The thing about Skye

Extension off: She's attached

Skye knows that she messed up. Big. She always manages to.

She knew contacting him was a bad idea. A mistake. But it was Miles. Miles who picked her up off the street when she was still a runaway, homeless, teen. Miles who has talked her off of many ledges- who got her to stop cutting- who put her on a new path- a path with purpose. Miles who she grew to love, and was the first and only person to ever love her back.

So, no, it wasn't really a mistake. She had to warn him. She couldn't have done anything else (not really).

The mess up came in the part that followed. The part that had her falling into bed with him, allowing the comfort of his touch, and familiarity, and warmth. The part that forgot the purpose of her mission and gave into the desperate monster that carves out her chest and demands affection, and attention, and just one more, one last, little taste of love.

And then May was standing at the door, holding Skye's dangling shirt from her fingertips, and Skye didn't entirely realize that she had something else to lose.

And she lost. Everything.

Again.

She knows, she knows, that this is not another foster home, but these god awful emotions feel just like when her social worker would show up at the door to take her back. Not a good fit- too loud- too quiet- can't sit still- too distant- too clingy. It's always something. Always her fault.

A screw up, even when she tries her absolute hardest.

She knew meeting with Miles was a mistake, but she did it anyway. And, fuck, she's such a whore, too. She risked everything for him. And she lost everything for him. For Miles, who didn't even turn out to be who she thought he was. Who was a liar. A hypocrite.

It doesn't make sense- doesn't match up with what she knows- the hours of rants and dreaming as they lay in bed, his arms around her and that greedy monster in her chest clawing, and carving, but quieter than she's ever experienced it. Maybe that was a dream too. The only thing good that ever came out of her life, and it was a lie.

How can she possibly salvage this? Not Miles, but the team? The team she accidentally got attached to even though she knew better (knew better like she knew better then to meet up with Miles).

Skye stares down at the bracelet- the shackle- around her wrist, and she doesn't know what comes next. It feels like she's just been told that her social worker is on her way. They are so sorry, but she just has to go. It's not a good fit.

She hesitantly slides a finger under the band, wondering if all it did was restrict her computer access, like Coulson said, or if it could shock her, too. She remembers vividly when she was nine and her foster mother put her dog's shock collar around her throat and wasn't shy about pressing the button every time Skye was bad, or tried to take it off, or didn't move quickly enough to obey.

Her fingers fall away from the innocent looking, decorative, cuff. They tingle faintly like they did whenever she managed to jam her fingers between her neck and collar just before she got a big zap of punishment. The ghosts of memories and pain (and real guilt for her screw ups- truly believing that it's her fault- right before each punishment), cling to her.

Skye closes her eyes against the spray of the shower, and the thick steam makes it hard to inhale.

She feels stuck. Numb. Immobile.

She feels the ghost of Miles' touch with each drop that pelts against her, and the monster claws at her, desperate, and angry, and scared.

Why did she do it?

Slowly at first, she raises her hands and starts rubbing at her skin, then scrubbing, then clawing as her legs give out and a sob bursts past her lips. Skye rips gouges into the skin of her arms and legs, but she hardly feels the stinging pain mixing with the hot torrents of recycled water.

What did she do? What did she do? Miles, the only one to ever love her, and she turned her back on him. Coulson, the only man to ever believe in her, to see something in her, and she betrayed him.

Skye doesn't know what she regrets more. Maybe letting herself hope at all. She knew better than to do that, too.

But she did. She couldn't help hoping.

Wanting.

Shame and humiliation burn her when she gently pats dry her skin, wincing at the sting every time the towel's rough fabric brushes against her torn flesh. Several of the claw marks leak slightly, running in pink streams as the sluggish beads mix with water trails.

If she were with Miles, he would hold her close as he helped clean her self-destructive wounds, whisper reassurances as he gently wrapped them up, and tell her how much he loved her as he kissed the crisp white bandages, before guiding her to the comfort of their bed.

The monster thrashes inside her again, and tries to claw its way up her throat.

Instead of disinfectant and gauze and whispers of hopeful dreams of the future, Skye is alone with the shards of a shattered one. She's as alone as she's ever been with the echoes of what could have been taunting her thoughts. She drags on long sleeves, and her sweats, and curls up on the ground at the foot of her bed. Dread of facing her team stalks angrily up to the monster, and they greet each other like old friends.

A/N: So, a small section of this, I had pulled from a snippet of a rewrite I was trying to make of the show. But, you know, I will doubt it will ever see the light of day, and I liked that portion, so I gave it it's own chapter in my one-shots.

For those still around, thanks for reading! I hope you likes this slice of angst.

~Silver~