She is lying on her side facing away from the glass walls of the containment center. She had asked to be put in here, inside this glass prison, to protect the others. It had been her idea, but she can't help but feel they avoid her now more than ever.

It's early in the morning, too early for anyone to be awake, except maybe May. She shouldn't be awake either, and if May or Coulson is awake and in his office, she knows they'll know she's awake from the tool monitoring her blood pressure. She had asked for that too.

She can't fall back asleep though. She had managed to stay awake for fifty six hours before sleep had pulled her back under resulting in the terrible nightmares that now left her shaking and sweating, hands tangled in her hair. She can tell her heartbeat is too fast, but no one has come running. May is either still asleep or is doing tai chi in a far off part of the building.

The metal table rattles against the floor. It's bolted down, but still it shakes against is restraints, a constant reminder of how unstable she is. She can't manage to get her breathing under control. Curling further into a ball, she clutches her head harder, willing her mind to stop working and her hands to stop shaking with untamable power.

It's only been four days inside this chamber.

…

Five days ago, a week after San Juan, she had been sitting at the table with Fitz and Simmons. They had been talking things were as good as they could be. Then she had gotten up, reached into the cabinet for a glass.

If only the glass had shattered, it might have been okay. But it didn't. All of the glasses shattered. And the glass cabinet had shattered. She backed away from the cabinets in horror, turning, running, ignoring Simmons shouts that followed her down the hall.

Simmons and Coulson had found her, hours later, curled up in a corner of the base, shaking. She had shrieked in fear, hands sending cracks along the walls, begging them not to come any closer.

They sat there for hours. When she had stopped shaking, she looked up at them with tear filled eyes.

"Please," she had said, "I don't want to hurt anyone."

…

The clock outside her chamber tells her that it's only been an hour since she woke from her nightmare. Still, outside the glass wall the artificial sun is rising on the bunker walls. She closes her eyes, pulling further away from the light.

A noise sounds from outside the chamber, she doesn't turn, only hears the metal click of the door sliding open. It's not locked, and she's free to leave if she wants or needs to. She prefers to stay. She hears the footsteps approach, hear whoever place a tray down on the table.

"Skye," the voice says. So it's Coulson this time. He turns and leaves, without closing the door. He never closes the door. It's his way of making sure she gets out of bed, if even for a minute. She does get out of bed, though, ignoring the food on the table and heading towards the bathroom to shower. She never takes more than five minutes. She tells herself it to preserve water.

When she gets back to the room, wearing a clean pair of sweats and a clean shirt, she finds visitor sitting on her bed, and the sheets have been changed.

She stops at the door, clasping her hands together. She's not afraid of May anymore, but somehow she feels very inadequate in her current state. Her eyes are red from crying, her hair a mess of tangles from fitful sleep.

May seems unmoved by her haggard appearance, simply pats the space next to her on the bed and says quietly,

"Sit."

Skye sits next to her, feet dangling off the bed.

"No," says May quietly, "Face that way" she murmurs, gesturing away from herself towards one of the glass walls.

Skye does this; unsure of what is going on. May pulls her hair away from her face behind her, and Skye is further confused until she feels the brush go through a small section of her hair.

She sits in silence, as May carefully separates each part of her hair, always starting from the bottom. She can't remember the last time- any time, when this has bone done for her.

The table rattles. She is drifting in thought when May begins to speak.

"When I was a little girl, I was afraid of thunderstorms."

May's quiet voice pulls her out of her thoughts. She doesn't talk though.

"They were so loud," murmured May, "And the lighting was so bright, I used to curl up under my blankets and hide. Most nights, though, my mother would come in and I would get to curl up in her bed under her blankets. She would watch the storm and tell me stories about the angels bowling." May breaks off with a soft laugh.

"She used to brush my hair, when I was afraid. She would wrap the blankets around my shoulders and brush my hair while telling me not to be afraid. My hair was so long, longer than yours. She would say, Lin, do not be afraid of the thunder. You have the same thunder inside of you. She would say, the thunder out there, it is chaos. You must learn how to control it. Turn your fear into strength."

May keeps brushing, silently. She reaches to untangle a knot with her hands.

"What if I can't?" Skye voice is small and quiet.

"What's the first thing you ever hacked into?" Asks May suddenly.

"The adoption agency records," Skye answers, "I blacklisted a bunch of really bad families."

"How did you know where to stop? What to click, when to type in a code?"

"It just-oh," Skye says, sounding a bit more hopeful.

"It's all about control and controlling chaos. I'm not saying it's as simple as a hack for you, but it's the same baseline. It's also about knowing your triggers."

"Triggers?"

"Ward," May says, and the table jerks harshly against it restraints, louder than before.

"Hacking into the CIA," May says, and the table goes back to making the soft rattling noise.

"What makes you emotional and what calms you down. You can use that to help you control it. Like now, when you feel yourself losing it, you can brush your hair. That's now a calming technique."

She finishes brushing Skye's hair, curling it around and placing it over her shoulder.

"When the last time you slept?" She asks and Skye stiffens.

"I slept last night," she says, turning towards her.

May just stares. Then she gets off the bed, and pats it.

"Lie down," she says.

Skye rolls her eyes, but lies down anyway, pulling the sheets up over her shoulder.

May backs towards the door.

"You're hacking the CIA," she whispers, sliding the glass closed.

Skye smiles, closing her eyes.

The table doesn't shake.