Conversation Hearts.
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Amen.
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Jemma Simmons has, for a very long time, thought of herself as a scientist before anything else. She hasn't seen the inside of a church since she was a very young girl. Not since she attended the funeral for a great aunt.
It wasn't that she didn't understand the need to look to a higher power for guidance. Human beings searched for meaning and guidance; it was in their nature. It was more along the lines of her being so used to relying on evidence and facts that she wasn't sure about where her own beliefs stood. Especially not since the same beings that some cultures worshipped as ancient gods had recently been revealed to be, well, aliens from another world where science and magic had somehow become a single entity. She also hadn't really had much reason to ask for help over the last few years. She had been basically confined to the safe space of her lab.
But now, Jemma Simmons was on a team with a group of people who seemed to be constantly walking into danger. And she couldn't rely on her own skills to stitch someone up when their wounds went below the surface. Sitting in a hospital waiting room where the doctors wouldn't allow her any information about the condition of one of her teammates was not something she was very good at. She started off her wait pressed up against Fitz's side, hoping that they would somehow give one another an infusion of strength. But with every neuron in her brain crying out for more information and more help, she was too antsy to sit still.
"I'm just," she started, bracing her hands on her knees and jumping to her feet, "going to the little girls' room."
Simmons took in the guilty look on Fitz's face that hadn't left since they first found Skye, Ward's hard lines of anger that she was afraid were never going to go away, Coulson's worried brow line, and May's carefully controlled expression, as closed off as ever. None of them protested. None of them said she shouldn't go alone. None of them said anything. So she swallowed, nodded her head, and left the room. A couple of turns down a confusing hallway later, and she'd reached the restroom.
It smelled like much of the rest of the hospital in here. Disinfectant, lemon, plastic, heat. It's not altogether unpleasant. It reminded her very much of the labs at The Academy. And the memories of learning and climbing the SHIELD ranks are something of a comfort right now when she isn't allowed to do anything. Walking over to the sink, Jemma chanced a glance in the mirror. She didn't look half bad for a girl whose friend and teammate was fighting for her life nearby. In fact, short of her bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, you might not even know that she was upset.
Washing her hands for probably the tenth time since attempting to stop a hole in Skye's abdomen from leaving her blood all over a wine cellar floor, she took one long deep breath in, held it, and pushed a shaky one out. Using the mirror as a way to gauge if there was anyone in the other stalls, Jemma shot her eyes from one door to the next. All three were devoid of life. She was safe. And unobserved. So she gripped the edges of the sink, opened her mouth, and she started to speak, all the while staring at the steady stream of water pouring from the faucet.
So here it is – I don't claim to be an expert on this whole thing. And I might not be well versed in the praying part of religious tradition, but I'm willing to try if you are… whoever you may be.
I – I don't really know Skye all that well to be perfectly honest. I think there's a lot about her life that she's kept to herself. Maybe she doesn't want us all to know how bad things were for her. Skye doesn't strike me as the kind of person who is going to thrive on pity. I know that she doesn't have anyone else. The people in the waiting room out there, my team, they're Skye's team to. I guess you know that. What I mean to say is that… There's this idea that you're born in to one family, that you don't get a choice about who you share your bloodline with, but that the people you become friends with, share your life with, those are the family you choose. Skye didn't really get a chance to choose us. She fell in with us because, well, I don't really know the whole story, but I know we probably aren't her first choice for a family. Not really. But I'd pick her for mine in the breadth of a single heartbeat.
I need you to help those doctors in there do what they do best. Skye is like a ball of energy that keeps the rest of us on our toes. She's the missing piece in our very dysfunctional little puzzle. And we really are a family. She's become a real friend to all of us, maybe even a sister. We'd do anything for her. And I'm sure any of us, all of us, would trade places with her. Not that I'm bargaining for that, of course. I do know my stages of grief. It's something they teach us at the Academy. A basic psych course to deal with eventualities in the field. I'm not ready to lose anyone though. Oh, I know, no one is ready to lose someone. I just mean –
I'm not being very clear, am I? The whole point of this prayer is to ask you, again, no disrespect to whichever deity is choosing to listen to me, to please help us – them – save her. If we lose her, I don't know that our family can recover. We're only just getting to know her. We need more time. Maybe you could just buy us a little more time?
A twinge of a spring needing to be oiled made Jemma stop in mid thought. She wasn't ready to finish. But she didn't really know what else to say. The opening door revealed a sullen Agent May who, without a word or nod of acknowledgement, headed straight for a stall and locked the door behind her. Jemma didn't hear the telltale zzztt of a zipper, or any other sounds that would have indicated that May was even there to use the restroom. Jemma took in another deep breath, rinsed her hands again, let the breath out, and turned off the water.
Just as the stream of water came to an end, she heard a sharp thud, followed by a deep cracking sound, and May unlocked the stall and joined her at the sink. Her eyes were hard as she turned on the faucet and washed plaster from her hands, and Jemma could see the indentation in the wall behind them. May wasn't going to cry, or curse the world, or even pray. One quick burst of energy, and she was ready to go back to being the rock for the rest of them. Jemma collected herself as best she could, and turned to the other woman.
"Do you think-" she broke off, unable to continue with her question.
"They'll help her," May responded easily. "They're doctors. It's what they do. And Skye isn't dying. She crawled across that floor because she wanted to live. And I don't know if you've noticed, but Skye doesn't give up when she wants something. She fights for it." She paused to take a breath before adding, "you should get cleaned up, get fresh clothes while we're waiting. We don't know how long they'll be working on her."
May left the younger agent standing there at the sink, the door closing behind her softly. Jemma dried her hands with a paper towel and caught her reflection in the mirror.
Help her fight. Please.
Amen.
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A/N: Every Valentine's day, the American market is flooded with tiny little candy hearts with cheesy messages on them. They say things like Kiss Me, or XOXO, or Be Mine. You know, short little messages that are Valentine inspired. More recent hearts have used text speak and internet shorthand, but they never seem to have more than a few letters, and usually only one line of text. So, I'm using those as my inspiration for a challenge of sorts. The focus will change in each chapter, highlighting a conversation between two characters on the show. Nothing's going to be in order. It will be totally random. Except that there will be 24 chapters, one for each letter of the alphabet. Kind of like my older challenge Lilly, Alphabetically. But I'm aiming for my challenge words to be ones that would fit on a conversation heart, so I think no more than 10 letters. And the words are going to be chosen randomly. Feel free to suggest words if you'd like. I can't promise that I'll use them, but I'll try.