No Complaints

As a child, Skye had always thought that one day she'd be a mother – that she'd have a baby (one, two, three babies) and she'd love them to the moon and back, giving them all the affection and care and stability she had never gotten.

Then came the Rising Tide years, and she revised this thought – after all, she was living in her van, where she had wi-fi, sure (feel the irony), but no running water or even a real bed, and she was barely scraping by, sometimes living on ramen for weeks. And back then, she saw no hope this situation ever changing – so really, bringing a child to the world seemed stupid, irresponsible, so during this period of her life she had given up ever having a family on her own.

This was followed by her time with S.H.I.E.L.D. and Grant, when the never turned into someday – someday, when the world is a little less crazy, when we are a little safer, when we are not hunted, we will have a child. During those dark months when they were not only battling HYDRA but the government, too, some night they would lie in their bed, holding each other, fantasizing about how it would be, imagining their would-be children.

Then of course – completely out of the blue, catching them off-guard, at the worst possible time – she got pregnant. There she was, with powers she didn't quite understand yet, in the wake of a war she waged – amongst others – against her mother, living at a S.H.I.E.L.D. base, fighting bad guys left and right, and she was having a baby.

She didn't once consider getting rid of her.

And she hasn't regretted having her, not for a second.

Her baby girl, Haylie Grace Ward, is almost a year old now – a bright and curious child, all smiles and wide-eyed wonder at the world around her. She loves her a little more every single day.

"Look there, baby, look at the butterfly!" she points at the colorful little creature, crouching on the ground, holding Haylie upright.

"Bah!" Haylie echoes, following the butterfly with her eyes; her babblings are slowly becoming coherent syllables (she knows there's a bet going on at the base about what will be her first word), and she is getting surer and surer on her feet, her brave little girl.

"Yes, a butterfly," she repeats, ruffling Haylie's hair (it's getting long, reaching below her ears now), then stands up, hoisting the toddler to her hip.

Despite all the love and help they get at the base, the Playground can get a little crowded and claustrophobic at times, so Skye is really grateful for their sort-of-mandatory, weekly – when missions allow – trips to this park (which is conveniently only ten minutes on foot from Dr. Winslow's pet clinic). And Haylie needs the fresh air, anyway.

Right now, Skye relishes in the soft, spring sunlight as she walks back with a grinning toddler on her hip to where they spread their blanket with Grant. There's something peacefully reassuring about nature waking up once again – the promise of a new start.

"Do you like it here, Haylie-bell?" she asks her daughter, tickling her in the side; Haylie responds with a bubbling laugh. "Good, because soon we are going to live in a place that has just this much green – where you'll have a big yard to play in…"

At least she hopes so. Coulson has been in discussion with the government about the reinstatement of S.H.I.E.L.D. – with some modifications, of course – for some time, and if that goes through, the Playground will be cleared out, the Triskelion reopened, and they… They'll move out, buy a house and live the American dream, at least within the limitation of still being agents.

It still seems surreal.

Grant is where she left him minutes ago to show Haylie the ducks and chase butterflies, the only difference being that by now he has packed out the food they've brought – store-bought stuff, which damages the picture of domesticity a bit, not that she cares the slightest. He smiles up at them as they approach, already standing up and reaching for Haylie – Skye hands her over, watching as a smitten smile as Grant babbles nonsensical baby-things to their daughter.

"What?" he asks chuckling, catching her gaze, as they sit down.

Haylie reaches for her stuffed monkey lying on the plaid right away, so Skye picks it up and hands it to her.

"Nothing," she shrugs. "It's just sometimes I'm still trying to wrap my head around this whole thing – I mean, who would have thought three years ago that we would get here?" she gestures at the three of them. "The reckless hacker and the emotionless specialist raising a baby and dreaming of houses with white picket fence?"

Grant smiles, but nods at her thoughtfully.

"But we seem to be faring rather well," he replies, smoothing down Haylie's hair and pressing a kiss against the crown of her head as she sits in his lap. "And it's not like I'm complaining.)

Skye lets out a little laugh.

"No, not at all."