Law & Order: MCU

-o-

Part One

-o-

"How long do we have to watch him flirt with her? I'm getting bored."

"Patience, Kaminsky. You know he always gets the girl. Or the guy for that matter."

The duo watched from the front seat of the van as their teammate, a veritable Clark Kent minus the glasses, smiled and reached out to gently touch the arm of the woman in front of him. She smiled as well, her eyes lighting up, but she still shook her head.

"She's not going to take him back to her place. He's probably not even her type."

"He's everyone's type. Just give him a minute." The girl on the street's smile became coy as she gestured behind her up the block. "See? She's telling him she won't get in his car because she lives just up the street. He knows what he's doing. They're on the move."

The dark haired woman's hips swayed as she walked. She bumped her side against the man playfully before taking his arm.

"Should we follow them? Raina?"

"Don't make it obvious."

-o-

"Two more months, Jemma. Two more months as an assistant, and then you'll have the necessary experience, and you'll be able to interview for the head of research and development in immunology. Two months."

She muttered similar phrases over and over to herself while dragging her feet through the hallway to her apartment. She thought it would remind her that late nights and thankless tasks were worth it. It didn't seem to be working.

It was after midnight, and Jemma Simmons was thoroughly exhausted. She was coming off a fourteen hour day that required her to analyze data samples and input numerical values into a spreadsheet, something an intern could have done if they had one. She had eaten nothing today but a handful of cashews and a banana. She wanted a nice cup of tea and maybe something really bad for her, like the ice cream her roommate kept hidden at the back of the freezer that had chunks of chocolate and candied cherries in it. Jemma could almost taste the sweetness. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling the pins from it and dropping them into her purse as she stopped in front of her door. Her keys jingled somewhere near the bottom, so she knocked hastily, knowing Skye would still be up. She was a night owl. A few minutes with no answer had her fumbling through files and flashdrives, digging below her wallet, and finally locating the ring of keys with a bright pink screwdriver attached to them. A gift from Skye. There had been a joke involved, but Jemma chose to ignore it.

"Skye?" Jemma called as she unlocked the door and entered the brightly lit apartment. There was no answer, but every light was blazing. Jemma blinked, dropping her keys on the kitchen counter and hastily flipping switches to turn off a few of the lights. Why in the world would Skye be wasting so much electricity when she kept complaining about how expensive the bill was? "Skye?" Jemma tried again, the sound of her footsteps echoing when she reached the tiled floor of the kitchen. There was no answer, and when Jemma stuck her head in Skye's bedroom to see if the other woman had her headphones in and couldn't hear her, she found the room empty. Looked like Skye was out for the night. Jemma shrugged, put a kettle on, and dug around in the freezer until she found the pint of ice cream hidden behind trays of ice, a bottle of vodka, and a bag of French fries. They really needed to do some real grocery shopping.

She would worry about it tomorrow morning when she got up, she decided. Just a few spoonfuls of ice cream and a cup of tea later, and Jemma performed her usual night time routine of make-up removal and a quick shower and crawled into bed. She was asleep in minutes, completely forgetting to set her alarm.

-o-

"Damn, damn, damn." Jemma repeated the word to herself like some sort of strange prayer as she pulled on a purple blouse, attempting to slide her feet into shoes at the same time. She tripped in her haste to dress for work, pitching herself back onto her bed. "Okay, slightly slower," she commanded, slipping her feet into a pair of flats and buttoning her shirt up to the collar. She ran through the hall once she was fully dressed, pulling her hair up on the top of her head and twisting it around a pencil to keep it in place. "Skye," she called out frantically, "I wish you would have woken me. I'll probably be late again tonight, we've got this huge meeting and-" She belatedly realized she was talking to herself.

It was nearing noon and the apartment looked exactly the same as it had last night. Skye hadn't kicked her shoes off and left them by the couch like she usually did. She hadn't left a half-finished bottle of beer on the kitchen counter when she returned from her late night. And there was no tell-tale scent of her orange blossom perfume anywhere. Jemma retraced her steps and poked her head into Skye's room, just as she had when she returned home last night. In the bright light of the morning when she wasn't exhausted from a day in the lab though, Jemma saw everything she had missed.

Skye's phone was still on her nightstand. Her laptop was half obscured under a pillow. Skye never left without at least one of them on her person. She was fiercely protective of the few things she owned. And she was always using one of her favorite pieces of technology. There was no way she would have gone somewhere without her phone at the very least. Her wallet sat on the floor, right next to a skirt, like she had hastily pulled it out of her pocket while changing, then dropped it on the floor. Her keys were nowhere to be seen though. The kicker was Skye's necklace. It was on the floor near her window, the thin gold chain ripped apart, a pair of links severed from quite a bit of force. Skye never took that necklace off. It was the one thing she still had from her childhood.

Skye was in trouble.

Jemma was sure of it.

She pulled out her cell phone and called in sick to work, the only time she ever had. Even when she contracted that odd strain of the flu a few months earlier, she'd simply walked around with hand sanitizer, her own personal box of tissues, and drunk about a gallon of green tea every day.

Jemma proceeded to call every place that Skye had worked in the last six months to find out if Skye had simply headed out on a job and not told her, just in case she was wrong or jumping to conclusions.

She wasn't.

Forty minutes later and no one she knew who was even remotely connected to her roommate had heard from her. Pacing in the doorway to Skye's bedroom, Jemma took one last look at the necklace on the floor, and she turned, closing the door behind her to make sure Skye's room wasn't disturbed. She knew enough about crime scene investigation that she was not about to disturb fingerprints or fibers or anything else.

If the possibility that Skye was kidnapped was the first thing to pop into her mind, she couldn't imagine a scenario where it wasn't true. Her mind made logical leaps before the rest of her could catch up sometimes. She was sure this was one of those times.

-o-

"And how is our newest guest, Flowers?"

"She's still sleeping. That sedative hit her harder than we thought it would."

"Let her sleep. We don't need her just yet."

-o-

"Look, I know how this must seem. Skye was a teenage runaway, and she's been homeless before, so of course, she's the kind of person who would just run off, but not from me. I am her best friend. We're like family. She simply wouldn't leave me with no warning." Jemma was on the verge of tears, but the officer at the desk shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Miss Simmons. There isn't anything I can do if she hasn't been missing for more than 48 hours. And you don't even have a last name."

"It's Dr. Simmons. And Skye doesn't have a last name!" She protested, throwing her hands in the air, and backing into someone behind her. "Sorry…" she mumbled, turning just enough to see a man in a suit shaking hands with another police officer.

"Sorry about that, sir. It was a misunderstanding. Didn't realize who you were working for," the police officer told the man.

"Don' worry about I'. We'll consider i' forgotten."

She was surprised to hear the Scottish brogue tumble from the man's lips. It wasn't something heard often in this part of the city. New York was a melting pot, but she couldn't remember the last time she heard the vocal tones of someone else from anywhere in the UK. Ordinarily, she would be delighted, but right now, her focus was solely on her missing roommate.

"Your roommate doesn't have a last name?"

"I told you, she was in the foster system growing up. She doesn't know her real name. She changed her name from the one she was given at the orphanage when she turned eighteen. Have you been listening to me at all? Or are you more concerned with the women in mini-dresses over there that were picked up for solicitation? Should I have worn a skirt into the station instead of trousers?" Jemma knew she shouldn't have said it as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but she let her anger get the better of her, and she couldn't stop herself. She took a deep breath and attempted to compose herself.

The officer on the other side of the window glared at her. "When was the last time you saw your roommate?"

"Yesterday morning. Right before I left for work. She was just heading to bed."

"Then it's only been a little over 24 hours. Not long enough to report her missing. Wait and see if she contacts you." He didn't even smile, just called out "Next!" and proceeded to ignore her.

"You don't understand. She left her phone and she never leaves her phone at the apartment. Please!" But her words fell on deaf ears. Jemma sighed, realizing that no one was going to help her if Skye wasn't actually reported missing. She was going to need help from another source.

-o-

The bell clanged above her as Jemma opened the door to the travel agency. There was no name on the outside, nothing written on the sign hanging above the door, just a logo, an image of a plane hidden amongst clouds. Jemma supposed that no one happened upon this particular travel agency by chance. She only knew that it existed because Skye had taken jobs for them off and on, the last one only a few months ago. It was the one place she didn't have a phone number for, and the woman who ran it was the one person Skye seemed to trust outside of Jemma herself.

When the door shut behind her, all activity in the office stopped. There were only three people at desks out in the open – two women and a man, all in smartly tailored black business suits. The woman with deep red hair stood from her desk, exchanging a glance with the man seated across from her, and cleared her throat.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm here to see Melinda."

The woman flinched, but Jemma wasn't sure if it was in surprise or something else. Jemma forced herself to smile politely and shifted her weight from foot to foot. She wasn't entirely sure what was going on, why these people were looking at her as if she was about to open fire on them or something, but they were making her nervous.

"Of course. Wait here for just a moment?"

She disappeared into a hallway in the back, and Jemma allowed her eyes to roam around the office space instead of staring at the man and woman left behind, both now clicking away on their computers, completely ignoring her presence. There was a map of the world on the wall, colorful pins tacked into different countries, but no key to determine why different colors were used for different spaces, or even really why there were pins in them at all. Were these the countries they could book travel to? Jemma wasn't sure considering there were pins in countries that were typically very difficult for Americans to gain access to. There were no personal effects on anyone's desk. There were no plants to make the room more inviting. Nothing outside of the sterile white walls and grey furniture.

The woman returned to the front, a smile pasted on her face, and she gestured for Jemma to follow her down the narrow hallway, long curls bouncing as she walked. Jemma walked softly along behind her, passing unmarked closed doors, a restroom, and one open-door office that had a huge poster of a tropical beach and blue water tacked on the wall behind the desk.

Visit Tahiti! It's a magical place!

Other than that, the room was much like the rest of the business – white and grey, no personal effects to be seen.

"What's your name?" The woman asked politely as they reached the final office in the hall, just next to the emergency exit.

"Jemma Simmons."

She nodded, again, politely, but there was something in her eyes that Jemma couldn't place. Was that fear? Concern? Something else?

"Natasha," the woman told her, gesturing to herself before motioning for her to walk inside. "You can let me know if you need anything, okay?" Her words turned gentle as she spoke, as though Jemma was the one who was frightened.

"Okay?"

"Miss May, this is Jemma Simmons."

Then she was closing the door behind her, leaving her alone with the woman who owned the place. Jemma gave a little jump as the door clicked into place behind her and stepped a bit closer to the desk at the center of the room. Unlike the rest of the business, at least the occupant of this room had a plant on her desk. It was an oddly shaped cactus. Jemma couldn't remember the specific name of it, not having worked with too many of the prickly plants. She considered that it was probably an attempt at making the room seem warmer. It didn't really work. There was a map on the wall of the world, just like the one in the front room, but this one had strings of red yarn connecting some of the push pins to one another. Flight paths, maybe? This was a very strange travel agency.

"Have a seat, Dr. Simmons."

"How did you…"

"You're Skye's roommate."

It wasn't a question. She knew exactly who she was. Jemma sank down into one of the chairs in front of the desk. For something that looked like it belonged in a hospital waiting room, it was surprisingly comfortable.

"What happened?"

Melinda May had one of those faces that was used to holding itself in a strict and emotionless state. She was staring at Jemma with a calculating expression, as though she was trying to read her. Jemma felt like she was about to get into trouble with her boss instead of visiting a travel agent.

"I just – I wanted to see if you had heard from Skye recently?" She placed her hands in her lap primly, sat up straight, and tried to appear completely at ease.

"Is she missing?" Melinda may have been trying to remain emotionless, but the tightening of her fingers on the pen in her hand and the way her eyes narrowed gave her away. She was worried. She glanced down at a yellow notepad in front of her.

"I haven't seen her since yesterday morning," Jemma explained. "I know it sounds silly. She's an adult, and I'm just her roommate. She doesn't have to check in with me or anything, but – "

"But something about her being gone feels wrong. Did you try calling her?"

"Her phone's still in the apartment," Jemma whispered, grateful that this woman understood. Finally, someone was listening to her. "So is her computer."

Melinda looked up sharply. "Was anything of hers missing?"

Jemma shook her head. "Not that I saw." She wrung her hands in her lap, giving up all pretense of comfort. "Wait, no. Her keys are missing. But her wallet, everything else is there. And her necklace was on the floor. She never takes it off."

"Did you go to the police?"

"They said I couldn't report her missing for another 24 hours. And they said she didn't have a last name – they thought I was making it all up."

"Dr. Simmons. Jemma? You are not to go back to your apartment until I tell you it's safe. Do you understand?"

"What's going on?" A thousand different scenarios began to run through her mind, and none of them were good.

Melinda paused, placing her pen on the desk, her hands splayed on the surface in front of her. She took a breath before she looked Jemma right in the eye. "I don't know." She opened one of the drawers in her desk and rifled through a stack of business cards. "I'm going to have one of my people check your apartment though, change your locks, just to be on the safe side. You need to go into work, act like everything is fine, and I will call you when it's safe for you to go back to your apartment." She handed her a pair of business cards. One had no name on it, just the airplane in the clouds logo and a phone number. "That's my number. Anything happens. You call me." The second card was for a detective out of the Brooklyn precinct. "I'm going to set up a meeting for you with a friend of mine. He'll help you find Skye."

Simmons began rooting around in her bag for her keys. "I don't live in Brooklyn."

"Doesn't matter."

"My number is-"

"I've already got your number. From Skye. When she redesigned our system."

"Oh. Right. Here, you'll need my-"

"My guy won't need your keys."

"What the hell kind of place is this?"

"It's a travel agency."

-o-

When Jemma walked through security at the pharmaceutical company where she worked, no one batted an eye. No one asked if she was feeling better. No one even seemed vaguely surprised to see her. No one commented on her disheveled appearance or how her eyes seemed to be in a perpetual state of fear and confusion. Even Callie the receptionist, who was usually friendly and chatty with her, was otherwise occupied.

Did these people pay attention to anyone or anything other than the samples and the tests they were running? She wondered if any of them had spent a single night in the last month that didn't involve chemical equations or spreadsheets full of data.

Jemma found herself thanking whatever gods were responsible for throwing Skye into her path that she had a roommate who forced her to do things other than the job. Holding her key card over the swipe pad on the elevator, it occurred to her that she very well might not have Skye to pull her out of research mode anymore. She swallowed as the elevator climbed and she struggled to compose herself, her breathing coming in sharp gasps as the door opened.

She walked unsteadily to her lab, hands shaking, so she shoved them into her pockets. She was supposed to act as though everything was fine, everything was normal. How exactly was she supposed to act as though her roommate hadn't suddenly vanished at some point in the night? It was preposterous to think that anyone could just keep plodding along throughout their day in the face of that.

But she did.

One mistake in an equation and two dropped vials of blood samples on the floor later though and she was beginning to think coming into work had been a mistake. For what felt like the tenth time in so many minutes, she paused in her data entry to check her phone, see if she had somehow missed the travel agent's call.

Travel agent.

There was obviously something else going on there.

What had Skye gotten herself into?

What had Skye gotten Jemma into?

Just as she set the phone back on her desk, it chirped, letting her know a text message had come through.

Safe. Meet me in the kitchen.

The kitchen? Jemma blinked, saving the spreadsheet to the company server, marking her place in the file, and shutting everything down for the night. What kitchen? The kitchen at her own apartment? This woman was so cryptic. It seemed as logical of a place as any though, so Jemma, giving into her instincts, filled out a request form for a medical leave of absence, scribbling in symptoms with abandon, signing Dr. Simmons with a flourish so that no one would question her, and left the building.

She wasn't coming back until she knew what was going on.

-o-

Skye cracked one eye open, not moving the rest of her body. She felt sluggish, like she was hungover, but she knew that was impossible. She licked her lips experimentally, left with an awful taste in her mouth. How long had she been asleep? She was in a room she didn't recognize, laid down on a twin bed. Her pulse picked up just a bit as she realized something was very, very wrong.

The last thing Skye remembered, she had taken her date back to her apartment, they had made their way to her bedroom, and then - nothing.

What the hell had happened?

"Skye?"

She recognized the voice attached to the person who came through the door and jolted upright, though that left her head spinning.

"What the hell?" She rasped out, scrambling back on the bed. "What the hell did you do to me, Grant?"

"Nothing. I - well - we need you for a job. It was just a little sleeping pill in your drink You'll be fine."

His tone was probably meant to be reassuring, but Skye was having none of it.

"Just a little sleeping pill?" She braced one hand on the wall to help her stand. "Are you kidding me?" Thank God she hadn't slept with him.

She glanced down at her clothes, remembering her state of undress when they were in her bedroom. He'd at least had the decency to put pajamas on her when he kidnapped her. She shook her head, her step faltering. When he moved towards her, she steeled herself and lashed out.

-o-

Her key didn't fit in the lock.

Jemma's key didn't fit in the lock to her own apartment. For a moment breathing failed her and she was on the verge of panic before she remembered that Melinda had mentioned having someone change the locks for her. She twisted the doorknob cautiously, and it moved easily, the door sliding open without its usual squeak.

The travel agent was sitting at her kitchen counter, a steaming mug of tea in front her that she gestured for Jemma to take when she walked in.

"My guy Shaw changed your locks." She pointed to a set of shiny new keys next to the mug. "He reinforced the latches on your windows."

Jemma nodded and took a sip from the tea. It was surprisingly perfect. Maybe not surprisingly. This woman was eerily good at reading people.

"He swept your place for bugs."

"Bugs?"

"Bugs. Didn't find any. No one's monitoring you."

"Why would someone be monitoring me?"

Melinda shrugged, not answering her.

"Did you think someone would be monitoring me, or did you think someone would be monitoring Skye?"

Again, the other woman shrugged. Jemma was becoming frustrated. This was her apartment. Skye was her roommate. This was her life. Didn't she have the right to know what was going on?

"I can't look into Skye's disappearance myself," Melinda told her. She tapped one finger on the counter. "I'm not in a position to do that right now."

"You're not – I'm sorry. You're in a position to have my locks changed and my apartment swept for bugs, but you're not in a position to help me find my missing friend?" Jemma blinked. She wasn't entirely sure what else to say.

"My relationship with Skye is complicated. The work she's done for me… It would raise more questions." Melinda paused. "I did set up an appointment with the detective for you. He'll see you tomorrow morning at his precinct. Nine sharp. Don't be late."

With that, she rose to her feet, the heels of her boots click-clacking on the floor as she moved to the front door.

"Lock the door behind me," she called behind her, like a mother admonishing a small child.

-o-

"Excuse me, lass? Are ye Jemma Simmons?" The voice that washed over her was a touch impatient, but still polite. She was sure she recognized it, but she couldn't place it.

"Yes! Are you Detective Triplett? I've been waiting for ages!" Jemma jumped to her feet, hand extended in greeting. He took it and shook firmly, but also shook his head in the negative.

"I'm sorry. Triplett's in a meetin'." He gestured ahead of him to a conference room down the hall. She supposed he didn't want them sitting in a room full of cubicles as they spoke. At least it wasn't an interrogation room. She imagined them to be filthy and frightening places.

"Oh, I was told I needed to speak with him about my roommate."

"Yes. I know. He's my supervisor – er… partner." He opened the door for her, waiting until she was inside and seated before he took a chair next to her rather than on the other side of the table. He twisted in his seat, facing her, and when he set the notepad down, she spotted his phone messages clipped to the top. They were addressed to a Dr. F.

"Oh. You're a doctor though, not a detective?" She pointed to the piece of paper in front of her.

"A person can be both." His tone was terse and when he leaned his elbows forward on the table, she knew where she had seen him before.

"Didn't I see you at another police station a couple of days ago? Weren't you being arrested?"

"It was a misunderstandin'. I was undercover on an assignmen'."

She didn't know how to respond to that, so instead she sat very still, her hands clasped in her lap.

"Miss Simmons? Why're ye here?"

She didn't correct him that she, too, was a doctor. Instead, she launched into her story. After attempting to explain all of the strange aspects of Skye suddenly vanishing from their apartment, she recounted her visit to the unnamed travel agency, which made the detective shift uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes clouding slightly. She gathered he didn't know that Melinda was responsible for the meeting.

"And Melinda had someone named Shaw change the locks at my apartment and sweep for bugs, and I'm not entirely sure why? I mean, I understand the locks. Skye's keys are missing. I'm sorry. That's not the point. I tend to ramble when I'm nervous. Or scared. Or frustrated. Or on a first date. Not that this is like a first date. I'm sorry. Again, I'm rambling and getting off track. She told me to be here at nine this morning. Melinda, that is. That your partner would help me. And I've been waiting forever." He was eying her with something similar to amusement now, a smile just beginning to quirk up the edges of his mouth.

"You call her Melinda to her face?" The slow southern drawl from behind her made her start, and she spun in her seat. A thin, broad shouldered African-American man in an expensive suit stood just behind her.

"Erm."

"I would have paid to see that." He entered the room and held his hand out. "Triplett. Sorry I'm late."

She shook his hand gratefully. The way his partner was looking at her made her think they weren't going to help her, but Detective Triplett had a much easier going manner about him. He seemed like the kind of guy who never turned down someone in need.

"May, that's what we call Melinda-" Detective Triplett was abruptly cut off by his partner.

"Tha's wha' you call her. The rest o' us prefer no' ta call someone who routinely breaks an' bends laws for 'er own benefit by anythin' at all."

"What my colleague means is he likes to pretend that May doesn't even exist. Then, we don't have to deal with any paperwork." He chuckled and added, "But he's neglecting to tell you that she always sends us the most interesting cases."

"Interestin'. Yeah, tha's the word for i'."

Jemma looked back and forth between the two of them, not sure what to make of that exchange. One thing did bother her though.

"You think my flatmate being missing is interesting?" She furrowed her brow in anger, not caring about how confused she was about Melinda May, not caring about the fact that these two were actually trained to track down missing people. They were treating this with little more care than anyone else she had spoken with. Anyone, that was, except for Melinda May, the one person who wanted to help, but for some reason, couldn't. "This was a mistake," she blurted. "I'll find Skye myself." She climbed to her feet and exited the room before either of them could react.

-o-

"Ye had ta say interestin', didn' ye?"

"Am I the only one in this precinct who remembers that May sent us a guy who was sure werewolves had abducted his sister?" Triplett threw his hands in the air, but his face was lined with glee rather than frustration. He lived for the weird stuff May sent their way.

"The guy's sister was abducted on a full moon an' they lived in an isolated area… And yer the one who likes takin' her cases, and now, ye've upset that – what was 'er name? Simmons?" He made a show of consulting the notepad in front of him, but they both knew it didn't mean anything. He never took notes. Never needed to.

"May's cases are a challenge, Fitz. Besides, I saw the way you were lookin' at Dr. Simmons. You were not interested in her missing roommate one bit. I wasn't the only one who made her mad." Triplett looked at Fitz pointedly and they stared at one another for a moment. "I know you don't have a lot of practice with interviews, but if you're goin' to look at every pretty girl that comes into the station like that, I can do all the interviews from now on." Trip's grin was sly as he slid into the seat vacated by Dr. Simmons. "Puts a little more work on my plate, and really, partners should have an even workload - "

"I didnae - I wasnae - that's ridiculous. I can do interviews jus' fine." Fitz sat up straight in his chair, even his eyebrows up and alert. "Did ye say she was a doctor?"

"See?"

"No, it's – never mind…" Fitz let out a quick burst of breath and shook his head, clearing his thoughts, trying to focus on the problem at hand. "There's somethin' abou' the way she described her roommate's belongin's tha' sounded familiar… no' havin' much, everythin' bein' left behind like she wouldnae need any o' it. But her keys were missin' so she could come back if she needed ta… Do ye have her address?"

"Do I have her address? How about you figure out what's so familiar about all that before we show up at her apartment after pissing her off?"

"Fine, fine. Give me fifteen minutes." Fingers were already swiftly clicking over a tablet, searching for buzz words in computerized files.

It took him quite a bit longer than fifteen minutes to find everything that he was looking for. And everything turned out to be quite a lot.

-o-

"Sir? The girl's awake. How would you like me to proceed?"

"Ask her about her parents."

"But we already know she's an orphan."

"Then ask her about her friends… the girl she lived with. I want to know what she knows, what we can use."

"And if she doesn't know anything?"

"They always know something. Find a way to get inside that pretty little head of hers."

"Sir?"

"You have a problem with my orders, son?"

"No, sir."

-o-

Triplett eyed his partner. They were both weighed down with stacks of files. In the hallway outside of Jemma Simmons' apartment. At ten PM. This was not the way they were supposed to do things. You didn't take open case files to the home of a potential witness. You definitely didn't show up at the witness's place of residence in the middle of night with no warning when they were most definitely not a suspect. And you didn't do these things when you weren't even officially on a case.

And when your partner kept almost dropping his own stack of files because he was so concerned with flattening the curls on the top of his head or straightening his tie, you definitely didn't allow him to lead the charge.

This was going to go very badly. Triplett had a feeling about it. And his gut feelings were rarely wrong.

He sighed, raised one hand and knocked on the door anyway.

Dr. Simmons, though she was trying to keep her footsteps light and cautious, could still be heard making her way to the door and looking through the peep hole. Triplett did his best to appear friendly and not in any way condescending. He nudged his partner with his elbow when he heard a loud sigh and the turning of a few locks from the other side of the door.

She clearly hadn't been expecting company. Jemma Simmons was wearing a very comfortable looking pair of flannel pajamas, had her hair pulled back into a messy bun, had safety goggles perched on her nose, and was tugging a latex glove from one of her hands as she glared at them through the open door.

"What tha bloody hell're ye doin' in there?"

"Fingerprint analysis," she responded easily, with an expression that clearly asked them to challenge her. When neither of them did, she relaxed her glare, looking back and forth between them. "What are you doing here?"

Triplett was suitably impressed that she didn't snap at them, just glanced curiously at the files in their hands before biting her lip and opening the door wider to allow them inside.

-o-

"My, uh, partner and I wanted to apologize, Dr. Simmons," Triplett began, setting his stack of files down on the counter next to a microscope and a series of, just like she said, fingerprints encased in plastic. This woman was doing her own crime scene investigation prep. He almost felt like he should be ashamed that they hadn't got over here a few hours earlier with a full investigative kit. They could have helped. If this was an official case.

She nodded her head, tossing both of her gloves into a trashcan and removing her goggles before turning to the other man in the room.

"Yes. We're sorry for makin' ye think we didnae believe ye. Or that we didnae want ta take the case." Awkwardly, he set his folders alongside the others and held out one hand. "I didnae introduce myself before. I'm Dr. Fitz. Just Fitz, really. Don' know why I said doctor. Ye don' have ta – "

Jemma began to smile before she caught herself, shaking his proffered hand. "It's alright. Fitz. I know my story sounds crazy. No one really wanted to listen to me except May." Her expression twisted curiously when Fitz blanched. "She's not really a travel agent, is she?" She asked as she reluctantly let go of his hand. His demeanor may have left her concerned that morning, but there was something about him and Triplett showing up at her door that was comforting.

"We don't really know what May does. It's probably better that way," Triplett admitted. "She's got contacts in a lot of different agencies. She gets things done."

Fitz walked by the two of them, eyes roving over the work Jemma had all over her kitchen countertop. "This is – impressive. Did ye ever work in forensic investigation before?"

"No, but I do work in a pharmaceutical lab. I thought a lot of the safeguarding procedures would be similar." She shrugged. "I've been practicing on the kitchen surfaces. Glasses. Bowls. Things like that."

"Fitz used to work in forensics," Triplett explained, following him to look at the fingerprints Jemma had put together with graphite, tape, and plastic sheeting. She had a yellow legal pad to the side with notes on it as well. Each print she picked up was labeled with exactly where it had come from, the mistakes she had made when lifting them, and how to improve her technique. "He's very particular. If he says it's impressive, you must have done one hell of a practice run."

She uncomfortably shifted her weight from side to side as they observed her work. Having expected them to be a bit harsh in their criticism, she just said, "Thank you." She paused when Fitz picked up one of the smudged prints and examined it. "It might be a bit of a waste of time though. I don't actually think Skye's fingerprints are on file anywhere, she's very secretive, you see, so I don't think I would have anything to compare it to once I fingerprint her room. I would just be clearing myself."

"You cannae fingerprint her room," Fitz remarked sharply.

"Why not?" Jemma crossed her arms over her chest.

"You've done a fine job," Fitz explained, trying to placate her and temper his usual attitude. "But if this becomes an official investigation, we have ta follow proper procedures."

Jemma reluctantly nodded her head. "Of course. I wasn't thinking. I haven't touched anything in Skye's room since I first thought – well, since I realized she was gone. Just the doorknob to shut the door."

"There anything she uses in the apartment that you never touch?" Triplett remarked, leaning his weight against the edge of the corner to peer over Fitz's shoulder. He decided not to ask how a woman got to be in her twenties in the US and not have her fingerprints on file anywhere.

Jemma thought for a moment, turning her back on both of the detectives to allow her gaze to alert her mind to something that was all Skye's. Her computer and her phone, of course, but as they had been in her bedroom where it seemed like someone else had been, Jemma couldn't be sure that someone else hadn't used them, or at the very least, attempted to use them, at some point.

"Her toothbrush?"

"Might be difficult, but I'll see what I can do," Fitz remarked, picking up several of her supplies from the countertop and producing evidence bags from one of his pockets. "Where?" He gestured down the hall as Jemma turned to him.

"Oh, last door on your left." She pointed. "Skye's toothbrush is purple." She nodded her head and pursed her lips together. It seemed silly to think about it, but the idea of Skye having been missing for nearly 24 hours without a toothbrush had entered her head. She hoped she wasn't somewhere too horrible. She hoped she had running water. Really, she just hoped she was okay, and worrying about whether or not her roommate had access to something like a toothbrush seemed preposterous, but the thought wouldn't go away. "Erm… would you like something to drink? Something to eat maybe?" Jemma called out. "I don't really know what I have that's edible…"

"Oh, we're good – " Triplett began to refuse, but Fitz's voice from down the hallway overtook his.

"Have ye go' tea? I havenae had proper tea in ages."

Jemma smiled to herself. "Earl grey?"

"Perfect."

She busied herself with filling her kettle with water and turning on the stove while Triplett asked her to repeat her story again. Jemma explained as she turned the temperature up about their different schedules, Skye being a night owl. As she pulled three mugs from the cupboard, even though Triplett had said no, she wasn't going to be impolite, she explained about Skye not being there when she got home, or when she woke up. She told him about the tell-tale signs of Skye having been home at some point – the discarded skirt and wallet, her phone on the nightstand and laptop forgotten on the bed. She fished a canister of earl grey from the back of the pantry and began to prepare the tea the way her father had showed her when she was eight. She had been making her own ever since.

"And you said she never goes anywhere without her laptop?" Triplett pressed as Simmons allowed the leaves to steep.

"It's rare." Jemma struggled to explain. "Skye doesn't own very many things that are just hers, that haven't belonged to someone else before her. Her laptop is like her lifeline. She saved up for it while she was working a few awful cash-only jobs so she could buy it. It's top of the line and does just about everything, according to Skye. She's – well, she takes on interesting work sometimes and there isn't much she can't do with a computer." That was as specific as she could go without worrying about getting Skye into legal trouble. Jemma added sugar to her own mug and raised the spoon at Triplett.

"No sugar for me, thanks. Fitz probably needs about four. He likes everything sweet." He ran his fingers around the rim of the mug she passed him, but didn't drink right away. "Is Skye a hacker?"

"As I said, there isn't much she can't do with a computer…" Jemma trailed off. "Would it help you to see her room? Would you be able to tell if there was a struggle?"

"Dr. Simmons, look – "

"Jemma, please."

"Jemma then." Triplett's fingers splayed out as he pushed his weight from the counter. "We're not going to get Skye in trouble for anything she might have done, okay? Not our job. We just want to find her. So I need to know what she does."

Jemma sighed. "I don't really know. Sometimes she designs websites for people. Sometimes she does research for them. Sometimes she breaks through company firewalls… I don't know all of the things she does." She paused again, her fingers gripping her mug and a mug for Fitz very tightly as she began walking from the kitchen. "I do know that Skye has very meticulously made sure that she doesn't really exist. She doesn't have a credit card or a bank account. She has a van, but I think it's still in her ex-boyfriend's name. Now that I think about it, I'm fairly certain it's on my car insurance…"

"The ex-boyfriend, he got a name?" Triplett followed her, his tea forgotten on the counter, pen and notepad already in hand.

"Miles. I don't remember his last name, if Skye ever even told me. To be honest, I don't even know where she parks the van. She hardly ever uses it since she moved in with me."

"How long has she lived with you?"

"About a year. My last flatmate, Jane, once she finished up her astrophysics doctorate, moved back to London to work. I could have afforded the rent on my own, but I don't like living alone, and Skye, well I met her at a diner about two blocks from here. She had been working, off the books of course, as a waitress for a little while, and I found out she was sleeping in her van when she wasn't working, so…"

"You offered to let her crash here for a while? You didn't even know her." Triplett's voice held not a small amount of awe in it. "I didn't know people like you were still out there."

Jemma shrugged as though it was no big deal, but she knew letting a stranger sleep in your apartment was probably not the smartest thing she could have done. She just had an instinct about Skye. Skye was the kind of person she could trust. She knew it then, and she knew it now.

-o-

This was written for the Marvel Bang over on livejournal, with the criteria that it had to be at least a 10,000 word story featuring Marvel characters from any medium. Artwork for the story was done by kultiras, and I'll put a link to it in my profile as soon as a I have it. She's fantastic, and did artwork for three different stories during the course of the Big Bang with an injured hand, so she definitely deserves so much more than thanks.

As usual, notapepper used her magical beta powers to edit this for me, and she put up with all of my questions and whining about how difficult it was to write an AU and helped me with so many of the problem areas (there were a lot of problem areas, you guys). She also came up with a lot of clever lines for me to use and worked out so many plot points with me that I kind of lost track. She rocks, and if you all haven't read her FitzSimmons stories, you should.

Because this was a Marvel challenge and not just an Agents of SHIELD challenge, there are a lot of cameos from characters in the cinematic universe and a lot of hidden Easter eggs related to the movies and the show sprinkled throughout. I will be amazed if someone finds them all, but hopefully the ones you do find amuse you.

I hope you guys enjoy my foray into the land of AUs. Maybe don't read this all in one sitting though because it's kind of a beast. Haha.