Skye rubs her eyes. 5:05 AM. Light clings to the curtain edges, just enough for her to see a lump of blankets between the beds. For a moment, she thinks Simmons has crawled in late from a night in the lab and slept on the floor because she didn't have the energy to climb into bed, but then Skye remembers: 1. They aren't on the Bus. Ward has the Bus. 2. She is wearing Simmons' scrubs, not the oversized shirt and shorts she normally sleeps in.

Skye shoves back the sheets. Once she's up, she's up. And there's nothing to do in this room anyway. She doesn't even have her laptop-which is back on the Bus with the encrypted harddrive. Shit. She has a feeling she'll be thinking that a lot in the next couple of days. It's not like she had anything particularly rare or valuable there-at least, not compared with Fitzsimmons' toys or Lola, but it was hers, and she doesn't like people messing with her stuff. She fishes the crumpled socks from the toes of her shoes and shoves them on, not bothering with the laces. She almost slams the door behind her.

Then she pictures Deathlok wearing one of her sweaters.

It shouldn't be funny, but she's had a very long day, one of the longest days since she joined this journey into mystery weird crap-she'd accepted the Norse gods, flying billionaire, and revived WWII supersoldier, but she didn't have to fight them. Some sort of deranged coping mechanism, she suspects, because ordinarily she would not even imagine a cyborg in one of her hipster/thrift shop sweaters, sleeves halfway down the metal palm.

Her stomach growls. Breakfast, right. Might as well see what's left in the vending machine. She wasn't really that hungry last night, anyway-adrenaline does that to you, fills your chest so completely there's no room for anything but, possibly, the thought I'm still alive. But that was last night: this morning she's exhausted and sort of hollow-not the sort of hollow that needs food, but it doesn't stop her from trying.

Skye walked around the pool to the vending machine, barely noticing that Fitz was already there, snack bag in hand. He glanced up for a moment. "You know, if we could find the program Hand used to override the Bus controls, maybe we could use it again. Homing coordinates might be locked to the Hub, which is swarming with federal agents, but still..."

"Whoa, whoa, not so early in the morning. Actually, I was thinking about breakfast, but I kind of left all my money in my other purse." Fitz still looks confused, so Skye nods at the bag in his hand. "Mind if I share?"

"Don't tell Simmons."

"Chex Cookies&Cream-worried she'll lecture you about a healthy breakfast? No, it's got cereal, it totally counts."

"Actually, you wouldn't believe some of the stuff we have for late nights at the lab." Now Fitz has to reassure her. "No, not tissue samples or anything. Mintos, Winegums-her mum sends us packages all the time."

"Sounds nice," Skye reaches into the Chex mix. "Not a bad idea, though."

"What?"

"Hacking into the Bus. I left them a little virus-even if your plan doesn't work, we've still got one up on them. But I guess we'll have to see what Coulson's got in mind."

"Yeah." Fitz leans against the wall. "He'll have something clever."