch is expensive-,"

"Twelve thousand dollars." Tony said.

"Holy fuck." Hunter muttered.

"-but," Bobbi continued, "why would you buy a house here, in this neighbourhood, and why would you buy something so small?"

"Two bedrooms?" Hunter smirked. "Your kid's room's practically bigger than this whole house. Or so I assume."

Tony smiled. "I'd like to be able to tell you that I bought this house, in this area, in this size, because I was planning for my future and I wanted my children to grow up normal and go to the local school and play in the playground."

Bobbi blinked at him. "That's really nice, Tony."

Tony scoffed. "I said I'd like to tell you that. I would. But the God's honest truth is that sometimes when you're a billionaire you get drunk and browse real estate and then before you know it you wake up with a killer hangover and an extra house." He shrugged. "Happens."

"Sometimes," Bobbi sighed, "I think that you've really grown up and that you're truly a good man, and then other times you do things like buy houses when you're drunk."

"To be fair," Tony said, standing from the table and wandering over to plonk himself in an armchair that Bobbi didn't even want to consider the retail price of, "I bought this four years ago. I've grown since then."

"He has." Lance confirmed. "I'm not sure he would have committed fraud for us four years ago."

Bobbi tipped her head. Lance wasn't wrong about that.

"We've still got a few hours until that inspector is supposed to be coming over." Tony said. "What do you guys want to do?"

"Food shopping?" Hunter suggested, and Tony shook his head.

"Having it all delivered because I've grown and I'm a better human than I was four years ago." He gave Bobbi and poignant look.

"Thank you." She smiled. "Really, thank you, Tony. We could never have done this without you."

"Skye needs her family." Tony said with uncharacteristic sincerity.

"Yeah." Lance agreed. "She'll be okay. We all will."

He squeezed her hand, and when Bobbi looked at her husband, she truly believed him.

"We'll be okay."

…

Although Natasha and Clint had vowed to stay with Mel and Phil in the hospital, Natasha was ever so slightly regretting the promise when she realised that there was no wifi and the only reading material available in the hospital room was the lunch menu, which, as it happened, was not good entertainment. Despite this, Clint had taken to reading the food choices aloud to the people in the room. Natasha was one more 'ooh, and you can get a little cup of jello' away from having a mental breakdown.

"Well," Clint said, flicking through the hospital menu for what Nat thought had to be the third time, "Mel, you can have soup and a sandwich. That's a pretty good lunch." Clint nodded to himself and Nat watched as her mother and father rolled their eyes at each other. "I mean, for a hospital, it's pretty good."

He was trying to distract everyone from Skye's absence. It was working to an extent, but Nat caught sight of her mom squeezing her eyes closed and frowning every so often. Everyone was worried.

"Clint." Her dad said.

"Yeah?" He looked up from the menu.

"Go home." Her dad turned to Nat. "You, too. The two of you are not good at disguising your boredom."

"No, Dad. We're not leaving until you guys do."

Her mother smiled. "That's very kind of you, but honestly I'd feel better knowing that you're both home safe." She held out a hand to Nat, and Natasha tucked herself next to her mother on the bed. "Go home, baby." Her mother kissed her cheek. "Please."

Nat wanted to tell her 'no' that she was staying, but the eyes her mom was giving her and the pleading looks from her father, had Natasha relenting. She glanced over at Clint. He pressed his lips together and gave a little shrug.

"Are you forcing us to go home?" Nat asked.

Her mom shifted in the bed, grimacing slightly but waving Tasha off when she tried to help. "I'm not forcing you. I'm just saying I would much prefer it if you were at home."

"But, Mom-,"

"Please, Nat." Her mom said. "Skye's in a place she shouldn't be, Bobbi and Hunter are off doing God knows what, and you and Clint are here wasting away. Please. Go home, eat, rest. I'll feel much better."

Natasha groaned. "You're guilt tripping us."

Her dad shook his head. "Please. We'll call you if anything changes."

"Fine." Nat sighed. "Fine. We'll go. But we'll be back in a couple of hours."

Her dad smiled. "Fair enough."

Natasha glanced around the hospital room, making mental note of the things they needed to take with them. She grimaced a little when she realised the only thing she and Clint had with them to take home was her dirty hoodie in the plastic bad hung at the foot of her mother's bed. Well, that and her shoes that she had abandoned three hours into their stay.

"I'll call us a cab. Clint said, taking his phone out of his pocket and tapping at the screen.

Nat nodded, slipping on her sneakers, and turned back to her parents. Her dad was picking at the sleeve of his hospital pyjamas with a look of distain.

"I'll bring you guys some clothes when we come back." Natasha told them, bending down to tie her shoes. "Anything else you need?"

"Mel?" Her dad said. "Anything else?"

"Mm? No. just-," her mom made a little grunt, "just, um, clothes. Yeah."

"Mel? Are you okay?" Her dad asked, and Nat finishing tying her shoes and stood up.

Her Mom was hunched over on the hospital bed, her face screwed up and her eyes tight shut. "Mom?"

"Melinda?" Her dad placed a hand on her mother's shoulder and she shook her head quickly. "What's the matter?"

"Something's wrong." Her mom said, eyes still closed. She gasped and her arms wrapped around her stomach. "Something's wrong, Phil."

Natasha looked from her mother, to her father, to Clint and back again. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know." Her mother ground out. "It just…hurts."

"W-what can I do?" Nat asked. She curled her hands around the metal railing on the bed. "Mom?"

Her mother's breath stuttered and she reached out to grab her dad. "Phil. Something's not right. It hurts."

"What hurts? Melinda, tell me."

She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "My stomach. It-God-it hurts. It's not right. It shouldn't feel like this."

Clint squeezed Nat's elbow. "I'll go get a doctor."

Natasha wanted to tell him to run, to get someone to help as fast as possible because she couldn't stand to see her mother in pain, but he was gone in such a flash that by the time the thoughts even manifested in her brain, he was out of the room.

"Phil," her mom gasped, "I'm scared."

"It' okay," he said, "Clint's gone for help.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you."

Natasha bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. "Tell you what, Dad?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Melinda, please, it's okay."

"It's not, it's not." She cried. "It's getting worse, Phil. I'm so sorry."

Nat's dad was bent over the bed, a position that she was sure must have been incredibly painful with his broken ribs, but his focus was all on her mother. He stroked her hair and kissed her cheeks and whispered to her in the soft voice Nat herself had been on the receiving end of when she had been sick in the past. He was helping, or trying to best he could, while her mother writhed and gasped in pain, gripping at her stomach.

Natasha just stood there. She didn't know what to do. Clint was finding a doctor, even he was helping, but Natasha just stood by the bedside and tried not to cry. She wanted to go, to run away and come back later when everything was fixed and her mom was better, wasn't scared and crying. Nat felt frightened. She didn't know what to do, or how to help.

Bobbi would know. Bobbi always seemed to know what to do, even when they were younger and Nat was still in high school, she always went to Bobbi for help before either of her parents.

At sixteen, Natasha had found herself in a history class with a certain Mr Sitwell, who had taken an immediate dislike to her, and so had been nasty and unkind in his lessons. Nat had grown up in less than ideal circumstances in Russia, and then had been schooled at home for the better part of six months before attending actual school, so her experience with teachers and state education was limited at best, but even she could tell Mr Sitwell was not a 'good' teacher.

He had singled her out in lessons when she hadn't known the answers, and called her 'ignorant' when her lack of knowledge surrounding American history had shown, and the man made it no secret that he was simply not a fan of her heritage. Six and a half weeks into Sitwell's torturous lessons, and Natasha had been praising herself for keeping her cool and ignoring his nasty comments towards her, instead focusing on her studies. She hadn't bothered to complain to her parents, not wanted to give them anything else to worry about, what with her already being on a constant behavioural report with school anyway. But one day, her time with Mr Sitwell had reached a climax.

They were learning about the Cold War, a lesson that was not technically in the syllabus for their grade, but that Sitwell had taken to teaching them anyway. He was making a list on the white board of the reasons the US had won the Cold War. Natasha was trying her best to keep her mouth shut, and not to tell Sitwell that technically the Cold War hadn't really been 'won' by either country, when her name had been called.

"Natasha." Sitwell had said. "You're Russian."

"Yes." She had answered, glaring at the teacher's stupid glasses.

"So could you explain to the class what communism is?"

Natasha had been taken aback. "I'm sorry?"

"Com-u-nis-m." Sitwell had said slowly, like she hadn't been able to understand his words. "Tell us what it is."

She had frowned at him. "Why should I have to explain it? Because I am from Russia?"

"Yes." He had said, without pause. "Because you're a communist."

It had taken every ounce of Natasha's strength not to vault over her desk and slam Sitwell's smarmy face into his pathetic list on the whiteboard. She hadn't been able to stay in the room, though. The rest of the students 'ooh-ed' as she stormed out of the room and half ran to the bathrooms, locking herself in a cubicle. Natasha had called the only person she knew could always help, the person she relied on sometimes more than even her parents.

Bobbi had answered before the third ring, and Nat had explained the situation without punching a hole through the door.

"Don't hit him." Bobbi had said immediately after. "I know you want to, I want to, too, but it won't solve anything."

"Okay." Nat had said.

"Here's what you do. You go back in that classroom, and show that fucktard what being Russian is really about."

And Nat had done. She had quietly gone back into the classroom, sat down, and then for the following six months of her history class had glared menacingly at Sitwell and only answered his questions in Russian. She had got a B+ in the end, and Natasha had vowed to always take her sister's advice, because that girl knew her stuff.

But that had been in school, when the worst of Natasha's problems had been her hold on her anger and mean teachers. It was nothing like the situation unfolding in front of her now.

Clint still wasn't back, her mom's groans and gasps were becoming even more frantic, and the only thing that Nat could think to do was call her sister. It made no sense and logically Natasha knew Bobbi couldn't really help when she wasn't one, a doctor, and two, in the room in person, but she still found herself tapping in the familiar number and waiting for Bobbi's answer before the third ring.

"Nat? Everything okay?"

"No. Bobbi, I don't know what to do." Nat said quickly, voice raising over the pained noises from her mother. "Mom's crying."

"What? Why?"

"She's hurt, she's- Clint went to get a doctor but- Bobbi- what do I- I don't know-,"

"Calm down." Bobbi told her. "Breathe. Don't get panicked. Right now you need to be calm."

Natasha took two deep breaths. "I'm calm."

"No, you're not." Bobbi said. "But that's okay. Just tell me, what's happening?"

"Mom just started crying and she says her stomach hurts." Nat said, worriedly peering at the tears still streaming down her mother's cheeks.

"You need to get the doctor."

"Clint went for the doctor!" Nat snapped. "Bobbi, what do I do?"

There was a pause on the line, and their mom gave a particularly pained cry.

"I don't know, Natasha." Bobbi said quietly. "I'm not there."

Tasha bit down hard on the inside of her mouth. "Help me."

"I don't know how." Bobbi said. There was some mumbling and rustling on her side of the phone, as she seemed to be briefly explaining the situation to whoever was with her.

Nat waited for a few seconds, keeping the phone pressed against her ear and trying to ignore the pained sounds coming from her mother. She glared at the door, willing Clint to return with a doctor, a nurse, with anyone who could help. It felt as though he had been away for ages, but a glance at the clock on the wall told her differently.

There was a shuffle on Bobbi's end of the phone, and then Hunter's voice was in Nat's ear. "Put it on speaker." He said with an authority Natasha wasn't used to hearing from him.

"What?"

"Speaker." He repeated. "Put the bloody phone on speaker."

She did as he requested and then awkwardly held the phone out in front of her. "Okay."

"I'm on speaker?" Hunter asked and Nat nodded when both of her parents looked towards the sound of his voice. "Yes? Speaker? Everyone can hear me?"

"Um, yeah." Nat said. "Sorry. Yeah, they can hear you."

"Right, good." He said. "Mel, listen I have no idea what's going on but Bob's crying now and apparently Tash is freaking out and seriously, I don't know what to do."

Nat's mom, through her pain, managed to roll her eyes at Hunter. She gritted her teeth. "Lance Hunter what is freaking point? I am in a lot of pain and I'm scared."

"I didn't really have a point to be honest." Hunter mumbled. "Pain? Wait you're in pain? What kind of pain? Where's the bloody doctors?"

Natasha glared at the phone. "Clint is getting the doctor!"

"Well, good." Hunter said. "What kind of pain?" He asked again, this time a little more urgently.

"Stomach." Her dad answered, brushing the hair away from her mother's eyes. "She says her stomach hurts."

"Fucking hell." Lance breathed. "Get the doctor, she needs a doctor."

"I know that." Nat's dad snapped.

"It might be the baby." Lance said, and Nat stared at the phone in her hand.

"The what?" She asked, glancing at the blank expression on her father's face.

Hunter sighed. "The baby. Mel's pregnant."

The hospital room door opened, and in stormed a doctor with two nurses by his side and a worried looking Clint trailing after them. Natasha gaped at the phone in her hand. The call was still going, the numbers on the screen steadily counting up, but anything Hunter was still saying was drowned out by the voices of the doctor and the nurses.

The male nurse pushed Nat out of the way and asked her to wait outside but she just moved back to stand by Clint next to the armchair. Clint held her hand tightly and Nat continued to grip the phone in the other. Her mind was blank aside from the events unfolding in front of her. She watched as the doctor gave orders to the two nurses and began questioning her mother. He was feeling her stomach, pressing down on various areas and nodding whenever she spoke.

"Did you hear that?" Nat asked Clint. She kept her eyes on her mom and when Clint failed to answer she put her phone under her arm and awkwardly signed the question with one hand in front of his face.

"Sorry, lots of sounds going on." He said. "Nothing's very clear." Clint poked at his ear with his free hand. "Hear what?"

"What Hunter said." She signed it as she spoke.

"Hunter?" Clint tugged on her hand until she looked at him. A nurse wheeled a machine into the room and various things began beeping. The same nurse frowned at them and began pushing them out of the door.

"I want to stay." Nat argued. "That's my Mom."

"No family in the room." The nurse snapped and closed the door behind them.

Natasha frowned and sat down on the floor of the hallway, Clint following. She unlaced her fingers from Clint's and pulled her phone from under her arm. The call was still going and when she held the phone up to her ear Natasha could hear the familiar, and weirdly comforting sounds of Bobbi and Hunter arguing.

"I'm going to hang up now." She told the phone and ended the call. It was probably unfair to bother her sister and her husband, and would probably worry them endlessly, but Nat found she could barely focus on one thing at a time and having the responsibility of keeping them updated in real time seemed too difficult.

She pushed her phone into her back pocket and reached out to turn Clint's face to hers. "Hunter was on the phone." She said clearly, avoiding biting her mouth so that Clint could read her lips to aid her signing. The hallway was significantly quieter, but there was still a multitude of sounds coming from various directions and she was all too aware of how several inputs could influence Clint's hearing. "He said that Mom is," Nat paused, suddenly unsure of the sign that she hadn't really found a need to learn before, "pregnant." She finished, just guessing and miming a rounded stomach with both hands.

Clint's eyebrows almost reached his hairline. "Like, with a baby?" He asked.

Nat would have mocked him for his stupid question, but if he was experiencing even a fraction of the shock and trauma that she was feeling at that moment, then his brain short-circuit was perfectly acceptable.

"I assume with a baby." She answered. "I don't even know if she is. I mean, if she is how would Hunter know? Bobbi didn't seem to know. And she wouldn't lie to me about that."

"Maybe he was kidding?" Clint suggested. "You know, some weird British humour, or something."

"It didn't sound like he was joking." Natasha sighed and shuffled closer to Clint. "This has been the strangest twenty-four hours of my entire life." She said. "And I once punched a nun in the face."

Clint grinned and kissed her. "You're special."

She smiled but found that she just couldn't hold it. "I'm worried about Mom."

"I am, too." Clint said. "But the doctors know what they're doing. They'll make her better. That's their job. They're paid to make people better."

"Or to call time." Nat mumbled and Clint pinched her cheek.

"None of that." He said. "Mom will be okay. She's always okay." Clint shrugged. "And hey, on the bright side, this has given us a distraction from worrying about Skye."

Natasha grimaced. "Thanks Clint, now I'm concerned about my baby sister, too. Urg, this whole thing is a mess."

"Maybe you should call Hunter back?" Clint said quietly. "They'll be worried, too."

She considered it for a few moments before shaking her head. "No. I just need to not do anything for a little while."

"Okay." He nodded and wrapped an arm around her. "We can do that."

…

Bobbi looked up from the silent cell phone in Hunter's hand, to her husband's guilty face. He smiled warily at her.

"What the fuck, Hunter? My mother is pregnant and you tell me like this?" She punched his shoulder, hard.

"Sorry, love." He apologised. "But it was a secret. It wasn't really mine to tell."

"How did you even find that out?"

Hunter ran a hand through his short hair. "If I told you I was eavesdropping from a tree, would you be mad at me?"

Bobbi groaned and walked away. If she didn't have enough to be concerned about with Skye, she now had her idiot husband and her pregnant mother to consider, as well as her seemingly hysterical little sister.

Tony Stark stood by the living room door. "What's going on?" He asked her.

Bobbi held out both hands in defeat. "I don't even know anymore."

…

Skye was pleased to find that after Abby left, she wasn't disturbed by anyone else and was left to doodle on her arm's cast in peace. It had been a little difficult to start with, but once she found a comfortable position to rest her left arm against her knees, it became a little easier and Skye was content to quietly draw on her arm. She still felt a little weary drawing and colouring, memories of Miss Macy ripping up her card pricking in the back of her mind, but Skye had new memories now to think of. She thought about the special sign on her bedroom door at home that Bobbi had made, and of the picture she had drawn for Nat and Clint with spiders and dogs on it.

So far she had managed to draw a line of little people, not like Bobbi's drawings that looked like photographs, but little smiley stick figures that represented each person in her family. Skye had drawn Mommy and Daddy, then had changed colours to draw Natasha and Clint and Bobbi and Hunter. She smiled at her work and began using the green pen to colour grass at the feet of her family.

She would much rather be left alone in the room than be forced to go out into the common areas and interact with the other children. Skye hadn't really been gone from the orphanage for all that long, but coming back and seeing not only the kids that were still there, but also the inevitable wave of new children who had arrived, always unnerved her. It was a reminder that Skye wasn't alone, that she wasn't the only kid who was being passed around like a stray dog. It didn't make her feel any better, just sadder for the other children in similar positions.

She picked up the dark blue pen and began drawing Lucky the dog next to Clint's feet. He looked a little like a kitty, but Skye was still proud of herself. Lulu was easier to draw, but she ended up being almost the same size as Natasha when Skye was done. She giggled to herself as she imagined what Mommy would do if she saw a spider that big.

Someone knocked at the door.

Skye shuffled further into the corner of the room. She didn't want to be forced to go out and see the other kids.

Whoever it was, was very patient because after a few moments they knocked again. Three hard wraps. Skye waited for them to burst in, braced herself for what she felt was the inevitable fight to remain on her own in the room, but nothing came. It was quiet, and then once more, three knocks.

Curiosity, more than anything got the better of Skye, and she left the pens to stand up and slowly cross the room to the door. Somewhere outside a kid started screaming, a tantrum scream, Skye could tell. The noise of the child faded away as someone either consoled them or ignored them long enough for the tantrum to become more work than the result was worth.

Three more knocks.

Skye reached out with her good hand, and opened the door. On the other side was someone Skye had never seen before, someone she immediately decided she didn't like.

"Thank goodness," the man said, "I thought I was going to be stood out here all day."

He stepped into the room and closed the door gently behind him. Skye stumbled back over to her corner of the room with the pens and sat down. She eyed the scary man cautiously. He was a large man, tall and imposing with a long black leather jacket and an eye patch that Skye couldn't stop staring at.

"Hello, Skye." The man said. He sat down on the bottom bunk of the bed and it creaked loudly under his weight. He hunched over slightly to avoid banging his head. It would have been funny if he hadn't been so scary.

"Hello." Skye said quietly. She sat down on the floor and folded her legs like they did at school. The man clasped his hands together. He seemed like he was pretty important. "Am I in trouble?"

He frowned. "Why would you think that? Have you done something wrong?"

Skye hesitated. "I-I don't think so." She said. "But you look like you're going to tell me off for something."

"Well I'm not." The man said. His voice was gravelly and deep, but the more he spoke, the less Skye found herself feeling intimidated. "My name is Nick Fury." Nick held out his hand to her and Skye shuffled forward on the carpet to shake it.

"I'm Skye." She said. "But I guess you already knew that."

"I did. I was called here by Abby. She told me you've had a rough time."

Skye rubbed her fingers over the little stick family on her cast. "You could say that."

Nick smiled. "I'm here to help, Skye."

"That's what everyone says." She huffed. "If you wanna help me then take me back to my Mommy and Daddy." Skye sighed. "That's all I want."

Nick Fury pushed himself down to sit on the floor by Skye. His long legs looked funny all cramped up when he crossed them and his jacket got all crumpled. He didn't seem to mind, though.

"I want nothing more than to be able to get you back safe and happy with your family." Nick said. "But here's the catch."

"There's always a catch." Skye grumbled.

"I need to ask you a few questions. Some about what it's like at home, some about your family."

Skye cocked her head at Nick. "Like an interview?"

"I like to think of it as more of a controlled conversation."

"A conversation means that I get to ask you questions, too."

Nick grinned and Skye marvelled at how just a few minutes ago the man had seemed so scary. "Fair enough. Why don't you ask first?"

"Okay." Skye studied Nick Fury, letting her eyes roam the worn leather of his coat, up to the black eye patch. She looked up at him seriously. "Are you a pirate?"

Nick laughed. "I'm not, no."

"A spy?"

He smirked. "I'm a social worker."

Skye gawked at him. "You're a social worker? But you look nothing like Abby."

"Yeah, well, we don't all look the same."

She nodded. "Sure don't."

"If it makes it any more believable, I used to be principal of a high school before I did this job."

"I guess I can believe that." Skye shrugged. "But you look more like the principal of a prison."

He chuckled. "Moving on, I need to ask you about your family."

"I love my family." Skye said immediately. "All of them. Even Hunter."

"Hunter? Lance Hunter?"

"Mmhm." Skye nodded. "He's my sister Bobbi's husband. He's pretty funny."

Nick nodded and scratched his chin. "Bobbi and Hunter. You like them?"

"I love them."

"Good, good." Nick smiled. "And what do you think of their house?"

Skye frowned. "Their house? What house?"

Nick Fury's expression changed minutely, but he schooled it so quickly that Skye didn't have the opportunity to register it. "The house that Bobbi and Hunter own."

Skye giggled. Nick was silly. "Bobbi and Hunter don't own a house."

"They don't?"

"No." Skye smiled. "They live with us in my Mommy and Daddy's house because they moved here from England and now they've got no money."

Nick nodded. "Good to know."

"Yeah. Bobbi's got Captain America sheets on her bed."

Nick grinned. "Great to know."

Skye tapped her drawing of her Mommy on her cast. In the picture, Mommy was smiling brightly back at her and she had a flower in her hair. "Is it my turn to ask a question now?" She asked.

"Go ahead."

Skye looked up from her cast. Nick was smiling at her; he nodded for her to ask her question.

"When can I go home, please?"

His face softened and the smile became apologetic. Nick placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm doing my best. Really, I'm trying."

"Abby said that, too."

"Yeah, but I'm bigger, better and more important than Abby, so I can really move things along." Nick said. "Seriously, I'm kind of the big cheese around here."

"Cheese?"

"Never mind. Just know that I'm going to get you home, Skye. I am." Nick Fury seemed much more confident that Abby, and maybe it was the impact of his eye patch and leather jacket, but Skye truly believed him.

"Nick Fury?"

"Yes, Skye?"

"Get me outta this dump."

He grinned and saluted her. "Yes, ma'am."

"Abby does that, too."

"Yeah, who do you think taught her it?" Nick said.

Skye decided that she liked Nick Fury. "Hey Nick?"

"Yes, Skye?"

"Are you sure you're not a spy?"

A/N: Sooooooooo, what did you think? :)