Skye stole her from a guy in L.A., back when her paint job had been brown instead of purple and her interior was always littered with wrappers and the ends of burnt-out cigarettes.

Before then, she had been called Maria. It was a name she hated more than the dents her previous owner had allowed to collect on her exterior. But now, she was 'Home'. She liked that.

It took a few days, but Skye was a good owner. She drove Home to a shop and got her fixed up, new paint job and all. Then they drive away before the owner could make Skye pay the bill. Partners in crime from the start.

Then Skye cleaned her out inside, only leaving a dashboard doll as a memory of Home's previous owner. New things came: a mattress, chargers, even a desk. But Home didn't mind; it was a good kind of full. Lived in. Needed. Useful. She would have let Skye keep a dog if it made her happy.

They lived a nice life together for a couple of years. At one point, Skye brought Miles into Home and they were all together for a while. That was okay; Skye made sure he knew what Home was to her, and the way that she was to be treated.

Miles left—only coming back on certain occasions—but she and Skye did not miss him.

Everything was perfect.

In the day, they would drive into the city and Skye would park Home in an alley next to a coffee shop with free Wi-Fi. At night, they would drive up to their spot on a hill and park for the night.

Skye liked to look at the stars.

There were nights when she would worry about Skye in the dark stillness, and there were nights when Home could feel the small warmth moving around inside of her.

There were nights with no stars—but they passed.

Home was safety. The place that was just for Skye. Miles might sleep there on occasion, but it was Skye who loved her. It was Skye who needed her.

Until the day she didn't.

When SHIELD took Skye, Home wanted to start her engine and drive away, somewhere where they would be safe. But she couldn't.

The hours passed—but only barely. SHIELD took Skye, but they brought her back.

Home wasn't at all sure what was happening, but it seemed like as soon as Skye was back, she had left again. And that was the last time she came back.

Skye drove Home to a huge hangar, and then she left her there.

"No joyrides, okay," were the last words Home heard Skye say. "That's my house."

Line

After Skye left, she wasn't Home anymore, not until Skye came back.

Skye never came back.

The agents at the Hangar were nice enough. They cleaned her every month and made sure her engine still worked, but they never drove her, like Skye had asked of them.

But one day, when the gunshots had found even their remote little place and half of her former caregivers were shouting "Hail Hydra!" as they killed the other half, she was shot.

They didn't repair her, just stepped over the bodies and picked another vehicle to drive.

Then she knew—as the remaining agents knew, with their wide, unclosing eyes—that people were the best actors when their audience did not know they were lying.

They left two in her back: two of the unmoving people with dark red stains showing through their clothes. Skye's bed was going to have a stain, but by then She knew that Skye was not coming back to her. It still nagged at the back of her consciousness, the thought of their mess spreading onto Skye's things and ruining them.

She wondered if Skye knew where she was; She wondered if Skye cared, or even thought about her now.

Skye had saved her, given her a name—a purpose—and then she had left. Gone, just like everyone else. Only, this time, it wasn't for the better.

It was months before someone came for her. When they did, she had developed a thick layer of dust and grime over her exterior. Dust had settled in the crevices of her insides before even the fighting; now it was everywhere.

The gunshot wounds had since stopped bleeding oil; her engine was rusting over; the people in the back had dried up and started to smell.

The hangar was thrown into sharp perspective as they opened up the doors. More dust few around, coming off in clots and balls of fluff. The sweet-smelling breeze made the stench of gasoline and rotting bodies even harsher.

"Hunter!" someone screamed, coughing. There was a thump, then more coughing. "Don't do that!" the lady said, still hacking.

"Sorry, Bobbs," said Hunter. "I didn't mean to—"

"Almost give me an asthma attack?" Bobbs said, cutting him off. "Come on, let's find a ride."

She heard them walking around the Hangar, trying different vehicles they found unlocked. When they finally got over to her side of the huge room, they stopped.

Bobbs was a tall woman with grey clumps of dust in her blonde hair. Hunter was a shorter man with shorter hair of a darker blonde color.

"Didn't Skye—Daisy have a purple van? From when she was a hacker for the Rising Tide?" Hunter asked, walking up to her and opening her front door.

Bobbs opened the back door, cursing. "Shit, I—I knew them."

Hunter nodded soberly.

"Do you think this is hers? Daisy's?" Bobbs asked as they removed the bodies from her interior.

"I don't know… how many purple vans do you think SHIELD has?" Hunter said. He got into the driver's seat but was quickly ousted by Bobbs.

She hotwired her ignition and they were all surprised when her engine worked.

They left, and She hoped that they would never go back. (They didn't).

Her life with Bobbi—she later learned that was her real name—and Hunter was brief, but it changed her for the good. She got tougher, faster, and made new again.

They painted her black and got rid of everything that remained of Skye. Some of it was sold, some of it was thrown out. They whittled her down to her bare parts and then rebuilt her.

They had their own adventures together; people were after Bobbi and Hunter for some reason. She never got why, but it made life interesting to say the least. They mainly slept in motels, but She was still needed. Everything was okay in a way it hadn't been for a while.

Then, one day, Bobbi and Hunter parked her in an alley and they didn't come back. She didn't know where they went, or if they were even alive, but the next thing she knew a month had passed. And then two.

She got hotwired again and taken to a car repair place to be scrapped. Instead, a guy named Robbie fixed her up.

"Fine. It's your dollar," the guy had said.

"Something about you…" Robbie often muttered when he was fixing her. She wasn't sure what he planned to do with her after; Robbie had his own car.

As it turned out, she got taken to a not-quite-illegal used car place.

A broken girl who called herself Quake found her there. Quake payed $500 for something that was already hers, but She didn't feel too bad because Skye never paid for her in the first place.

She knew who it was, even with about six inches of hair missing and a decidedly different clothing style. It didn't matter, she was different too. They both had their battle scars; they'd both been on their adventures and evolved because of them.

They were both different; inside less than out.

But some things stayed the same. She saw that when 'Quake' put the hula doll on her dashboard. To her, it would always be Skye. Just as to Skye, she was Home again.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Um, I have no idea where this came from, but I hope you liked it. Tell me what you think.