Chapter Text
Apparently Kaya finally learned how to put the monitors inside the van the way she likes it.
Skye is a bit appalled at the notion that there's a certain way in which she likes the monitors arranged and that she is tyrannical enough to impose it on the others. Who the hell has she become? Someone who can do this, that's whom.
"We have a narrow window here," Skye is telling her team, following the suspect onscreen with the corner of her eye. "That douchebag must be really desperate if he is willing to show his face in public."
She knows she is overdoing it, playing the role of the confident leader, she's not a character straight out of a CSI, she shouldn't try so hard. She draws her hand over her face for a moment, hoping the others don't notice their nervousness. Kaya and Paolo don't but when Skye turns around she finds Miles looking at her with that judgy expression he has when he thinks she's working too much. Which is always.
"We don't know what this thing is he's trying to buy," Miles says.
The younger guys stop their swift typing for a moment, then resume, already used to listening to Skye and Miles disagree.
"That's the point," she replies. "We don't know what it is. Nobody does."
"It could be dangerous."
"That's why a sociopath shouldn't have it."
Kaya clears her throat.
"The bank camera – the one in the corner? A bit tricky but you got it," she tells them.
Skye leans over the shoulder of the young girl, glancing at the black-and-white-and-greenish images, a good angle showing Clayton waiting by the payphones. She notices the girl's hair. Kaya wears a different hairstyle every day and somehow Skye has started looking forward to it, every day. Today she wears it in a straight ponytail, sticking out like a paint brush.
"When are we getting our caramel lattes from Krewe?" Paolo asks, without looking at Skye, words barely making it through the bangs with which the boy hopes to cover most of his face.
"What?"
"Today is Caramel Latte Saturday."
Miles covers his mouth with his hand, letting out a low chuckle.
"There's no such thing," Skye tells him. And seriously the fact these two like caramel lattes should be proof enough of how gullible they are. "That's something Mr Lydon made up so you wouldn't ask about getting your pay in time."
"There's no Caramel Latte Saturday?" Kaya echoes in horror, wide green eyes.
Skye raises one eyebrow at Miles.
"They are so innocent," he says, "like little forest animals."
He doesn't look adequately repentant so she slaps him gently on the arm.
No hazing the rookies, that has been her one rule. Which goes against everything she learned from Miles back in the day, of course, and she remembers her own rites of passage vividly, but they are trying to save lives here, they're not in camp. It had taken Skye a long time to find people like Kaya and Paolo, with the specific skills these two have. She's going to treat them like the valuable assets they are.
Then Paolo, quiet as ever, the quiet mouse of the team, comes behind her without a noise and taps on her shoulder, reverential, in the same way he still calls her Miss Skye despite her protests.
He pushes an item into her hand. It's what she asked for a couple of days ago.
"I doubt I'll get close enough for a tracker, but thanks," Skye says. She wonders how exactly he got it – the barely-of-high-school kid who wouldn't look you in the eye. But this is why she hired him, after all. Hire being a tenuous term in this case. She also knows he doesn't like to be asked how he gets this stuff, so she doesn't. "Okay, I'm ready."
Miles tries to pull her aside, the van not being roomy enough for that. He presses his hands against Skye's hips, drawing her to him for the illusion of privacy.
"You know I don't like it when you get all– action girl, and taking risks. We're hackers."
"We're more than that," Skye says, because that's point of all of this, of the endless hours and the bad food and the meager funds all spent on equipment. Traumatizing as the transition has been for her boyfriend. "And we've talked about this, Miles. I'm going to go out on the field whether you like it or not so you'd better start liking it. Plus of all of us, I'm the only one who can."
"I know, I know," he says, pulling away. He's learned to concede this point in the last few months. "It's just that..."
"You're worried, I know," she smiles at him and tiptoes for a quick peck on the cheek. "Anyway, that'll be the day this goon is any match for me."
Miles rolls his eyes, most probably because of goon (Skye regrets that one too), but she knows he secretly likes her smugness, despite everything.
She looks down at her clothes. She would have liked something stealthier, more comfortable, but she doesn't have those suits anymore. And anyway, she has to blend in. There's something about saving the world in faded-blue jeans, after all.
Kaya and Paolo get in position. They are technically untrained and this is the biggest operation they have taken on so far – Skye taught them the basics, as they had been taught to her back in the day. They can defend themselves, but there's no way areound it: they are inexperienced kids. She is happy to keep them in the van, for now. Even Miles, who has had the benefit of more lessons with Skye and who is bigger and stronger than the two young hackers.
"You'll find me on feeds one and three," she tells her team. "But do not approach. No matter how bad it gets, okay? I can handle it."
The other three nod at her. Even Miles. She always says the same before every mission, but their "missions" have been pretty humble so far. She realizes she might be chewing more than she can swallow here, but she can't let anyone else pay the price. It's weird being the senior here.
She tales one last look at the wall of the van, covered in photographs of Clayton and schedules, bills from restaurants and other scraps. She's proud of the work they've done here. No one else is looking at this guy.
Or that's what she thought.
"We have company," Miles says, pointing at one of the security camera feeds, the one from the chemist right on the square.
There's something sharp in the way he says it. Skye follows his gaze.
"You're kidding me, right?" Skye says when she notices the two familiar figures also surveilling the suspect, among the weekend crowds. She rolls her eyes. "What the hell is SHIELD doing here?"
She can't let this distract her.
She will not let this distract her.
She pulls the door of the van open.
"Skye," Miles wraps his hand around her elbow.
"We don't have to get competitive," she says, shrugging, like that's the point at all. "I don't care who catches the bad guy, I'll play nice."
"That's not what I'm worried about," he says, still holding on to her arm.
She shakes him off, as gently as she can – she does that with him these days, be gentle, be careful, include him in everything.
"It's fine," she says. Miles knows her well enough to realize that's a lie, and well enough to keep that opinion to himself.
"He's here," he points out, though.
Like she doesn't know, like she hasn't seen.
Skye meets his eyes, no flinching. She's fine, she doesn't care anymore. That's done. Miles should know that. But if she dwells she is going to crack.
"I know. You don't have to worry about that, either. It's okay, I'm okay," and she begins to walk towards the square.
+
She should have known this wasn't going to be so easy.
Clayton hasn't escaped the law for years for nothing.
And the city is so freaking filled with people these days, no wonder he chose this time to make the exchange. The city is noisy and crowded, and Skye can only do so much with the help of security cameras. She had counted on them to follow the seller while she took care of Clayton and the object. At least the heat is not as bad as two days ago, when Skye had to open all the windows in her house at night, cursing herself for forgetting how it was like in the South, cursing herself for having ever abandoned this life. It's still humid today, but there's not that smell of soft earth that lingers on the mind even after you've gone home. Okay, so it's not easy being a do-gooder once the summer starts, she gets it.
The sheer number of people here disturbs her; she knows that's perfect for this kind of operations, but gods, the bad guys never thinks something might go wrong, do they. Miles was right, the object could be dangerous, they normally are, her money is on this one being something at least weaponizable, considering who the bidders are. How many dozens of people are at risk right now? Just by being here in a popular spot. She tries a quick headcount around her but it soon overwhelms her. Too many innocent lives.
She cuts through dock workers after clocking off and hordes of tourists, always the tourists, always clumsily stumbling around, making ti difficult to pass through. Frustration wells inside her as she starts suspecting they haven't been quick or smart enough. She's not sure what a sleazelord like Clayton is doing messing around with alien technology but she had had every intention of finding out when she woke up this morning.
Now...
"Miles, please tell he hasn't made the drop."
"Uh..." she knows that noise.
"Cameras got something? The contact?" Miles clicks his tongue. "They knew they were being watched?"
"Seems like that. Used the blind spots."
"Of which there are many here. I love this city, said she. We were super careful, I don't understand."
"Could have been your friends," Miles comments. She tries not to read it as unkind.
Skye snorts. "Whose friends?" She pauses. "I still see Clayton."
"What are you going to do, invite him to a coffee so you can ask about his illegal activities?"
"Maybe."
"Come on, Skye."
She tries to follow Clayton, which is not particularly wise of her – Clayton they have under surveillance for the most part, she was more interested in who he was paying so much money to, in case there's more where the object came from – but she hasn't been big on particularly wise lately. She tells the rest of the team (that word still tastes odd in her mouth, but it's the best she's managed so far, and Kaya and Paolo like it and she gets why) to stand back, to which Miles begrudgingly agrees.
Making out a man in a tailored suit and a expensive briefcase in this neighborhood shouldn't be that difficult, if it weren't for the people spilling out from the bars, people taking to Saturday evening. People her age, people who could have been her. She's not complaining, she likes what she does. She might have been overestimating her capacity for leadership though, if today is anything to go by.
The sun is low already, orange crowns around everybody's heads, and it reduces Skye's visibility even further.
"Can you see anything?" Miles asks.
She tries shielding her eyes with her hand.
"Uh..." because she knows he'll recognize that noise.
They have spent five weeks tracing this purchase, ever since it was stolen from the not-so-safe vaults of the Army in Washington from under everybody's noses.
They have put everything they have, their combined skills, their hard-won trust in each other, their new system of operations, into this mission.
And now she finds herself in the middle of the square as the crowd part for a moment and lets her see how utterly lost she is. Left behind. Clayton is gone. Whoever his contact is, she never saw them.
"Lost him," Skye says into her coms.
"Yeah, me too," a voice says behind her.
She takes a moment to turn around because she recognizes that voice.
And when she does turn around she recognizes the suit and the tie as well. What is it, he hasn't had time to buy new clothes? She had guessed that without her there to question and bother him every day he'd have all the time in the world now.
"Skye," he says.
"Director Coulson," she replies in a sharp, cold voice.
They haven't seen each other in seven months.