This is based off the song Little Bit of Everything by Keith Urban. It's the song Skye's singing in the kitchen near the end. And if you don't find it funny that Chloe Bennet was in the show Nashville and Skye's singing a country song, then my life is meaningless. For Skimmons Week, day number five.
Music
Jemma Simmons could only ever be considered the type of person who enjoys living inside the box. She enjoyed the simple things in life. She preferred the comfort of the known to the chaos of new things. And she most certainly didn't feel as if she was missing out on anything.
Not at all.
Not until her best friend moved out, that is.
She and Fitz had lived in the same house together since they moved out of home and crossed the ocean to study in America. Jemma had insisted on a house in the suburbs over an apartment in a crowded building in a big city. Coming from money made that an easy thing to deal with.
And while Fitz had been with her, living in a lovely old house, it had been comfortable. They shared the space, it was big enough for both of them to coexist just so. There was enough room for Fitz to tinker with his 'next big thing' and plenty of space for when they didn't quite get along.
It was Jemma's safe place.
But now, without Fitz and his constant mutterings or the sound of him playing with some metal contraption, it felt so unfathomably vast. So empty. So… oppressive.
Jemma hated it.
She found herself spending less time in her house and more in the park sitting on a faded green bench by the river. Some days – like this one – her book sat in her lap completely ignored because reading was just too much like hard work. She slumped back against the wood and watched a couple kayaking downstream, mesmerised by the rhythm of their motions.
Every day, a group of people would stop by an oak tree and play music through a dock of some kind. They'd sing along loudly (and often off key). They'd spin around under the shadow of the tree and once the girl got thrown in the river. She emerged shrieking and hollering sweet retribution, chasing them out of the park and down the street.
Jemma considered it rather amusing. Something about the music relaxed her. Watching them – so carefree and happy – allowed her to forget for a moment how much was missing from her life.
One brisk early autumn afternoon the girl appeared by herself. Instead of her dock, she had earphones and rather than a bottle of whatever her alcohol of choice was, she had a styrofoam coffee cup. She stood beneath the tree and sang quietly, bobbing her head to whatever the song was. Jemma tried not to stare, but she'd somehow ended up pretty intrigued by this woman.
The brunette glanced over as she turned to walk away and smiled when she saw Jemma. After a moment, her feet shuffling on the spot, she wandered over and sank onto the bench. Jemma whipped her gaze away. But she still noticed when the other woman glanced at Jemma out of the corner of her eye, the most adorable little smirk playing at her lips.
"You sit here a lot," the woman said suddenly.
Jemma allowed the words to be the excuse she needed to go back to staring. "You're over there a lot," she countered.
"You're British." And the smile quirked higher.
"You're American."
The woman clucked her tongue. "My, aren't we both excellent at observing things."
"I'll say."
She kept her brown eyes fixed on Jemma for a moment longer before extending a hand, her wrist sporting a collection of braided bangles and leather straps. "Skye," she said.
"Jemma." She took the hand.
"And what brings you to the river every afternoon?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "My roommate moved out," she explained. "The place feels so empty without him. I guess I haven't adjusted yet. What about you?"
"I like to unwind. Plus, I don't really have anywhere to be," Skye told her. "Today is actually me feeling a little sorry for myself and being okay with wallowing on my own."
"Why?"
"The guy I live with is moving in with his future wife and my other best friend is going overseas," Skye confessed slowly. "Job worries, housing concerns… Life."
Jemma bobbed her head. "Sounds like you have spaces in your life too. Your coping method is music and coffee?"
Skye offered her a blinding smile. "It's healthier than drinking away my sorrows."
"Fair enough. And what music suits this particular emotional rollercoaster?"
Wordlessly, Skye held out one earbud, a ghostly smile flicking around her mouth. Jemma – with no small amount of apprehension, it should be noted – stuffed it in her ear. And she was honestly surprised when a feel good beat was pumped out. Her eyebrows arched up of their own accord.
They sat in silence after that, just listening to the music.
The next day, Jemma arrived at her seat to find Skye waiting for her. And the day after that was the same. And the day after. And so on.
A month rolled by in which Skye became the highlight of Jemma's day. The way the other woman's face lit up whenever Jemma collapsed beside her or the way suddenly Skye knew how she liked her tea. Knew that she liked tea over coffee. Period.
There were stories. About Skye's best friend Antoine and his unfairly gorgeous fiancée. About Fitz and his relocation for employment reasons and his fascination with all things mechanical. About Skye's colleague Grant and his shift overseas to work with some branch of the military doing something amazing. About each other.
Their afternoons weren't always at the park anymore. They met at cafés and bookstores and once Skye even bumped into her outside the hospital where she worked, pleasantly surprised to find her there. They went to see movies and lamented all the silly things that life throws at people… like taxes and bills and poor drivers.
Until one blustery afternoon in the middle of winter, Jemma (wrapped up in a blanket burrito on her couch tethered to a box of tissues) heard a knock on the door. She frowned. Fitz had no reason to stop by, and if he did he'd call to make sure she would be home. So who it might be momentarily eluded her flu-addled brain.
But when she pulled the door in to find Skye smiling sheepishly at her from beneath the cowl of her windbreaker, Jemma didn't know why she was surprised. She sniffed, feeling very much like a mess, and stepped aside so Skye could come in.
"I brought movies," Skye said, holding up a bag and shaking it. "And music and the best chicken soup you'll ever eat."
"Why?" Jemma mumbled hoarsely.
"Because you look like the viral plague that sets off Armageddon and I want you to feel better," Skye laughed. "I miss my buddy." She bumped against Jemma's shoulder before taking a hasty two steps away. "Just don't get me sick, okay?"
Jemma smiled. "Thank you."
"No worries, incubus. Just sit down and sleep."
Having gone through the trouble of looking after her, Jemma insisted she stay the night. It was really much too cold for anything. Skye just shook her head, claiming she didn't want to push her luck too far. There was no sense her getting ill and all that, after all.
Jemma couldn't stop the pang when Skye backpedalled out the door with a promise to stop by again tomorrow. Because it was like another friend was leaving her.
"I see what you mean," Skye called from her living room a week later. "This place is huge. Why so much space?"
Jemma shrugged as she collapsed onto the sofa beside her. "I don't know, actually. It seemed like a good idea at the time, I guess." She handed Skye her coffee (black… Americans) and peered at her friend worriedly. "You sounded pretty stressed. You okay?"
"Not at all," Skye told her brightly. "Do you remember how I told you that I no longer have a roommate because they both moved away?" Jemma nodded before Skye went on. "Well… I'm broke. Got nowhere to go because I can't pay my rent. I was wondering if I could crash on your couch." She bounced on it a moment. "It's like a bed."
Jemma sat in complete silence.
"It's fine if you don't want me here," Skye assured her hastily. "I just… I don't want to live in my car again. It sucked the first time. I doubt it'll be better now."
"Again?" Jemma's word felt so tiny.
Skye's smile didn't even waver. "Yeah. I've been homeless before. Haven't we all?"
And honestly, Jemma wished she could say she had, that she knew what it was like. But she didn't. "You can stay," she found herself saying, not really thinking about it. Skye's teeth clicked together. She'd obviously been going to retract her question. "You can have Fitz's old room."
Something flashed through Skye's eyes then, the smile on her face doing something funny to Jemma's diaphragm. "I swear I'll keep it tidy," she teased. "I'll cook and clean and not make noise or bring people over. I'll be a shadow."
Jemma snorted. "Please, don't be a shadow. Play music, it's fine. I honestly miss the sounds of someone living here with me."
"I'll pay board and everything," Skye went on, disregarding what Jemma had just said. "I don't like feeling like an unwanted parasite."
Without putting too much thought into it (lest her brain tell her it was a bad idea), Jemma brought her hand to rest on Skye's knee – silencing her. "It's fine," she repeated. "I could use the company. A big couch in a big room is still lonely when it's just you."
Her funny smile curled up into something much stronger and much harder to resist. "Poetic," she laughed.
But it was okay. Because Skye was always full of smiles and jokes and laughter. And there was always music playing when Jemma got home from a long shift. She was frequently tugged by her wrists into the living room to bounce on her 'obnoxious sofa'.
Skye would spin her around on the hardwood floor and display a surprising level of competency in the kitchen. And true to her word – she kept her spaces tidy. But she filled in all the gaps of Jemma's life. All the emptiness Fitz had left behind when he moved away was plugged with computer gear and stacks of books about things Jemma didn't understand (a first to be honest). Suddenly, even at the tail end of a strangely chilly winter, the house didn't feel as lifeless anymore.
Something country was blasting from the speakers when Jemma got home three months after Skye had moved in. The sky rumbled overhead, grey and threatening a downpour as she stepped inside. All concerns about the weather vaporised when she heard Skye singing along to something while bouncing around the kitchen.
"Get my groove on," Skye sang. "Pour something strong down in my drink. Hey, Jemma. How was work?"
"I didn't know that was part of the song," she laughed.
"It can be now. Keith can take some writing tips from me."
"My day was long. Yours?"
"Oh you know," she sang, grabbing Jemma by the hand and whirling her into the kitchen. "I broke some codes for people, designed a few web pages. The usual. Now I'm cooking us dinner before the storm hits and we lose power."
"You are the best housemate ever," Jemma opined honestly. As Skye spun her across the kitchen she used her proximity to the saucepan as an excuse to dip a finger into whatever it was the other woman had on the stove and stuck in her mouth. She rolled her eyes when she tasted garlic.
"Tut tut," Skye warned, spinning her away from the stove and catching her around the waist before she tilted head first into the counter. "That's cheating."
Somehow they'd ended up uncommonly close and Jemma found herself counting the number of gold flecks in Skye's eyes to avoid thinking about anything else. Although it proved pretty difficult when the other woman grinned that unfairly gorgeous smirk back at her. Resisting didn't seem to be working, so she stopped bothering, merely pressing forward the last little bit and trying not to shiver at the satisfaction that thrummed through her when their lips met.
Skye's hold of her loosened briefly before her hands knotted into Jemma's shirt. One of them sighed and Jemma was more than okay when Skye used that as an excuse to kiss her harder. Fingers threaded through Skye's hair, Jemma decided that the hands on the small of her back were the most amazing thing she'd ever felt.
So when Skye jerked back abruptly, lips rolled inwards and eyes narrowed, Jemma felt a thrill of fear. "Did you mean to do that? Or was it just… like an accident or something?" She paused. "Or was it my cooking?"
"I think it was on purpose?" Jemma mused. "I don't regret it anyway."
"Oh good," Skye laughed. That was the only preface she had before she was being kissed again. And she found herself backing up slowly until she hit the fridge. "Because I've been dying to kiss you for weeks," she murmured against the curve of Jemma's throat.
The moment was interrupted then when the stove made an unhappy sound. They both twisted to see the food bubbling over the edge of the saucepan to burn onto the cooktop. Jemma made an equally unhappy sound when Skye cursed and bounded over to save it from becoming an utter disaster. She flashed Jemma an apologetic smile.
"I promise we can try that again later," she chuckled. "But maybe let's eat first."
Jemma sighed, not really wanting to agree but her stomach picked that exact moment to gurgle forlornly so she just nodded. That didn't stop her from leaning over during the meal, or while they were washing up afterwards to steal a quick kiss. It felt too nice to ignore the possibilities presented to her.
And when the storm finally broke over the house somewhere in the dead of night, Jemma decided it was a perfect excuse too. Only this one gave her license to pad down the hall, slide through the door and crawl into bed with Skye. It took the other woman a whole five seconds to acclimate to the idea.
Then Jemma had her arm wound tight around her stomach, Skye's face pressed into the crook of her neck and a pleasant smile on her face. Jemma laced their hands together, turning to press another quiet kiss to Skye's cheek.
After that, there was music in the spaces.
And the house wasn't so empty.