Buzz.
Phil groaned and rolled onto his side to snooze the alarm. It was Monday. He hated Mondays. It was always slow at the station, plus after a weekend of relaxing and sleeping in, the last thing he wanted to do was get up early just to sit and file papers all day, waiting for a call.
A growl came from next to him. Phil chuckled to himself. Someone definitely hated Mondays more than him. Someone happened to be Melinda May, his wife, and fearless partner. As much as he hated her being in danger (she told him constantly that he had a saving people streak), he was one hundred percent sure that there was no one else he would rather be beside when work got tough. And did it get tough.
“Come on, Mel,” he said. “Up and at ‘em.” She sighed and rolled over. May kept the pillow over her head for a moment and then swung her legs over the bed.
“I hate Mondays,” she muttered, voice thick with sleep.
Phil laughed. “I never would have guessed.”
***
After quite a bit of grumbling, the Coulson’s made it to work just in time. The Zephyr Police Station was bustling.
“Mr. Cou-I mean Phil!” Jemma Simmons greeted him from over her desk. Jemma was their receptionist. Her mother used to work the same job, and Jemma took over when her parents decided to retire early and start traveling. Jemma had pretty much been raised at the station, and in turn, the staff loved her as their own. Jemma was a genius, who lived at the near by college campus (as she graduated high school early) far more mature than her 16 years entailed.
“Ma! Oh, and Dad, too! How’s it goin’?” Leopold Fitz skidded around the corner. Here was Jemma’s partner in crime, the same age and just as smart. Fitz had been living in the streets as a child and had met the Coulsons when they were called in by a grocery store for thievery. They were expecting an adult, most likely a big, strong guy who had managed to get by security. The shock they experienced when they arrived to see a scrawny 11-year-old boy who could barely reach the third shelf of the store was insurmountable. The owner of the shop was so pissed that he got robbed that he was trying to convince the officers to try the kid as an adult. But Phil took one look at the kid’s mop of curly orange hair, and Mel stared into his big blue eyes, and they decided the only thing they could do was offer to help him. After a little digging, they found out that he was an orphan, his parents having been killed when he was a small child. It didn’t take much pushing to become his foster parents, and shortly after he was adopted into their family.
Shortly afterward, Fitz had met Jemma, and the two had hit it off right away. Their initial relationship was purely platonic, but at around 14, it morphed into something more. Dubbed “Fitzsimmons”, the two complimented each other perfectly, and once Jemma had informed them of her decision to enter college, the four of them were more than thrilled to enroll Fitz into the same gifted program as her.
Fitz didn’t really have a specific job at the station, although he liked to refer to himself as the “Receptionist Assistant”. He just goofed off and stole food. But hey, the kid brought a smile to everyone’s face and very few things were as entertaining as him and Jemma having a conversation about what Phil referred to as “smart people things”. They talked so fast with such long words that it sounded like a completely different language, and it was very rare that anyone could understand them.
“Hey, kids,” May said, smiling towards them. Phil smiled too and ruffled their hair.
“Does it look slow so far, Jem?” Phil asked, looking at her.
“Yes, sir. Only thing I’ve seen so far was a skunk that looked rabid. I sent Mack,” she said, referring to the Head of Animal Control. Alphonso Mackenzie was a big guy with a heart to match. He had a way with animals and had a big booming laugh that was contagious.
Alright, Phil thought. Nice, easy Monday.
***
It was not a nice, easy Monday.
The crew had been on lunch break, watching reruns of America’s Got Talent when a call came in.
“I have a 911-reported drug use and possible child abuse. Corner of Maple Ave and School Street. The suspect might be armed so approach with caution.”
“That’s us,” Phil said, standing up and already putting on his coat. May had a seemingly neutral expression, but he could see the anger beneath it. Unfortunately, the town they lived in had a lot of junkies who had a lot of kids they didn’t want to take care of. Nothing angered May more. “We’ll be back soon-hold down the fort,” he said to the teens before walking out the door, May on his tail.
It was a short drive to the house they were investigating. State troopers had already been called in and arrested the junkie.
“There’s a kid-she’s maybe 12? We can’t get her out, she’s scared out of her mind and refusing to move,” a trooper said to the pair.
Phil sighed. “We got it.” They moved into the house scanning the rooms one by one. The last room left-and presumably, where the kid was hiding-was the tiny bathroom in the corner. Phil entered first, and May waited outside.
The sight he walked into broke his heart. In a corner, curled up as small as humanly possible, was a girl. Bruises littered her face (he suspected her ragged clothes hid more), and she was clutching a baseball bat like a lifeline. Her eyes were open wide with fear and she was shaking.
“D-Don’t come any closer,” she whispered. It seemed like she was trying to muster the strength to yell, but couldn’t find it within herself.
“I won’t,” Phil replied, crouching down within a reasonable distance from her. “I’m Agent Coulson-usually know as Phil,” he chuckled. “What’s your name?” She remained stubbornly silent, mouth drawn shut. “Don’t sweat it, kiddo. Names aren’t that important anyway. How ‘bout I tell you all about me?” She still didn’t answer. “Well, this gives me a perfect opportunity to babble. My wife doesn’t listen to me anymore.”
***
An hour later, Phil had gotten nowhere. She was still in the corner, eyeing him fearfully. Every time Phil moved, she flinched. His best guess was that middle-aged men had never been kind to her in the past. “I’m gonna send in my wife. She’s my partner-much more badass than me. You can talk to her…or not. Up to you.” He walked out to face Mel. “She’s scared senseless. Can you try? I don’t think she’s had great experiences with men.” Mel nodded.
She crouched down as soon as she saw the kid. She seemed to relax a little bit but was still uptight and terrified. “Hey, honey. I’m Mel. We’re here to help, okay? You can trust me, I promise.”
***
It took her twenty minutes, but Melinda covered the girl with her jacket, picked up her malnourished little body, and carried the girl out to their car. She sat in the back with her, as the girl wouldn’t let go of her. Mel carried her in, ignoring Jemma and Fitz’s questions. No one was in the on-call room, and she lowered the now sleeping child onto the bottom bunk. She tucked her in, left the light on, and went back out to get Phil. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the room. They stared at each other for a second and then both talked at once.
“We can’t leave her.”
“We should take her.’
They stared at each other again.
“Sounds like a plan than”
***
EPILOGUE
It had taken a little while, but eventually, they had gained the kid’s trust. Her name was Daisy Johnson. She was 13 years old, brilliant, and so sarcastic that Mel swore she had Phil’s blood. She had been living with her dad her whole life, and he got hooked on drugs when she was 6. Her mother left around the same time. She was constantly on-edge, had major trust issues, and completely shut down around people she didn’t know. But, she loved hanging out with Mack and the animals. The Coulson’s realized this and adopted her a dog shortly after- a shaggy mutt named Sawyer who adored her to no end and had an unlimited amount of energy. She idolized Jemma and Fitz and followed them around. Fitz referred to her as “little sis” which never failed to make her happy. Although it took a while, Phil and Mel became “Mom and Dad” which made them giddy. And her smile. God, her smile. It was rare, but when that toothy grin was on her face, she lit up the room.
“Mom, can I ask you something?” Daisy asked as they were riding the elevator up to the courtroom. It had taken them over a year, but today was finally the day she would become an official member of the family.
“You just did,” May replied with a smirk. Daisy rolled her eyes. Now freshly 14, Daisy had come out of her shell enough for the teenage sassiness to emerge. “But of course, honey. What’s up?”
“Could I...Change my name?”
“Daisy, we already told you, you can take our last name. Nothing would make us happier.”
“I mean my first name.” May looked at her daughter. She seemed smaller, less sure of herself. “I got it from people who didn’t love me. I want it to be my name. Something I could be proud of.” May’s eyes were welling up. This kid, she didn’t deserve this kid.
“That sounds great. What are you thinking?”
2 hours later, Skye (with an E, because it was “cooler, Mom! Dad agrees with me!”) Lola May-Coulson was born. Framed on her desk for the rest of her life was a picture taken from that day. Mack was in the back, with Yo-Yo beside him. Phil and Mel were in front of them with a hand on Skye’s shoulders. Skye was in the middle, the trademark smile all the way up to her ears. Jemma was crouched beside her, arms all the way around in a hug, with Fitz laying spread out on the floor in front (Well, Ma, if me and Jemma are her godparents we have to be fun!). Sawyer was sitting on the other side of Skye, as Mack had snuck him in just to make sure he was in the picture, with his tongue lolling out. Whenever someone noticed the picture, Skye would tell them that it was the happiest day of her life- ”and all my reincarnated lives, too, Dad, I didn’t forget.”
Thank god it wasn't a nice, Monday.