The thing about Skye
She can't cope.
At least, not well. They should have expected that with all the scars lining Daisy's arms. That didn't change with her becoming an Agent of SHIELD. It just gave her more things to lose, more things to catastrophize about.
No amount of catastrophizing could have prepared her for HIVE. For Lincoln (she knew better than to fall in love- just look at what happened with the last two people she fell in love with).
So, after everything that happens, Daisy runs (Daisy isn't really a different person from Skye- she still has the same instincts, the same fears- why did she think changing her name would change anything?).
Skye/Daisy knows physical pain.
Skye/Daisy can bury it- function with it. This pain is entirely familiar, and entirely more. She's just never felt something so isolated and overwhelming before.
It thrums, and pulses, and burns, from her fingertips all the way to her collar bones. Her arms are heavy and useless, and she doesn't really care. Not about herself, not about anything. Not since-
Skye sits up and pulls her laptop closer to her. Her arms shake and hurt, but there is work to be done. She can stop when she's dead (dead like Lincoln- and how is she not dead yet- are these Watchdogs really that incompetent?).
Skye's fingers tremble and lock up, and Skye cradles them to her chest. She reaches for the pill bottle Elena's been smuggling for her, and it rattles desolately. There are only five left. It won't do much for her anymore, but she swallows them down anyway.
She's built a bit of a tolerance for them. They don't work without her overdosing, and overdosing sends the world spinning dizzily. Skye is used to feeling off balance.
She misses HIVE. HIVE who's partly responsible for Lincoln's death; HIVE who asked Skye to do so many horrible, awful, terrible things. And she misses him. Craves him.
She's never felt so happy before. Skye knows that it was fake; Jemma said he was similar to a drug and what she's now experiencing is withdrawal. But… could happiness really be fake, if she was truly, absolutely, happy while she was under the Sway?
Skye drags a liquor bottle from across her van floor, and her arms protest the grip.
Skye hates alcohol. The taste of it. The effects it has on the drinker. The smell (god, how she hates the smell that clogs in her nose and makes her feel disgusting and dirty). But Skye hates herself, too, so she drinks.
Skye is… spiraling. She knows she is. She just hopes she finally gets killed before she hits bottom (has she hit bottom yet? She doesn't know).
Skye turns her blurry, dizzy, eyes back toward her computer.
There is work to do.
….
Skye doesn't… intend to seek Jemma out. But with the information about the Watchdogs hacking SHIELD servers…
"Daisy?"
"Sorry," Skye grunts, "I had nowhere else to turn."
Jemma isn't as angry with Skye as Fitz was, but… She's still hurt. Skye doesn't want to be here. She shouldn't have come. Why couldn't that Watchdog have been a better shot?
Skye gulps from the bottle of vodka used to sterilize her wounds, and Jemma stares.
Working with Jemma again… it's… Skye misses them. So much. It aches more than all the various breaks in her arms.
But then, inevitably, Skye is reminded why she ran away in the first place with the name James Taylor flashing across her fuzzy vision.
HIVE.
Right.
She needs a drink.
A/N: Please review!
~Silver~