disclaimer: disclaimed.
dedication: to the ladies of SHIELD bc GOT DAMN

title: girl on the moon
summary: Okay, so Skye has, like, the coolest grandmother in the world. — Skye, Melinda, Granny May.






Okay, so Skye has, like, the coolest grandmother in the world.

Not to brag or anything, but seriously.

Actual coolest grandma in the entire world.

See, the thing is, the May line? Might or might not have been a SHIELD legacy family (hint: they totally were, just sayin'). Status is a total thing in Skye's life, mostly because her mom is a badass, and Aunt Maria is like, second only to Fury in the chain of command, and Aunt Tasha is the Black freakin' Widow, and like, these are the ladies who shaped Skye's whole existence.

Which is fabulous, obviously, but none of them (not even her mother, and Skye would not be breathing without her mother), not one, has anything on how much Skye's grandmother shaped her personality.

"Stand up, Skye," her grandmother says through thinned lips, hands folded neatly in front of her. She's in silk chamseong, ink-dark blue and covered over in embroidered golden dragons, the buttons done up tightly all the way to her throat. The eldest woman of the May clan stands like a stone in a storm, completely unfazed by any and all things thrown her way—she doesn't look at her daughter or granddaughter, standing on her either side, waiting quietly for the plane to touch down. "Don't lounge, it's undignified."

Skye straightens.

(She can feel her mother's eye-roll.)

"Your daughter is learning, Melinda," Skye's grandmother says—there's no visible indication she'd seen Skye do anything at all, but Skye's pretty sure the woman has eyes in the back of her head. It would explain a lot of things; in their line of work, people usually didn't live long enough to have children, much less grandchildren.

Skye's grandmother is a badass.

"Her clothing, of course, leaves much to be desired," and the distaste is palpable in Granny May's voice.

Skye's mother's lips twitched. "It does, does it."

"See that she changes it."

"I am right here, you know," but Skye's used to them talking about her like she isn't here; they've done it since she was a tiny child. "I do have ears."

"Yes, dear, but clearly you don't have eyes," her grandmother scolds.

Melinda's lips twitch again, and Skye slouches deep into her jacket. She scowls fiercely out at the world for a moment, skinny arms crossed over a thin chest, ribs expanding and contracting with all the indignant fury a fourteen-year-old can produce.

It's a lot, actually.

No one takes her seriously, around here.

"Stand up, Skye," Granny May says again.

Skye straightens regardless.


"So how long are we waiting here, again?" Skye asks.

"Until the shipment comes in," Granny May says imperiously.

"Until that plane touches down," Melinda translates, and Skye groans only a little. She fishes her phone out of her pocket, fiddles with it, squints, and then grins.

"They'll be here in five," Skye announces grandly, skips backwards in her sneakers and her shorts, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "And then can we get some food? Pot-stickers sound so awesome right now, seriously, I could eat like a thousand."

"And you know that… how?" Melinda asks, one eyebrow raising towards her hairline as she shoots a searching look over her daughter's wide-eyed-innocent face. "And don't give me that look, Skye, that stopped working after you turned eight and tried to sneak that cat past the house security."

Skye says something vulgar, gets thwapped across the knuckles with her grandmother's favourite comb for it, and then shrugs. "I, um, might have. Done a thing."

"Did you put a tracker in your father's phone again?"

"Please, mom, I'm a little more creative than that."

"Then where did you put it?"

Skye grins brightly. "Trade secret."

"Ungrateful child," Granny May sighed. She reaches over to pat absently at the top of Skye's head. "Have you grown again?"

"No, Granny," Skye replies, obedient.

"Hmph," the woman says. "Don't get into anywhere you can't get out of, and if you must get into a dangerous place, have someone to pull you out. You're the only grandchild I've got."

"I know," Skye says, smiles a little when her grandmother taps her palms, their old secret signal for I love you. A lost thing from another time, it still hangs special in a way that nothing else does.

"Look who's decided to come home," Melinda says, quietly.

Skye spins on her heel, shouts encouragement at the plane descending towards them. She's exuberance itself, itching and scratching and only barely restraining herself from shooting onto the runway and getting in absolutely everyone's way and probably getting herself killed.

Melinda's mouth pulls into something like fondness.

And ten minutes later, Skye throws herself on Fury like a monkey (nearly stomps on his face in her haste to find her tracking device, but whatever, it's just the old man, and he couldn't hurt her if he tried), her grandmother and her mother stand very close together.

Skye doesn't notice at all, but here is what they say:

"She's a terror," Melinda says.

There's a long silence between them, something old and deep and untouchable, an unshakeable trust despite the hurt that still lingers there.

"You've done well," Melinda's mother says. "With her."

"Coming from you, that's a high compliment, mother."

The eldest May narrows her eyes at her daughter. "Do not sass your mother."

"No sass, mother, only honestly."

"Well, I suppose you can learn, too."

Melinda actually snorts, the sound coming out through her nose. "I learned a long time ago, mother."

Granny May doesn't say anything for another long moment, simply folds her hands together again. "She's taught you better than I ever did."

They both watch Skye, who's badgering Natasha Romanoff like the woman isn't a walking killing machine. The Black Widow is indulging her.

They all do.

Melinda smiles for real, whole and full.

"I think," she says softly, "that's she's taught us all a thing or two."

Skye's back in front of them in an instant, rocking back and forth with her excitement. "Aunt Tasha says pot-stickers sound good, even though Uncle Clint wants pizza. You gonna come, mom? Granny?"

"Of course," Granny says. "Come along, Melinda."

Skye grins, loops her arm through two generations of her family, and tugs them forward.







notes2: to that one chick: lol. lol. lol.