Author's Note: Hey everybody! This one-shot will be taking place after "Seeds" (1x12). Focuses on the aftermath of Skye finding out about her past. I know it's a little late, but it never hurts to have some SkyeWard. Spoilers for all episodes up to Seeds. Enjoy and please leave a review! Disclaimer: I do not own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

My fingers brushed over the cold marble monument, carefully tracing each name as I went. The names of James "Bucky" Barnes and Phillip Coulson stood out, both among the several rows of tributes dedicated to Operations agents. It was clear that the number of field agents that had died in the line of duty vastly outnumbered agents in other disciplines. At first I thought it was odd to see Coulson's name on the Wall of Valour, but then I realized that his "reincarnation" was not a well-known fact around S.H.I.E.L.D. training facilities.

Taking a deep shaky breath, I scanned the wall, finally locating the name I was looking for. Agent Linda Avery. An involuntary tear slowly rolled down my cheek. A single tear for the hundreds of people who were massacred trying to protect me. It was fitting. I owed my life to them. It was a debt I could never repay.

I didn't bother to wipe the tear away as I walked back to Agent Ward. More threatened to spill over my cheeks, but I was determined to stop that from happening.

Ward looked at me with a somber expression, but half a smile managed to break across his face. "Ready to head back?" he asked. I wasn't in the mood to smile back. Blinking furiously, I nodded. He gently placed a hand on my back, guiding me back to the Bus, still parked in the north student lot. The sun was setting quickly. I stiffened at his touch, but I knew I couldn't make it back on my own. I'd collapse before then.

We walked up the loading ramp, which was empty, save for Lola. Ward stopped just as we were about to head through the sliding doors.

"Look, I don't think that you're in the mood to talk right now, Skye," he began. "It's a lot to take in. You're dismissed from training for the rest of the week, okay?"

"Uh...thank you," I whispered hoarsely, my voice cracking horribly. "Thank you."

"Take care of yourself, rookie."

Not wanting to spend any more time outside the comfort of my compartment, I hurried inside, leaving Ward behind in the dust. I pulled open the door and slammed it shut again, finally succumbing to the myriad of emotions that threatened to burst out of my chest.

It wasn't until I heard a soft knock on the door that my tears slowed down enough for me to see anything beyond my curtain of matted hair.

"Skye? Can I come in?"

Simmons. I should have know that she would have come to check on me. But there were two sets of shadowy footsteps outside my door. I didn't bother to say anything. They let themselves in. Coulson was with her, looking at me sympathetically. Both of them had the identical expressions on their faces.

Suddenly frustrated, a sound that was something between a scream and a growl ripped its way out of my throat. I realized that I didn't want to talk to them. Not Simmons. Not Coulson. No one. My hands started to shake slightly. My mind was racing, struggling to find a sharp comment to throw at them.

Before any of that could happen, something inside of me collapsed. Like a fatally wounded deer, who's heart had been pierced by a spear. Sound gurgled past my lips, and I crashed back down onto the bed again, paralyzed.

I watched as my best friend and father figure froze, for once not knowing what to do. Simmons recovered first, and the next thirty seconds were a blur.

Voices were yelling instructions on the P.A. system, and there was commotion outside of my compartment. Nobody dared to come in, but Simmons and Coulson left quickly, congregating with I assumed to be the rest of the team.

The shaking had returned, this time wracking my entire body. It couldn't be stopped. So I just kept shaking as the commotion fizzled, finally leaving me in silence. The tears never came.

Someone knocked again, not speaking. They opened the door, and in came Simmons, who wasted no time in rushing over to my bed and handing me a box of tissues.

"Come on in," she called, but not to me. Someone walked across the room, stopping in the middle of the doorway. Simmons moved away, allowing the person to walk right up to my bed. I knew who it was even before they walked into the room. I knew he would come. Eventually.

Ward sat down, putting one arm underneath my knees and cradling me against his chest. He was quiet, and that was all it took to set me off. The tears came back in full force, squashing any sense of composure I had fought so hard to keep in front of him. A look of pain flashed across his face, but then it disappeared.

We stayed that way for a long time, maybe hours. I cried until my eyes ran dry, my wailing reduced to a whimper. His thumb was idly drawing circles on my knee, and yet he still was quiet.

Coulson tried to come in and relieve him later that night, but he insisted that he stay here with me. Ward didn't give a reason why. He was adamant. Coulson didn't try to argue.

My eyes were beginning to get heavy, and Ward seemed to notice. His eyes narrowed, and he stood up slowly, trying not to jostle me. I laid my head on the pillow and he pulled the blankets around me, making sure I was comfortable.

I shut my eyes and I felt his hand linger on my cheek. My eyes opened again, and he was gone. But the door was still slowly sliding shut, and out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn that I saw the sleeve of a suit jacket.

Then I heard it.

"Goodnight, rookie."