AN: I'm so sorry this chapter is so late! I've been really busy with college, and writer's block has been kicking my ass. One day I'll have a regular update schedule, lol.
I actually didn't want to end this chapter the way I did, but the original ending was slightly similar to that of the last chapter and it wasn't really necessary to add it anymore. As a result, though, this chapter is a bit shorter than originally intended - I hope that doesn't bother anyone.
I hope you enjoy this, and I hope the next chapter comes sooner! Don't forget to leave a review!
PLEASE NOTE: This chapter contains references to self-harm and drug abuse. Please tread carefully if these could be triggering for you.
The following morning, Jemma is awoken by a knock on the front door. She groans and turns her face into the pillow, not before glancing at the time on her phone: 08:31. She was normally an early riser, but her sleeping pattern was still out of order thanks to the move and the procedure.
She rolls onto her side and tries to go back to sleep again, not quite ready to face the day yet when she hears another few knocks. She pulls the pillow over her head and lets out a quiet groan, just as she hears Coulson's voice.
"Mel, get the door!"
No reply.
"Melinda! The door!"
Still nothing.
Another knock echoes through the house soon after, and she hears Coulson grumbling to himself as he gets up out of bed and opens a drawer. She slowly sits upright, rubbing her eyes and quietly slipping out of bed as well. She's curious about the person at the door, especially seeing as they seem to be very persistent. And, if May's still doing yoga downstairs, she'll probably make her a smoothie when she's done.
Jemma tugs on her soft pink dressing gown, yawning as she crosses the room and opens the door. She comes face to face with Coulson, who looks just as tired as she is but decidedly more disgruntled. They don't really say anything but they exchange a look, and she follows him downstairs.
May is perched in the middle of the still mostly bare living room, attempting (and nailing) what Jemma thinks is a ridiculously complicated yoga pose. She glances up to look at Coulson without even the slightest hint of a wobble, and Jemma snorts when he gives her his best 'seriously?' face. May just smirks and looks away, which only seems to add to his frustration.
He yanks open the front door, clearly prepared to lay into whoever dared to disturb his lie-in, but his face softens and he smiles. Curious, Jemma wanders over and stands beside him in the doorway.
Standing before them is a neat, well-dressed woman looking to be about the same age as Coulson and May. She smiles at them when she sees them, and brushes a few strands of her dark bob out of her face. Jemma glances between them, and then back at May; she's also looking at the woman with a strange expression on her face, it's a bit like a smirk - but there's something else behind it that she's never seen before.
"Hi!" she begins, her smile never fading. Her eyes flit between Jemma and Coulson. "I'm sorry to have gotten you out of bed so early, but I just wanted to drop by before work to welcome you to the neighbourhood."
"Oh, thank you very much," Coulson smiles warmly, and they shake hands. "Can I ask your name?"
"Rosalind. Can I ask yours?"
"Phil." He wraps an arm around Jemma, bringing her into his side. She doesn't even try to act disgusted, instead opting to slip into the daddy's girl role. "This is my daughter Jemma, and in there…" Coulson turns his head, and points at May over his shoulder with his thumb. Rosalind and Jemma look too - she seems to be trying out (and again, nailing) yet another complicated yoga pose, completely uninterested in meeting their new neighbour. "Is my lovely wife, Melinda."
She smiles as though debating on whether saying hi is a good idea, before deciding against it and returning her attention to Coulson and Jemma. Suddenly, she slaps a hand to her forehead and reaches to fetch something from her bag.
"I almost forgot, I made these for you last night." Rosalind pulls out a tupperware container full of cookies, handing them over to Coulson. "I hope you like oatmeal."
"Oh, we do. Thank you so much," He smiles at her again, even brighter than before, and turns around to address May. "Look, Melinda." He rattles the container at her. "Oatmeal."
"Yes."
He turns back to Rosalind again, and Jemma takes the container from him to inspect them.
"I thought oatmeal would be safer than chocolate chip, there's a lot of health nuts in this area." Rosalind jokes. She and Coulson laugh together, and Jemma manages a smile. "I mean, the people that lived here before you had a gym in one of the rooms upstairs."
Coulson's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? A gym? Don't give my wife any ideas, she'll be kicking Jemma out of her room if she thinks it'll make a good place for a gym."
They laugh again, and Jemma can practically feel May rolling her eyes.
Rosalind adjusts her bag on her shoulder, and her smile turns bittersweet. "Well, listen. I gotta go, can't be late for work. But it was nice talking to you."
Coulson nods, understanding. "Oh, of course. You too, Rosalind. Thank you."
She smiles again, and as she turns to leave she calls over her shoulder, "Welcome to Lebanon!"
"Bye, Rosalind." Coulson waves her off, and closes the door.
As soon as the door is closed Jemma steps away from him, walking over to sit on the couch with the tupperware container still in her hands. She pulls off the lid and glances at the contents, before taking a cookie and beginning to slowly eat it. They're surprisingly good, even better than May's. As she sits and eats she watches Coulson cross the room to confront May, scratching the back of his head.
"Seriously, Melinda? Is it that hard to open a damn door?"
May sighs dramatically, not even bothering to look up at him. "It would have disturbed my chi."
"Disturbed your chi?" Coulson sounds so irritated that Jemma has to hide her face to stifle her laughter. "Your chi disturbed my sleep!"
She rolls her eyes again, and elects to change the subject. "So, our neighbour seems nice."
Coulson's face softens, and he sits down beside Jemma on the couch. Absent-mindedly he takes a cookie from the container, and hums in appreciation as he starts to eat. "I'm surprised you like her. You're normally suspicious of friendly neighbours."
"She's suspicious of everyone," Jemma pipes up, and he nods in agreement. May ignores them both, focusing on her yoga until Coulson speaks again after finishing his first cookie and reaching for another.
"Could you bake her something as a thank you?"
"Why can't you?"
"He'd burn the house down." Jemma provides. He scowls at her, and she smiles sweetly at him in response.
"Well, you're not wrong…" May muses, straightening up and stretching her arms out over her head. As she walks in the direction of the kitchen, she continues to speak to them over her shoulder. "I guess I could sort out a little something. If she invites me in, it'd be a good time to check her house for anything out of the ordinary."
Jemma mutters to him, "Told you she was suspicious of everyone." He nods.
If she hears them she doesn't respond, and they hear her start cutting up some fruit on the counter to make a smoothie. Coulson yawns and Jemma soon follows, honestly debating on whether or not to go back to sleep for an hour or so. She normally found it impossible to go back to sleep after being awake for more than ten or fifteen minutes, but the last few days had been completely draining and part of her felt as though she could sleep through the entire week and still not feel fully rested.
"So…" Coulson begins, finishing his second cookie with a content sigh. "If you're not too tired, why don't we make a start on your room after breakfast? We could probably at least get the first coat done today."
"But we just ate." Jemma protests, gesturing to the box of cookies. Before Coulson even has time to reply, May speaks up from the kitchen.
"Cookies are not a substantial breakfast, Jemma." She appears in the doorway, looking at them both with a raised eyebrow and folded arms. "Go get changed, I'll make you something."
She yawns, and slowly gets to her feet. "Can I please just have some toast?"
"Butter?"
"Mmhm."
"Got it."
"And can I have-" Coulson starts, only to be cut off mid-sentence by his partner.
"You're a grown man, Phil." May narrows her eyes at him. "You can make your own breakfast. Not that Pop-Tarts count as breakfast, anyway." He looks surprised, and she rolls her eyes. "I know you bought them and hid them in the cupboard. I wasn't born yesterday."
Jemma smirks, leaving the room to go upstairs. She can hear them bickering as she goes, and while it normally amuses her to no end she's having trouble getting the dream from the previous night out of her head. She wrinkles her nose, pushing aside the memory of watching herself gasp for air and reach out for help as she pushes her bedroom door open and goes over to flop onto the bed.
She lies there for a while just looking up at the ceiling, before she rolls onto her stomach to grab her phone and send Daisy a 'good morning' text. She knows she'll already be in first period at school, but she knows she'll at least see it seeing as she never leaves her phone alone. Not even in class. She's always been smart, but not as good of a student as Jemma. One of Daisy's favourite nicknames for her is "Einstein". She's not a fan of it, but all she has to do is sing 'Daisy Bell' and it shuts her up right away.
Eventually, Jemma pulls herself from her thoughts and starts to look through the haphazardly-stacked piles of folded clothes next to her bed. She'd been too tired to put them into her chest of drawers the night before, so they were still lying around. She manages to find a pair of old grey sweatpants pretty quickly, but she doesn't really have any shirts she wouldn't mind ruining with paint. Conflicted, she steps out of her room still wearing her pyjama shirt before walking straight into Coulson.
He goes to speak, but catches sight of her shirt and raises an eyebrow. "Really? Pyjamas?"
"I don't really have anything I can get dirty."
Coulson shakes his head, and opens his own bedroom door. "I'll lend you something." He pauses. "That's not weird, right?" Jemma shrugs her shoulders, and he smiles. "Alright then."
She follows him inside and sits on the end of the bed he shares with May. She wonders sometimes if it must be awkward for them, but she's suspected that there's been something there between them for years now and the fact that they share a double bed only adds fuel to the fire. Jemma watches as he rummages through the drawers trying to find something for her to wear, playing with her hands in her lap until he finally straightens up and hands her a t-shirt. It's a grey one with a logo for a sports team that she doesn't recognise.
"Thank you." she murmurs, standing up and stretching her arms over her head. He just smiles and shrugs his shoulders, searching for something to wear himself.
"It's nothing, I haven't worn that in years. Not sure why I still have it, actually."
"Sometimes things are just hard to let go of."
"Sure, but you'd think that we of all people would be pretty good at it by now."
Jemma smiles sadly. "You would, wouldn't you?"
She doesn't quite meet his gaze, but she can feel the way he's looking at her. He's watching her face and keeping an eye on her body language, trying to figure out exactly what's going on in her head. He's always been frustratingly good at reading people. Even May, who Jemma honestly thinks seems emotionless half the time.
She waits for the inevitable question, the "Are you okay?" that'll be coupled with a concerned look and a furrowed brow, but it doesn't come. Instead, Coulson straightens up and waves her off.
"Go get breakfast. I need to get changed, and I doubt you wanna watch that."
Jemma wastes no time in bolting from the room, and she hears him laughing at her hasty exit.
-x-x-
"Isn't that one of Phil's shirts?" May questions, barely even looking up from buttering Jemma's toast. Jemma sits down heavily at the counter, watching her for a moment before she replies.
"I didn't really have anything I wouldn't have minded ruining with paint, so he lent it to me."
"Fair enough," comes her response. She sets down the plate in front of Jemma, and pours her some of the freshly-blended pink smoothie into a glass. She thanks her, and immediately starts to eat.
She watches from the corner of her eye as May wanders to the cupboards to get another glass, before pouring herself some of the smoothie and heading over to look out of the window. It's been raining since she woke up, and judging by the heavy grey clouds overhead it's been raining since long before even May got up for the day. Which, she privately thinks, is a ridiculously early time to wake up.
"You picked a good day to paint your room." she comments. "It's been raining for hours. You can't do much but stay in on a rainy day." May lets out a heavy sigh, and turns around to lean against the sink and face Jemma. "I was hoping I could have a walk around today, get my bearings. I guess it'll have to wait."
Jemma looks up at her, and sips her smoothie. "I think Coulson said something about some files in the lab that needed to be sorted through. Maybe you could do that for a while?"
May rolls her eyes. "Oh, fun." She pauses. "But someone has to do it, I guess."
"I'd help out if I wasn't painting my room."
She smiles at her with what Jemma thinks is a hint of fondness, but doesn't say anything in response.
Coulson comes downstairs in scruffy painting clothes minutes later, scratching the back of his head and yawning. He heads straight for the cupboard where he'd apparently hidden his secret stash of Pop-Tarts - strawberry, as she'd expected - and sets the box down on the counter. He looks at May as though expecting her to comment, but she just fixes him with an icy glare and says nothing. He opens a packet and takes one out to eat, and when he bites into it Jemma swears she sees a shiver run through her.
He smiles at his partner, and holds out the box. "Want one?" She looks at him as though he's just kicked a puppy, and he raises his eyebrows and pulls his arm back. "Yikes. Sorry. I guess the war on junk food is pretty intense these days."
"There are much healthier, better things you could be snacking on, Phil." Melinda mutters, downing the rest of her smoothie and turning around to wash the glass.
"Last time you said that you gave me a bowl of kale chips, and my tastebuds still haven't recovered from the experience."
She rolls her eyes at him, and raises an eyebrow. "They probably went into shock after tasting something that wasn't loaded with sugar and fat for once."
"I think they were more horrified over what they'd been subjected to, but each to their own." Coulson shrugs, and goes over to put his hand on Jemma's shoulder. "Ready to get painting?" She replies in the affirmative, and he gives her shoulder a squeeze before turning to leave the kitchen again. "There are some tarps in the lab. I'll go them, we can use them to cover the carpet."
When he's gone May mutters something under her breath about crushing up vitamin supplements into his food, and Jemma can't help but snort with laughter.
-x-x-
She watches lazily with her back against the wall as Coulson attempts to pry off the lid of the paint with a screwdriver. It gives with a small pop, and he sits back on his haunches with a small but satisfied smile on his face. Jemma shifts on the tarp, which rustles beneath her, and leans over to grab the paintbrush. His hands weren't always steady enough to carefully paint the areas around the skirting board or the door frame (nor did he have the patience), so she normally had that taken care of before she grabbed a roller herself. Painting wasn't a job she enjoyed, but the downtime with Coulson was surprisingly present. She has a quick glance at her phone before slipping it back into her pocket, prompting him to speak.
"Heard much from Daisy today?" he questions, pouring some of the paint into the tray for easy access with the roller. She just watches for a moment, before shifting closer to the wall to start the delicate task of painting around the skirting board.
"No, not really." Jemma shrugs her shoulders. "She's at school, right now she's complaining about Spanish class."
Coulson raises an eyebrow, starting to paint the wall. "Español?" He slowly shakes his head. "No es tan difícil."
She rolls her eyes at him. "Not for you, maybe. But she finds it hard. And so do I, come to think of it. You know I'm rubbish at languages."
"Que lo entendías."
"Sorry?"
"Nevermind, then."
They fall silent for a little while. She steals a glance at him from where she's perched on the floor every so often, he's got a look on his face like he wants to say something but he can't quite find the words, or figure out when is the best time to say it. Jemma knows it'll be something to do with her and what she said to him before, so she doesn't say anything to him to avoid putting herself and her mind in the spotlight just yet.
It feels good, being able to paint her room again. It's starting to feel like her own space, which normally takes about a week upon moving into a new house. Jemma would often drift from room to room trying to find somewhere she felt comfortable enough to relax before her room started feeling like hers, but when it did, it was usually where she'd end up spending most of her time throughout the day. The feeling of peace that came with the silence between them, however, was ultimately short-lived.
Coulson clears his throat. "You haven't been yourself since we left."
There it is, she thinks.
"Can you blame me?" She sighs. "You know how much I liked Akron. Then I just had to go and forget my EpiPen, didn't I?" Jemma leans over to dip her brush in the paint again, and Coulson does the same with the roller. He remains quiet, letting her speak. "Has May noticed anything?"
He exhales heavily. "Of course May's noticed. She notices everything, she's too observant for her own good."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's a blessing and a curse." he says in a very matter-of-factly way, his brow furrowing as he concentrates on making the coat of paint as even as he can. "She hasn't said anything about you to me, but I can tell she's noticed. And she probably won't bring it up with you, she'll wait for you to go to her."
Jemma pauses, looking up at him. "And if I don't?"
"She'll leave you to it. You've known May long enough now to know how she operates.".
That wasn't strictly true, but she nods her head anyway. Jemma shifts across the floor slightly, away from Coulson, to follow the line of the skirting board. She couldn't think of a single time May had come up to her and quietly asked if if she was alright, really alright, but deep down she knew better than to think that she didn't care for her. Because she knew she did. But Melinda May was a private woman, keeping her feelings under lock and key and rarely showing any sign of weakness. Jemma often found herself admiring her for it, though she ultimately knew that it couldn't be healthy. May probably knew that, too, but like Jemma she was probably completely unwilling to address what she knew was undoubtedly the truth.
She could hardly pass judgement on it, she often found herself just as guilty of the exact same thing. But she was worse at hiding it, wearing her heart on her sleeve at the best of times and shutting herself away at the worst.
"Do you think you're depressed, Jemma?"
The question comes out of nowhere, catching her completely off guard. She drops her paintbrush and it leaves a streak of dusty grey-blue paint on the white skirting board. She swears under her breath, and reaches to wipe it off as best she can with the bottom of Coulson's old shirt. Jemma can feel his eyes on her, and when she's done trying to save the situation she looks up at him and meets his gaze.
"Not depressed, no." She takes a few deep breaths, putting the brush down and clasping her hands together in her lap. "But I do feel detached. Like I've lost myself a bit over the years."
Coulson pulls a face, and his expression is unreadable. "So… a little?"
She sighs.
Jemma Simmons is not depressed. She's been to enough places, seen enough people, to know what depression looks like.
She remembers the little girl from Oregon in her second grade class, the child with the dark, telltale marks on her arms and the haunted look in her eye. The child that was exactly that: a child. She was pale and rail thin, rarely played with the others, and did nothing but draw angels in flowing white gowns with glowing, golden halos above their heads. Even now, she remembers the pictures. Their arms were always open wide, as though waiting to embrace a newcomer and take away their pain.
She remembers the girl from North Dakota, the girl that died and didn't come back - the death of a mortal. Top of the class, pretty, with (in retrospect) a smile that never quite reached her eyes. The day after she died, clumps of students hung around the halls and corridors and cried, reminiscing about how she was such a lovely girl and how you never would have thought, would you? But depression was silent, ruthless, and it had ravaged her from the inside out. They left tributes by her locker, and stuck messages to the door. Jemma had pushed her way through the crowd with a post-it note that read, "Stars can't shine without darkness." and quietly walked away.
There was a boy in New York that befriended her. At the time she hadn't been quite sure as to why, but people had mostly left her alone as a result which was nice. With a life like hers, hiding in the shadows was a lot better than stepping out into the light. He had his own small group of friends that she more or less fell in with despite their glaringly obvious differences, but he seemed fascinated with her. She, in turn, had been just as intrigued by him. There was no romantic attraction, just a burning desire to find out what made the other person tick. He, of course, never got to find out her secret. But she found his beneath long sleeves that hid a tangled web of scars and fresh wounds, as well as track marks from needles caught in the centre like flies. He was real. He was more real than most of the people she'd known throughout her life, too real to be the boy you bring home and introduce to your parents. Too real, and too complicated. He would laugh and shake translucent orange pill bottles at her, dragging on a cigarette with an unmistakable sadness in his eyes as he joked about the very illness that she knew he feared would be his downfall, if the drugs didn't pip it to the post.
Depression is a war, she thinks. You can either win, or die trying.
"No. Phil." She adds on the last word like it's an afterthought, and the use of his first name makes him look at her differently. "I'm just… like I said, I feel detached."
He stays quiet.
"You're going to have to log this, aren't you?"
"You already know the answer to that question, Jemma."
"I'll have to talk to Dr. Garner again."
"Most likely, yes."
She sighs tiredly and picks up her paintbrush again, though her mind is elsewhere and she keeps getting too close to the skirting board. The top of it has tiny blobs of paint here and there by the time she's reached corner, and she turns around to see he's moved on to paint by the window. He's skipped the wall with her door, clearly wanting her to go around the doorframe before he starts it.
It's not much of a calculated decision to get up, walk across the room, and wrap her arms around him. It just happens, and it feels right. He freezes for a second, momentarily surprised, before putting the roller down in the tray and moving to hug her properly.
Her head rests on his chest, and she closes her eyes as she listens to the sound of his beating heart. It's slightly faster than usual, probably just because he's worried. Coulson rests his chin on top of her head, and she relaxes into him.
They don't normally embrace like this. If they do, it's very rarely real. They hug from time to time in public if the situation calls for it, but this is a much more unusual situation. But she suddenly finds herself needing the comfort and he's more than happy to provide it; his hand moves to rub her back in slow, gentle circles, and she lets out a shaky little sigh.
"You know you can tell me anything." he says after a little while, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Don't you?"
Jemma pauses, and swallows hard. "You're like a dad to me."
"And I love you like my own. But this has to stop." Coulson takes hold of her shoulders, and very gently pries them apart. She slowly lifts her gaze to look up at him. "You can't keep locking this sort of thing inside, you know how bad it is for you."
"I know, but-"
"May and I care for you so much. You need to be honest with us." He sighs heavily. "She loves you like a daughter. But she'd never admit to it, and you know that." She bites her lip, and slowly nods. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, Jemma. So when we know you're hiding something, it worries us."
"I'm sorry." she murmurs after a brief silence. He pulls her in for a hug again, and she can't help but cuddle into him. He's safe and warm, even when he's covered in paint and probably tired from the early wake-up.
"Don't be sorry. Just don't a stranger, okay?"
She nods again, and doesn't let go for a while. He doesn't seem to mind.