By the time Skye makes her way to the lifts, she's at least got some idea of where she is and what's going on. Her hair's still damp from the shower, and she's thumbing through network posts so distractedly, she almost misses the giant, dark lump in the lift when she summons it down.

Almost.

The doors slide open, and Skye's attention flicks up briefly from her comm device's screen, ready to assess the area in front of her and step in—it's automatic. But she startles and freezes in the threshold, dropping her comm.

"Ward!" She's on her knees beside him in an instant, slipping one hand behind his head. Last time she saw Ward, he was on the other side of the table in the interrogation room on the Bus, waiting for eval after shooting the Clairvoyant in the chest.

As uncertain as she'd been about the lengths he'd gone to then, she's not uncertain now. Concern overwhelms all of that. In the same way he'd lost it trying to protect her, she abandons all baggage, driven straight to her desire to help him. She checks his pulse at his neck, exhaling her relief as the doors slide shut. "Wake up. Come on, wake up." She keeps one hand cradling the back of his head, moves her other to shake his shoulder.