Trigger Warning: meltdown
The thing about Skye
Expansion off: She has the occasional meltdown
It's no surprise, after the day they had, that Skye can't sleep. The others themselves have only just settled down, but she remains fixed in place.
Without any idea how long they are out of a home (theirs being quite literally hijacked), they only got two rooms at the rundown motel to preserve money. With all of Hydra seemingly on their tail, it also feels safer to keep everyone close.
There are only two beds in the crappy room, and both are already taken by Jemma and May. Jemma offered to share (they've shared a bed a few sparse times before), but Skye doesn't have any intention to sleep.
She sits sideways in one of the two cushioned chairs in the room, legs draped over the arm. Her head aches still, and she consciously has to keep from touching her stitches every few minutes, but it's hard to remember when her thoughts feel so scattered. Well, less scattered and more disjointed. Wrong.
She keeps forgetting why she's even here, in this room, with these people- why she stays. The old feeling of needing to run burns in her muscles, only escaping in her repetitive leg bounce over the chair arm. Despite the restlessness stirring in her, she remains stuck with her sightless gaze fixed on a large water stain on the wall. Her body feels heavy, like her heart is sinking through her chest and stomach and through the chair to anchor her to the exact spot she is at and not letting her move.
This isn't a good spot to be stuck in, she knows. She should get up and move. It's a dangerous, looping, headspace that almost always leads to, at the very least, blood under her fingernails if not dripping off a razor blade.
But she's stuck. Her body isn't connected to her brain, and her brain might not be inside her head anyway. She feels outside herself but she doesn't know if she exists in her brain or her body. Maybe neither, or maybe both, and that's why she feels so split and dislodged.
Both her brain and her body are in agreement on their need to run, the urge is overwhelming, but when her body finally jolts to its feet, it feels more like a string pulled her upright than her body and brain finally cooperating. Her legs carry her outside, like the carved out feeling in her chest demands, but she has no actual control of herself.
The cold wind buffets against her as soon as she makes it out the door and quietly pulls it closed again. It creates ripples in the pool Fitz was dangling his feet into a few hours earlier, pantlegs rolled up to his knees.
The urge to go, to just disappear again off the face of the earth (she's good at disappearing) screams at her even stronger now that her body is actually mobile, but after the door clicks shut (she doesn't even have a keycard on her to get back into the room) her feet become stuck again. She stands rooted, staring at the reflections in the pool being disrupted by ripples.
Unable to move forward, and unable to go back, Skye sinks down against the wall beside the door. She drags her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her ribs and pressing her forehead into her knees. The night is cold, and she only has a hoodie to fight against the chill.
Her stomach rolls in nausea, and she doesn't know if it's from her concussion or her scattered emotions (emotions she doesn't have the energy or wherewithal to sort through).
Something sharper rises, pushing through the disconnect, making every part of her feel hot despite the cool night, and everything is all just suddenly (it's not very suddenly looking back) too much. Everything inside her is too much, and it wants out, and she wants it out, too- she wants it out of her skin.
She tugs at the collar of her hoodie, one sharp yank that cuts into the back of her neck and gives a barely-there flash of connected relief. She does it again, harder, wishing it was her skin she was yanking on rather than simply her clothes. It's not nearly enough to settle the bubbling, fritzing, stattic of her brain and body and Skye brings her other arm up to promptly bite down on her wrist.
The flash of pain is centering. It helps. It helps, but it's still not enough- nothing makes sense- it's not enough, and she keeps yanking on the front of her shirt, harder each time, and then rocks back harshly against the bricks at her spine.
She feels it. She actually feels it- the cold scraping rock, and her jaw locks down harder and she feels the sharp pinch of her teeth, and the dull pressure of where her skin begins under her clothes. She's trying to knock all the wiggling, crawling, things back into place. She's trying to make the world make sense.
The door beside her opens. It's unbearably loud like the pounding of her heart.
Her name is called.
A hand gently brushes against her, and it sends fire along her bones. She wants to scream. Insead, she bites down harder and does her best to twist away from the painful touch. It does not return.
Skye sits in this feeling- this feeling of confused, unbearable, wrongness for a long time. But eventually, no matter how endless it felt before, it does end. It ends so very slowly that she doesn't know its ending until she's just sitting in overwhelming exhaustion.
She seems to have tipped over at one point, because her temple rests on the cement outside the motel doors. Slowly, her jaw unclenches, and her hand falls to rest beside her face. Even slower, she blinks away the wet goop trying to stick her eyelids closed.
The world swims back into view, blurry at first, but becoming clearer with each blink.
Despite the new calm, she can't bring herself to wipe her face or even sit up.
A scraping sound has her vision focussing again, groggily searching out the source. May shifts into view, and if Skye were in any other mindset, she'd scramble to her feet and stutter through some bullshit excuse neither of them would expect the older agent to believe. But in her exhaustion, the most she can muster is a blanket of shame that settles heavy on her shoulders.
"Hey," May says quietly. More gently than Skye has ever heard her sound. "You back with me?"
Skye can't respond. Can't even nod let alone reply verbally. Her mouth feels like cotton and the connection of words in her brain have no path to follow to her vocal cords. Skye can only blink at the woman.
"Okay," she says and then shifts again so that her back is to the wall and Skye's head is mere inches from her hip. If she wanted, if she could get her body back in concert with her mind, she could easily shift forward to seek comfort. If it was anyone on their team other than May. If it was anyone one other than the strong, serious, woman who's always intimidated Skye the most- and who Skye was most desperate to impress.
They sit like this so long that the sky is just beginning to turn to a light gray, highlighted by brilliant orange and pink, before Skye is able to, with much effort, haul herself back into an upright position. The world continues to spin lazily, and Skye's brain works well enough again to know that it's the concussion, and not the universe being entirely scrambled.
May glances over at the movement, but she still doesn't say anything. Skye can't bring herself to return the gaze, or even look in her direction. The embarrassment is still there, but it's been long enough that it's shifted to something softer- something similar to comfort, or appreciation.
People don't normally stick around when they witness something like that, or if they do, they immediately try to get answers of the cause after it looks like Skye is coming down from the heightened emotions. And when she's physically unable to answer, they get frustrated and accuse her of being difficult (she's not trying to be), or not trusting them (which generally is true).
Skye finally manages to wipe at her face, scrubbing as best as she can at the tears and mucus. She clears her throat, hoping that it will help get her vocal cords in working order again.
It still takes several tries and all her effort to force out a short, "-Okay."
"Okay," May echoes, and after another moment, pushes herself to her feet. She still doesn't immediately start questioning Skye, though. She offers her hand, face as blank as ever, and helps Skye to her swaying feet when she takes it. "Do you want to go get cleaned up?"
She's almost surprised that May asks, and doesn't outright demand; it's not often that she offers a choice. If there is no choice, the agent doesn't present it as one.
Skye nods, mind turning to the rest of the team- how they will be waking up soon, and they'll have to start planning their next move of taking down Ward and Garrett. At the thought of Ward, a spike of fear shoots through her, but it's faint. All her emotions feel hidden behind three feet of concrete and, if patterns hold, will likely continue to be for the next few days. It's probably a good thing.
May, having the sense to remember her keycard, lets Skye back into the room, and she immediately heads for the bathroom.
Sometime during her shower, she regains her ability to speak, but it's still difficult and halting throughout the day, and she avoids it if she has to. No one seems to really notice it besides May, despite Skye ordinarily being very talkative.
Everyone is acting a bit off, though, having lost their home and been betrayed in the span of a few hours. Coulson is lost, Fitz is in denial about Ward (despite the evidence), and Simmons is angry. Skye doesn't know enough about Trip to judge his mindset, but she also doesn't know that she trusts him (she definitely doesn't trust him).
And May- May is angry too, but it is a cold, simmering, anger waiting to be released. It's controlled in a way Skye wishes she could control herself so she doesn't end up like she did last night, entirely overwhelmed and out of control.
May doesn't so much as glance at Skye, and she doesn't know what that means, but she remembers that May sat with her practically all night when she didn't have to, and then didn't even demand an explanation (didn't even request it).
Skye still feels the urge to run, but it's an urge to go home- Skye wants to go home. But she's never had one of those before so she doesn't know quite where to run considering she definitely doesn't ever want to return to the Bus.
A/N: Let me know what you guys think!
~Silver~