Eternal Claim

The server room hummed like a beehive in winter, a low electric drone that most people found maddening. Skye found it soothing. White noise. The kind of sound that scrubbed the inside of your skull clean after a long day of pretending to be normal.

She was on her knees under rack fourteen, a flashlight clamped between her teeth, tracing a bad SATA cable with two fingers. The building's climate control had crapped out on the third floor again and the room sat at a muggy seventy-eight degrees. Sweat crept down the back of her neck. She didn't mind. She'd spent years in worse. Way worse.

"Come on, you stubborn piece of," she muttered around the flashlight, and then the cable popped free. She sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She checked it. A text from the office manager, Denise, a string of exclamation points about the Henderson account and a spreadsheet that wouldn't open. Skye typed back with one thumb. *Reboot. If that doesn't work, I'll come up.*

She pocketed the phone and stood, stretching until her spine cracked. The server room was the only place in the whole building where she could be alone. No small talk. No birthday cake in the break room. No one asking her where she'd worked before, what she'd done, why a woman her age with her skill set was fixing printers and swapping hard drives for a mid-tier accounting firm in Portland.

She liked it that way. The quiet.

Her apartment was six blocks away, a one-bedroom on the fourth floor of a building with a broken elevator and a landlord who didn't ask questions. She kept the place clean. Sparse. A couch, a bed, a kitchen table with one chair. The walls were bare except for a single photograph she'd never gotten around to taking down, a group shot of people she used to know, all of them smiling at a camera like the world wasn't ending.

She didn't look at it much.

She walked home that evening through a light rain, hood up, hands in her jacket pockets. The city smelled like wet asphalt and somebody's dinner cooking. She stopped at the corner store for a six-pack and a frozen pizza, because she was an adult and she could eat whatever she wanted.

The woman at the register looked at her twice. Skye noticed. She always noticed. But the woman just rang her up and said, "Have a good night," and Skye said, "You too," and that was that.

She didn't see the figure standing across the street under the awning of the closed laundromat. She didn't see the way the rain seemed to bend around that figure, not touching her, not quite. She didn't see the eyes that tracked her from the store to her building's front door, or the small smile that curved a mouth that had waited centuries for this exact moment.

But something in her gut tightened. A cold spot. A warning.

She shook it off. She was good at that now.

---

Kara Zor-El stood in the rain and let it fall on her for the first time in three hundred years.

It felt good. Cold and clean. The water ran down her face and soaked her hair and she didn't wipe it away. She wanted to feel it. She wanted to feel everything tonight.

She'd found her.

It had taken decades. The trail had gone cold more times than she could count. A rumor in a Bangkok bar. A blurry photograph from a security camera in Berlin. A whisper from a dying man in a Prague hospital who'd seen a woman with shaking hands and eyes that glowed. Kara had followed every lead, every ghost, every dead end, and now here she was, standing in the rain outside a shitty apartment building in Portland, Oregon, watching the woman she loved climb three flights of stairs to a life that didn't include her.

For now.

She could have gone up. Could have knocked on the door, could have taken what was hers. She was strong enough. She'd always been strong enough. But that wasn't how this worked. Not with Skye. Not with Daisy. Not with the woman who'd once looked at her like she hung the moon and then walked away without a backward glance.

No. Kara would do this right. She'd waited three hundred years. She could wait a little longer.

She turned and walked down the street, her boots splashing through puddles, and the rain followed her like a curtain, like a veil, like a promise.

---

Skye woke at three in the morning with her heart pounding and no idea why.

She lay still in the dark, listening. The apartment was quiet. The rain had stopped. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the distant rumble of a truck on the highway. Nothing out of place. Nothing wrong.

But her hands were shaking.

She sat up and turned on the lamp. The light was harsh and yellow and made everything look worse. She looked at her hands. They were steady now. She flexed her fingers, felt the familiar tingle of power under her skin, the vibration that never quite went away. She'd learned to live with it. Learned to keep it dialed down to almost nothing. But sometimes, when she wasn't paying attention, it crept up on her. Like now.

She got out of bed and walked to the kitchen. Drank a glass of water. Stared out the window at the street below.

There was a woman standing on the corner.

Skye blinked. The woman was tall, blonde, dressed in black. She wasn't moving. Just standing there, looking up at the building. Looking up at Skye's window.

Skye's breath caught in her throat.

She knew that silhouette. She knew it the way you know your own reflection. The way you know the sound of your mother's voice. The way you know the shape of a scar you've had for years.

No. It couldn't be.

She hadn't seen Kara in fifteen years. Hadn't heard from her. Hadn't even allowed herself to think about her. Kara was gone. Kara was dead. Kara was a chapter she'd closed and nailed shut and buried in concrete.

But the woman on the corner lifted her hand. A small wave. A greeting. And then she turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark like she'd never been there at all.

Skye stood at the window for a long time. Her glass of water sat forgotten on the counter. Her heart was still pounding. Her hands were steady now, but that didn't mean anything. That didn't mean anything at all.

She didn't sleep again that night.

---

The next morning, Skye went to work like nothing had happened.

She fixed the Henderson spreadsheet. She rebooted the server on the third floor. She ate a turkey sandwich at her desk and answered emails and pretended to be a person who hadn't just seen a ghost. Denise stopped by to thank her for the spreadsheet thing and asked if she wanted to join the office fantasy football league. Skye said she'd think about it.

At lunch, she sat in her car in the parking lot and stared at her phone.

She had Kara's number. She'd had it for years, saved under a fake name, a contact she'd never deleted because deleting it felt like admitting something she wasn't ready to admit. She scrolled to it now. *K. Danvers.* The name made her chest ache.

She didn't call. She put the phone away and went back inside and finished her day.

But she thought about Kara. She thought about the way Kara used to laugh, loud and unguarded, like she didn't care who heard. She thought about the way Kara used to look at her, like she was the only person in the world worth looking at. She thought about the way Kara used to touch her, gentle at first, then not gentle at all, then gentle again.

She thought about the last time she'd seen Kara. The last time she'd walked away.

It had been a Tuesday. Skye remembered that because it was such a stupid detail to remember. A Tuesday in October, cold and gray. They'd been in a safe house in the mountains, just the two of them, hiding from people who wanted them dead. And Kara had told her the truth. The whole truth. What she was. What she'd done. What she wanted.

Skye had listened. And then she'd packed her bag and left.

She'd told herself it was because she couldn't trust Kara. Couldn't trust anyone who kept secrets like that. But that wasn't the real reason. The real reason was that Kara had looked at her with those eyes, those ancient eyes, and said, "You're mine. You've always been mine. And I'll wait for you. I'll wait as long as it takes."

And Skye had been terrified. Not of Kara. Of herself. Of how much she wanted to say yes.

So she'd run. She'd run as far and as fast as she could, and she'd built a life that didn't have room for Kara in it. A quiet life. A safe life. A life where she didn't have to think about the things she'd done or the things she'd lost or the woman who'd promised to wait for her.

But Kara had waited. Kara had found her.

And now Skye had to decide what to do about it.

---

She went home that evening and found a box on her doorstep.

It was small, wrapped in plain brown paper, no return address. She picked it up and carried it inside. Set it on the kitchen table. Stared at it for a long time before she opened it.

Inside was a necklace. A thin silver chain with a single pendant, a small blue stone that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light of her apartment. She knew it. She'd seen it before. Kara had worn it the first time they'd met, back when Skye was still Daisy and the world was still ending and nothing made sense.

There was a note, too. Just one line, written in handwriting Skye recognized.

*I'm not going anywhere this time.*

Skye sat down at the table and held the necklace in her hands. The stone was warm. Warmer than it should have been. She closed her eyes and felt the vibration in her chest, the power she'd spent years suppressing, and for a moment she let herself remember.

She remembered Kara's hands on her skin. Kara's lips on her neck. Kara's voice in her ear, low and rough, saying things that made her blush even now, even alone, even after all these years.

She remembered the way Kara had looked at her when she'd said goodbye. Not angry. Not hurt. Just patient. Just certain.

*I'll wait for you.*

Skye opened her eyes. The stone was still warm. The note was still there. And somewhere out in the city, Kara was waiting.

She put the necklace on. She didn't know why. She just did.

And then she went to bed, and this time, she slept.

---

Kara felt it when Skye put on the necklace.

She was standing on a rooftop three blocks away, watching the city lights flicker in the dark. The rain had stopped. The clouds had cleared. The stars were out, and Kara could see every one of them, every constellation, every distant sun. She'd spent centuries looking at stars. They never changed. They never left.

But Skye had put on the necklace.

Kara closed her eyes and smiled. It was a small thing. A tiny victory. But it was enough. It was more than enough.

She'd waited three hundred years. She could wait a little longer.

But not too much longer. She was patient, but she wasn't a saint.

---

The next day was Saturday. Skye didn't have to work. She usually spent Saturdays doing nothing, watching TV, eating takeout, pretending she wasn't bored out of her mind. But today was different. Today she woke up with a plan.

She was going to find Kara.

She didn't know where to start. She didn't know where Kara was staying or what she was doing or why she'd suddenly decided to show up after fifteen years. But she knew Kara. She knew how Kara thought. And she knew that Kara wouldn't have come all this way just to stand on a street corner and wave.

So Skye got dressed. She put on jeans and a t-shirt and the necklace, because it felt wrong to take it off. She grabbed her keys and her phone and her jacket, and she walked out the door.

She found Kara at a coffee shop two blocks from her apartment.

Of course. Kara had always loved coffee. Even back when she didn't need to eat or drink, she'd order a latte and sit in a corner and watch people. She said it made her feel human.

Skye stood in the doorway and looked at her. Kara was sitting at a table by the window, a cup of coffee in front of her, a book in her hands. She looked up when Skye walked in, and her face broke into a smile. That smile. That same smile. It hadn't changed at all.

"Hi," Kara said.

"Hi," Skye said.

They looked at each other for a long moment. The coffee shop was busy, full of people and noise and the smell of roasted beans, but Skye didn't notice any of it. She only noticed Kara. Kara's eyes, blue and bright and ancient. Kara's hands, folded on the table. Kara's smile, patient and knowing and just a little bit smug.

"Sit down," Kara said. "I ordered you a chai."

Skye sat down. She picked up the cup and took a sip. It was perfect. Of course it was.

"How did you know I'd come?" Skye asked.

"I didn't," Kara said. "But I hoped."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer I have."

Skye set the cup down. She looked at Kara, really looked at her, and felt the familiar pull. The thing that had always been there, from the very first moment they'd met. The thing she'd spent fifteen years trying to forget.

"Why now?" Skye asked. "Why after all this time?"

Kara leaned back in her chair. She didn't answer right away. She just looked at Skye, and Skye felt like she was being seen for the first time in years. Really seen. Not the version of herself she showed the world. The real one. The one she kept hidden.

"Because I'm tired of waiting," Kara said. "Because I've spent three hundred years looking for you, and I'm not going to spend another three hundred standing on street corners. Because you put on the necklace."

Skye touched the pendant. It was warm against her skin.

"That doesn't mean anything," she said.

"It means everything," Kara said. "And you know it."

Skye didn't answer. She didn't have an answer. She just sat there, sipping her chai, looking at the woman she'd loved and left and never stopped thinking about. And for the first time in fifteen years, she didn't feel like running.

---

They walked through the city together.

Skye didn't know how it happened. One minute they were sitting in the coffee shop, and the next they were on the street, walking side by side like they'd done a thousand times before. Kara's shoulder brushed against hers. Kara's hand found hers and held it. Skye didn't pull away.

"Tell me about your life," Kara said. "Tell me what you've been doing."

Skye shrugged. "Not much. I work at an accounting firm. I fix computers. I go home. I sleep. Repeat."

"That sounds terrible."

"It's not terrible. It's quiet."

"Quiet isn't the same as happy."

Skye looked at her. "Who says I'm not happy?"

Kara didn't answer. She just smiled that knowing smile, and Skye felt a flush creep up her neck.

They walked for hours. They walked through the park, past the river, down streets Skye had never noticed before. Kara talked about her travels, about the places she'd been, the people she'd met. She didn't talk about the search. She didn't talk about the years she'd spent looking for Skye. But Skye could feel it. The weight of it. The patience of it. The love.

When they finally stopped, they were standing in front of Skye's apartment building.

"I should go in," Skye said.

"I know."

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

Kara smiled. "I'll be here every day. For as long as you want me."

Skye looked at her. The sun was setting, and the light caught Kara's hair, made it glow like gold. She was beautiful. She'd always been beautiful. And Skye wanted her. She'd always wanted her.

"Come up," Skye said.

Kara's eyes widened. Just a little. Just enough.

"Are you sure?"

"No," Skye said. "But I'm tired of being sure. I'm tired of being safe. I'm tired of pretending I don't want this."

Kara stepped closer. She reached out and touched Skye's face, her fingers cool against Skye's skin. "I've waited so long for you," she said. "I've waited so long."

"I know," Skye said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just come inside."

Skye took her hand and led her up the stairs.

---

The apartment was small and bare and Skye felt suddenly self-conscious about it. She watched Kara look around, taking in the couch and the table and the single photograph on the wall. Kara's eyes lingered on the photograph. On the faces of people she used to know.

"You kept it," Kara said.

"I forgot to take it down."

Kara looked at her. "You don't forget anything."

Skye didn't answer. She just stood there, in the middle of her apartment, with Kara standing three feet away, and felt the space between them like a living thing. All the years. All the silence. All the things she'd never said.

"I missed you," Skye said. The words came out before she could stop them. "I missed you so much."

Kara crossed the room in two steps. She took Skye's face in her hands and kissed her. Soft at first. Gentle. Like she was afraid Skye would disappear. And then harder. Deeper. Like she was trying to make up for fifteen years in a single moment.

Skye kissed her back. She wrapped her arms around Kara's neck and pulled her close and let herself feel it. The warmth. The strength. The love. It was all still there. It had always been there.

They stumbled to the bedroom. Clothes came off. Skin against skin. Kara's hands on Skye's body, tracing the lines of her, memorizing her all over again. Skye gasped when Kara's lips found her neck. Moaned when Kara's fingers found her hips. Arching into the touch, the heat, the need.

"I've got you," Kara whispered. "I've got you."

And Skye believed her.

---

Afterward, they lay tangled together in Skye's narrow bed, the sheets twisted around their legs. Skye's head rested on Kara's chest. Kara's fingers traced lazy circles on Skye's back.

"I have to tell you something," Kara said.

Skye lifted her head. "What?"

Kara was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I'm not the same person I was. The Kara you knew. She was... softer. Kinder. I've done things since then. Terrible things. I've become something else."

Skye looked at her. "What kind of things?"

"I've killed people. I've hurt people. I've done it without regret. Without hesitation. I've become the thing I used to fight against."

Skye didn't flinch. She'd done terrible things too. She'd killed people. She'd hurt people. She'd spent years trying to atone for it, trying to be someone who deserved to live. She knew what it was like to look in the mirror and not recognize the person staring back.

"I don't care," Skye said.

Kara's eyes widened. "You should."

"I don't. I've seen the worst of you. And you've seen the worst of me. And we're still here. We're still together."

Kara stared at her for a long moment. Then she smiled. A real smile. The kind that reached her eyes.

"You're different too," Kara said.

"I know."

"I like it."

Skye laughed. "You like that I'm more messed up than before?"

"I like that you're honest. I like that you're not pretending anymore."

Skye leaned up and kissed her. "I'm not pretending. Not with you. Not anymore."

Kara pulled her close. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

They lay in the dark, holding each other, and Skye felt something she hadn't felt in years. Safe. She felt safe.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice whispered that this was too easy. That Kara was hiding something. That the other shoe was going to drop.

She ignored it. She ignored it because she wanted this. She wanted Kara. She wanted to believe that they could have this, that they could be happy, that the past didn't matter.

She wanted to believe it so badly.

---

The next few weeks were the best of Skye's life.

They fell into a rhythm. Kara would show up at Skye's apartment in the morning with coffee and pastries. They'd eat breakfast together, talking about nothing and everything. Kara would walk Skye to work. She'd be there when Skye got off, waiting on the corner with that smile. They'd spend the evenings together, cooking dinner, watching movies, making love until they both collapsed from exhaustion.

Skye felt alive. More alive than she'd felt in years. The numbness that had settled over her after she left SHIELD, after Hive, after everything, began to thaw. She laughed more. She smiled more. She started to think about the future.

Kara was attentive. Kara was loving. Kara was everything Skye had ever wanted.

But there were things. Small things. Things Skye noticed but didn't want to notice.

Kara never talked about where she went during the day. She never mentioned where she was staying. She never introduced Skye to anyone, never took her anywhere new, never let Skye see any part of her life that wasn't directly connected to Skye herself.

And sometimes, when Kara thought Skye was asleep, she'd sit by the window and stare out at the city with an expression that Skye couldn't read. Something cold. Something calculating. Something that made Skye's skin prickle.

She told herself it was nothing. She told herself she was being paranoid. She told herself that Kara had waited three hundred years for her, and she deserved a little privacy.

But the voice in the back of her mind kept whispering.

*She's hiding something.*

---

One night, Skye woke to find Kara gone.

The bed was empty. The apartment was dark. She got up and walked to the living room, and there was Kara, standing by the window, her phone pressed to her ear.

"I know," Kara was saying. "I know. But it's not time yet. She's not ready."

Skye stopped in the doorway. She didn't move. She didn't breathe.

"She's still fighting it," Kara said. "I can feel it. She wants me, but she's scared. She's always been scared. But she'll come around. She always does."

A pause. Kara listened.

"I know what I'm doing. I've been doing this for three hundred years. I know how to handle her. She's mine. She's always been mine. And when she's ready, she'll accept it. She'll accept everything."

Another pause.

"No. No, I haven't told her. Not yet. She's not ready for that. But she will be. Soon. And when she is, she'll understand. She'll understand why I had to do it. Why I had to wait. Why I had to be patient."

Skye's heart was pounding. Her hands were shaking. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to walk into that room and demand answers.

But she didn't. She stood in the doorway and listened, and she felt the cold creep back into her bones.

Kara hung up the phone. She turned around. She saw Skye standing there, and her face changed. The coldness vanished. The mask slipped back into place. She smiled.

"Hey," she said. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," Skye said. "I just... I couldn't sleep."

Kara walked over to her. She wrapped her arms around Skye's waist and pulled her close. "Come back to bed," she said. "I'll make you forget all about it."

Skye let herself be led back to the bedroom. She let Kara pull her down onto the mattress. She let Kara kiss her and touch her and make her forget.

But she didn't forget. She couldn't forget.

*She's hiding something.*

---

The next morning, Skye made a decision.

She was going to find out what Kara was hiding. She was going to find out the truth, no matter what it cost her.

She waited until Kara left for her morning walk. Then she went through the apartment. She checked Kara's bag, her pockets, her phone. She found nothing. No clues. No answers. Just a woman who was very good at keeping secrets.

But she did find one thing. A small notebook, hidden in the lining of Kara's jacket. She opened it and found pages and pages of writing, all in Kara's handwriting. Dates. Locations. Names.

And one name that appeared over and over again.

*Daisy Johnson.*

Skye's blood ran cold. She'd been Daisy Johnson once. Before she'd changed her name. Before she'd left SHIELD. Before she'd tried to become someone else.

She flipped through the notebook. There were entries from decades ago, from centuries ago. Kara had been tracking her. Following her. Watching her. For years. For centuries.

And then she found the last entry.

*She's ready. She just doesn't know it yet. But she will. She'll remember. She'll remember everything. And then she'll come home.*

Skye closed the notebook. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was pounding.

Kara had been lying to her. Kara had been manipulating her. Kara had been waiting for her to remember something, something Skye didn't even know she'd forgotten.

She didn't know what to do. She didn't know who to trust. She didn't know anything anymore.

She sat down on the couch and stared at the wall and tried to think.

And then she heard the key in the lock.

---

Kara walked in with a smile and a bag of groceries.

"I got stuff for dinner," she said. "I was thinking we could make that pasta you like. The one with the--"

She stopped. Skye was sitting on the couch, the notebook in her hands. Kara's face went pale.

"Skye," she said. "I can explain."

"Can you?" Skye's voice was calm. Too calm. "Can you explain why you've been tracking me for three hundred years? Can you explain why you've been lying to me since the day you showed up? Can you explain what you're waiting for me to remember?"

Kara set the groceries down. She walked over to the couch and sat down next to Skye. She didn't try to take the notebook. She didn't try to make excuses. She just sat there, looking at Skye with those ancient eyes.

"I was going to tell you," she said. "I was waiting for the right time."

"The right time? You've been waiting for three hundred years. When exactly was the right time going to be?"

Kara reached out and took Skye's hand. Skye didn't pull away. She wanted to. She wanted to run. But she didn't.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" Kara asked.

Skye frowned. "Of course I do. It was in the mountains. The safe house. You told me you were Kryptonian."

"No," Kara said. "That wasn't the first time. That was the second time."

Skye stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"The first time we met was in 1712. In a village in what's now Romania. You were different then. You were... you were a vampire. Like me. And we were in love."

Skye shook her head. "That's not possible. I'm not a vampire. I'm inhuman. I've always been inhuman."

"Not always," Kara said. "You were turned. And then you were killed. And then you were reborn. You've lived many lives, Skye. Many lifetimes. And in every single one, I've found you. I've loved you. And I've lost you."

Skye pulled her hand away. "You're lying."

"I'm not lying. I'm telling you the truth. The whole truth. The truth I should have told you years ago."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because you weren't ready. Because you didn't remember. Because every time I told you, you ran. You ran, and I had to start all over again. I've been waiting for you to remember on your own. I've been waiting for you to come back to me."

Skye stood up. She walked to the window and stared out at the city. Her city. Her life. The life she'd built to escape from everything Kara was telling her.

"I don't remember," she said. "I don't remember any of it."

"I know," Kara said. "But you will. The memories are there. They're just buried. And I can help you find them. If you let me."

Skye turned around. "And if I don't?"

Kara's eyes hardened. Just for a moment. Just long enough for Skye to see it.

"Then I'll wait," Kara said. "I'll wait until you're ready. I've waited this long. I can wait a little longer."

Skye looked at her. The woman she loved. The woman who'd lied to her. The woman who'd been waiting for her for three hundred years.

She didn't know what to believe. She didn't know what to feel. She just knew that she couldn't walk away. Not this time.

"I need time," she said. "I need to think."

Kara nodded. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here."

Skye grabbed her jacket and her keys. She walked out the door and didn't look back.

---

She walked for hours.

She walked through the city, past the coffee shop, past the park, past all the places they'd been together. She walked until her feet hurt and her mind was numb. She walked until she couldn't walk anymore.

And then she sat down on a bench by the river and cried.

She cried for the life she'd lost. She cried for the memories she couldn't remember. She cried for the woman she loved and the woman she didn't know. She cried until there was nothing left.

And then she wiped her face and took out her phone.

She scrolled through her contacts. Past Kara's number. Past the fake names and the old friends. She stopped at a name she hadn't called in years. A name she'd sworn she'd never call again.

*Jemma Simmons.*

She pressed call.

It rang three times. And then a voice, familiar and warm and surprised.

"Skye? Is that you?"

"Yeah," Skye said. "It's me. I need your help."

A pause. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. But I think I'm in trouble. I think I'm in real trouble."

"Where are you?"

"Portland. I'll send you the address. Just... please. Come quickly."

"We'll be there as soon as we can."

Skye hung up. She looked out at the river, at the lights reflecting on the water, at the city she'd tried to make her own.

And she waited.

---

Kara watched from the shadows.

She'd followed Skye through the city, keeping her distance, staying out of sight. She'd watched her cry on the bench. She'd watched her make the call. She'd heard every word.

SHIELD. Skye had called SHIELD.

Kara felt a flash of anger. Hot and sharp and familiar. She'd warned Skye. She'd told her not to run. She'd told her to trust her.

But Skye hadn't listened. Skye never listened.

Kara took a deep breath. She forced the anger down. She'd been patient for three hundred years. She could be patient a little longer.

But if SHIELD got involved, things would get complicated. They'd try to take Skye away from her. They'd try to fill her head with lies. They'd try to destroy everything Kara had worked for.

Kara smiled. A cold smile. A dangerous smile.

Let them come. Let them try.

She'd dealt with SHIELD before. She'd dealt with worse.

And she always won.

---

Skye sat on the bench and waited.

She didn't know how long she waited. Minutes. Hours. The sun set and the stars came out and the city lights flickered on. She waited.

And then she saw them. A black SUV pulling up to the curb. Two figures getting out. One tall and dark-haired, one shorter and blonde.

Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz.

They walked over to her. Jemma sat down on the bench next to her. Fitz stood behind them, scanning the area, always the protector.

"Skye," Jemma said. "What's going on?"

Skye looked at her. At the woman who'd been her friend, her sister, her family. The woman she'd abandoned when she'd left SHIELD.

"I need to tell you something," Skye said. "And I need you to believe me."

"We believe you," Fitz said. "We've always believed you."

Skye took a deep breath. And then she told them everything.

---

By the time she finished, Jemma's face was pale and Fitz's hands were clenched into fists.

"A vampire," Jemma said. "A Kryptonian vampire. And she claims you're her fated mate."

"I know how it sounds," Skye said.

"It sounds insane," Fitz said.

"I know."

"But you believe her."

Skye hesitated. "I don't know what I believe. I just know that something is happening to me. Something I can't explain. And I need your help to figure out what it is."

Jemma reached out and took Skye's hand. "We'll help you. Whatever it takes."

Skye nodded. She looked out at the city, at the lights, at the darkness beyond.

And somewhere out there, Kara was watching.

Waiting.

And Skye knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that this was only the beginning.