TW for mentions of violence/fighting
Jemma felt sick. Fear curdled her insides, and her muscles were all tight and screaming to be released from the prison her body had become. She had wanted to stay by Fitz's side, to watch as the nurse came, to help, to fix, fix, fix the things she had allowed to become so badly broken, but Mr. Bennett had been so strict, and she was sure they were already in so much trouble. She didn't want to make it worse.
So instead she shuffled behind the others, tapping as fast as she could, trying not to cry as she worried about what kind of punishment they would all face, how angry May and Phil were going to be, how frail Fitz had looked lying on the floor. She had no way of knowing if he was going to be okay, and the anxiety of the unknown bubbled up and overheated her body like an exothermic reaction.
As soon as Fitz had fallen away from Ward, had hit the floor, Jemma knew things weren't right. His head bore so much of the contact, and he lost consciousness almost immediately. Even though she had been terrified by the swarm of people all pushing in too close, she had found strength enough to order people to stay back and leave a wide berth around him.
Trip had appeared at some point, dropped to his knees beside her and made like he was going to try and cradle Fitz's head or attempt to wake him up.
"Don't touch him!" she had snapped, more callously than she might have ordinarily done. "It's better if we don't move him. We don't know the extent of his injury."
"Is he breathing?" Trip asked fearfully. Jemma had nodded, blinking back tears, but grateful for the opportunity to focus on something more concrete than her own slippery terror.
"Breathing, and his pulse is steady," she said. "He needs a doctor, though. We should get help."
She had barely finished the thought when a cry rang out and she and Trip looked up to see Ward pinning Skye in a corner. He hit her, over and over again, and Jemma saw a glassy look fill Skye's eyes as Ward attacked. It was a look Jemma recognized, one Skye wore when she endured the mistreatment of Brother Jonathan, when she was outnumbered four-to-one in a fight and had no choice but to curl in and wait for the punches and kicks to stop falling. It was a helpless look, a look of defeat and resignation to the fact that there was nothing to do but withstand the worst that life had to throw at them.
"Skye," she breathed nervously. She had been so preoccupied with Fitz that she had barely taken notice of the fight that was now raging in front of them.
"I got her," Trip said, leaping to his feet and racing into the fray. He lowered his shoulder and plowed into Ward, executing a perfect football tackle and forcing Ward to the ground, away from Skye.
Then the teachers had come, and they had stopped the fighting, but they had forced her away from Fitz, too. They had sent her to sit in the chairs outside of Mr. Hanes' office, her most disliked place in the whole school. Her stomach twisted at the prospect of facing the harsh and intransigent man. She rocked a little as she tapped a panicked pace on the arm of her chair, 1-1-1-1, and Ward, noticing from his own chair a few feet away from her, made a disdainful noise.
"Jesus, you people get weirder every day."
"Shut up," Skye glowered. Her face was splotchy and swollen, her chin red and raw from where she'd scraped it across the floor. She winced a little as she shifted in her chair. Ward looked a little better, but not by much. His ear was pink where Skye had boxed him, and his bloody lip was puffy and tender-looking.
"And you actually joined them?" Ward jibed, this time his comment directed at Trip, who was clutching a wadded-up bloody Kleenex and gingerly prodding his nose to check for damages. "I should have pegged you for a spineless traitor."
"Not as spineless as putting a defenseless kid in a chokehold then knocking him unconscious," Trip snapped back.
"That's enough," Mrs. Baumbach said crisply, peering at them from behind her desk. "No more talking from any of you until your parents arrive. You're already here for fighting. Let's not make things any worse than they already are." Jemma couldn't imagine how the situation could be any worse than it was. Fitz was hurt, May and Phil were on their way to hear from Mr. Hanes how bad, bad, bad they had all been. She was going to be in so much trouble, Skye probably even worse.
Phil and May were so kind and so patient, but Jemma had learned the hard way that everyone has their limits. Every person has a point at which their kindness refuses to extend any further, where their patience is worn so thin you can see right through it to the frustration on the other side. Every person has a line they will not bring you across, leaving you behind, separated by whatever barrier you weren't worth the dismantling of, to watch as they move on without you. Something horrid and cold slithered down in her gut, whispering snidely that they may have finally found Phil and May's breaking point.
The wait in the office was excruciating. She tapped and counted the seconds under her breath to try and stay calm, keep all the anguish and nuclear fear at bay while all these people were around. She counted 500 seconds, then a thousand, and finally, after 1,267 seconds, other people – grown ups – started trickling into the office. First was a couple that Jemma could only describe, despite the unquestionably American way with which they carried themselves into the room (bold and brash and taking up more space than just their physical presence), as posh. The man had sharply styled hair and wore an equally sharp suit, all neatly pressed angles and straight lines. The woman, probably his wife, wore an expensive-looking dress that Jemma associated with lawyers and businesswomen, and a string of pearls dripped from her throat. Even without the physical similarities between their faces and Ward's – the man's brow and jaw, the woman's eyes and nose – Jemma was sure these were Ward's parents. Who else but a Ward could command a room upon entering it, could blend contempt, outrage, and aloofness in their expressions so effortlessly?
They swept into the room, Mrs. Ward crossing quickly to Grant's side and inspecting his face for damages. It struck Jemma as odd just how little warmth or concern there was in the woman's face – more like casual curiosity. Mr. Ward immediately began speaking with Mrs. Baumbach, and his voice made Jemma screw up her face with discomfort. It was loud and harsh and full of anger, even though he wasn't shouting.
"What do you mean we can't see the principal yet? My wife and I get called down here out of the blue, with news that our son has been attacked at school and you're telling me I can't get some answers from the man in charge?"
"He's with another family at the moment. Another student was injured in the altercation and Mr. Talbot felt it was important to meet with that parent first, to ensure the student was properly taken care of," Mrs. Baumbach said evenly.
"Who the hell is Mr. Talbot? What happened to Ted?" Mr. Ward demanded.
"Mr. Hanes is on a temporary leave of absence," replied Mrs. Baumbach. "Mr. Talbot is serving in an interim role for the time being."
"Why weren't we notified of this?" asked Mrs. Ward hotly, looking up from her son's injuries. "Ted Hanes has been a family friend for years. We donate large sums to the Boosters every year and I play bridge with the chair of the school board—"
"The transition took place recently," Mrs. Baumbach clipped. "A letter is being sent to families this afternoon. I'm sure all your questions can be answered in due time. Please, have a seat until everyone else arrives."
Jemma could feel the tension crackling like ungrounded electricity, and it made her arm ache. Her shoulders, neck, jaw – all felt stiff and tight, but she was already tapping as fast as she could without drawing unwanted attention from the new people in the room. Skye was sitting slumped in her chair, arms folded stubbornly and a scowl on her face, but that didn't stop her from noticing that Jemma was hanging on by a thread. Almost instantly, the hardened look on her face melted away, and she scooted her chair closer to Jemma's, reaching out and scooping up Jemma's non-tapping hand.
"He's going to be okay," Skye whispered, giving Jemma's hand a squeeze and prompting Jemma to take a deep breath in time with the pressure. "He has to be okay. He's… he's Fitz." Fitz. Her Blue Giant. She missed his eyes, bright and sure and brimming with the kind of excitement for life she had learned to bury. "He has to be okay."
Jemma gave a small nod, even though she wasn't sure she believed what Skye was saying. She wasn't sure Fitz was going to be okay. She wasn't sure any of them were going to be okay. Skye released the squeeze on her hand, and Jemma let out the breath she had been holding, shuddery and full of consternation.
Eventually more adults trickled in, first an older Black woman with kind eyes and the same strong, slender build as Trip, maybe his grandmother, Jemma supposed, then Phil, May, and, somewhat to Jemma's surprise and involuntary horror, Miss Hand. Not that Miss Hand herself was a horrifying sight, but the fact that she was here, for this incident… when Miss Hand got involved in trouble, that was a sure sign of only one thing, and it was the thing Jemma wanted to think about even less than Fitz's condition.
Without meaning to, she let out a small whimper, and Skye squeezed her hand sharply. It didn't escape Jemma's notice, however, that Skye immediately turned her eyes away from May, Phil, and Miss Hand. She didn't look at any of them even once as soon as they arrived, and clammy dread wrapped its fingers around Jemma's heart, spreading like a sinister spore. Skye was going to shut them out, and that was going to make things so much worse.
The last to arrive was a man Jemma had never seen before, but who she could only assume was Mr. Talbot, the new principal. He had oddly cut hair – impossibly short on the sides and longer on top, all combed to one side – and a caterpillar of a mustache masking his upper lip. He walked with ramrod posture, and his face was stern. He didn't strike Jemma as someone who smiled much, and while she was happy to know that she wouldn't be facing down Mr. Hanes again, this new principal wasn't much of a comfort.
"Everyone in the conference room, please," the man instructed brusquely, before Phil or May or Miss Hand had a chance to ask Jemma or Skye for any details. Clearly he was used to people following his directions without question, and the large group now gathered in the waiting room was no exception. They all followed him through a side door to a room with a long table and plenty of chairs, much more spacious than the principal's office, which is where Jemma had assumed they were going to go. Before anyone had a chance to sit in any of those chairs, however, Ward's parents began a barrage of questions.
"Anyone care to explain what the hell is going on here?" Mr. Ward asked, almost a bark. "What happened to my son?"
"And where is Ted Hanes?" added Mrs. Ward. "I'm more than a little concerned the school didn't think to alert parents to the leadership transition here. The lack of transparency is—"
"My name is Glenn Talbot," the man said sharply. Jemma felt her shoulders hunch up towards her face, and she jammed her hands into her pockets to keep herself from clapping them over her ears. All three of them were being too loud, too harsh, too angry. Mr. Talbot sat, and gestured for everyone to follow suit as he continued speaking. "I'm serving as the interim principal while Mr. Hanes is taking a leave of absence for sensitivity training. Although why on God's mossy marble anyone would want their middle school principal to be more sensitive is a mystery to me. Kids are too coddled these days."
"Is Fitz okay?" Trip interrupted. His grandmother frowned and laid a restraining hand on his arm. Mr. Talbot's eyes narrowed at the interruption, but he answered without missing a beat:
"Mr. Fitz is awake and receiving medical care. His mother has arrived and I've spoken with the both of them. That's all I'm at liberty to say at this time." The breath Jemma had been holding seeped out from her lungs, washing the slightest bit of relief out into the air. Fitz was awake. Talking. While she was desperate for more information, and even more desperate to be away from the tense room and close to Fitz, checking on him and helping him, the fact that he was at least conscious and with his mother eased a smidgeon of the fear that was choking her up.
It also meant that she could focus more of her attention on Skye, who might actually need more help than Fitz in that moment. She was all folded in on herself, stony-eyed and unmoving, but Jemma could tell that the anger Skye kept denying was there was, in fact, still burning hot and unstable under the surface, a celestial detonation biding its time. She didn't think Skye would do anything completely reckless here with all of these adults watching them, but then again, she didn't think Skye would be so rash as to try and take on Grant Ward in a fight right after they had just talked about not doing that precise thing, and yet here they were.
"Now, I couldn't get much out of Mr. Fitz about the altercation, and the teachers who reported it said that things were pretty much an even tangle by the time they got there, so I'd like to get to the bottom of this without beating around the flim-flam bush," Mr. Talbot said, barreling forward without so much as a breath. "What exactly happened here today?"
"My son was attacked—" Mr. Ward tried to say, but Mr. Talbot held up a hand and cut him off.
"From the students, if you don't mind."
Mr. Ward's jaw twitched, and Jemma watched as his face flushed with swallowed anger, but he fell silent.
"Trip tackled me," Ward began.
"Only to keep you from beating up Skye," interjected Trip, aghast.
"I was defending myself from her," Ward said hotly. "She's the one who flipped out and started trying to hit me."
"Because you were strangling Fitz!" Skye nearly shouted.
"At least I'm not the one who got him knocked out cold on the floor," Ward sneered. "That was all your fault." Skye's face went scarlet and she ducked her head, staring intently at her lap. Jemma wanted to reach out, take Skye's hand and squeeze and assure her that it wasn't her fault, but she couldn't make her arm move. It was like every cell in her body had been swapped out with something impossibly heavy, anchoring her, keeping her frozen in place, except for her finger, which still drummed anxiously on her leg inside the confines of her pocket.
"I can do without all the he-said, she-said," Mr. Talbot said crossly, signaling for them to cease their argument. His expression darkened slightly, and his eyes scanned from person to person until they landed on Jemma. "You," he said. He pointed a thick finger directly at her, and Jemma forced herself to swallow a squeak. "You're not talking. And by the looks of you, I'd eat my earmuffs if you were throwing punches. You tell me what happened. Start at the beginning."
Jemma felt the blood drain from her face and she looked wildly around the room, desperate for someone to save her from having to speak. There were so many strangers in here, and so much pressure to say the right thing. She would have to tell the truth, of course, but doing so would cause a considerable amount of trouble for all of them, and the last thing she wanted was more trouble. She opened her mouth, but no words rose to the surface. Her voice had stopped working some time ago, and she wasn't sure she could force it to come back, especially with so many pairs of eyes fixed on her.
"Is that really necessary—" May began. At the same time, Phil overlapped:
"This might not be the best environment—"
"I need the full story, and I want her to tell me," Mr. Talbot said stoutly. "If I need to hear from the others, I'll ask them afterwards. Come on, uh…"
"Jemma," she told him, barely above a whisper.
"Jemma, then," he gruffed. "Come on and spit it out."
She opened her mouth to try again, but all that she could muster was a diffident whimper. She couldn't tap fast enough with her hand stuck in her pocket like it was, so, throwing caution to the wind, she slipped her hand out and began tap-tap-tapping on her knee, 1-1-1-1. She wasn't looking in their direction, but she could feel the confused, contemptuous looks Ward and his parents were projecting her way, the concern radiating from Trip and his grandmother.
"Jemma." That was Miss Hand's voice. Jemma whipped her gaze feverishly back towards the impassive face of her social worker. Her tone was firm, but not unkind. A familiar tenor for Miss Hand. Familiar was okay. "We need to know what happened. We need you to tell us, please. Do you think you can do that? Just tell us one thing at a time. What happened first?"
Jemma thought hard for a moment. How far back did they really want her to go? To the start of the day? To the day they cooked up their ridiculous plan against Ward? To the day Ward started bullying Fitz in the first, back before she and Skye had even set foot in Manitowoc? She tried to take a breath, feed her brain the oxygen it so desperately needed, but the air felt sharp in her chest. Something warm and solid plunked on her other knee – Skye's fingers, tapping alongside her. Gingerly, Jemma took her free hand and tangled her fingers in Skye's. Even though she knew it was irrational, it was like she could feel some of Skye's brashness and bravery pumping into her veins, like some kind of courage-osmosis.
"We had a pop quiz in algebra today," Jemma said delicately. Every word that came out felt like it was being wrenched from her ribs, but she knew they wouldn't be satisfied until she spoke. "Grant was upset because he'd done poorly on it, and he thought… he thought Fitz had planned the quiz. He thought Fitz had tipped Mrs. Larimore off about…" She swallowed hard. She probably wasn't supposed to tell this part, but she didn't know how to properly explain the entire fiasco without including all the relevant background. "They had an arrangement. With homework. Fitz did it, for the both of them. And he knew Fitz wanted out, and we'd been… we'd been trying to figure out how to make it stop, so we'd been working on a plan. Trying to wind Grant up and Fitz was making mistakes on his homework so Grant would get suspicious. We wanted to upset Grant enough to make him do something that would get him caught. But we didn't plan the pop quiz. We didn't mean for it to get so out of hand." She glanced around, anxiety welling up in her eyes. She needed them to understand that they hadn't planned on anything that had happened today.
"You're doing great," Phil encouraged. He was speaking quietly, but his usual smile was absent. Something in Jemma's stomach flip-flopped uncomfortably. "Keep going, Jemma."
"Grant was upset about the quiz, and he blamed Fitz, so he… he grabbed Fitz in the hall before lunch. He was choking him, and Skye…" Jemma winced. This was the part she especially didn't want to get into. Skye's aggression, Fitz falling, the horrible, wretched sound of Fitz's head connecting with the ground. "She tried to get Grant to let go. She… she tackled him. They all sort of fell together, and Grant let go, but Fitz couldn't catch his balance and he… he hit his head when he fell. I tried to help him," she whispered. She blinked back hot tears that were collecting in her eyes. She hadn't been able to do anything. She was used to being powerless, it was practically her natural state at this point, but there had been something so ugly and sour about the empty uselessness that flooded her senses in that moment.
"Skye and Grant were fighting then, I think. I didn't really see. I was with Fitz. Trip tried to help me, but Skye was in trouble, so he went to help her instead. He tackled Grant to keep him off of her, and then… they were all on top of each other until Mr. Bennett and Coach Garrett got there and sorted them out."
"That's preposterous," Mr. Ward spluttered. "Utterly ridiculous. If you're implying that my son has been forcing another student to… if you're suggesting he was responsible…"
"I'd prefer if you didn't call Jemma's integrity into question," May said coolly. "She's not a dishonest person and it took a lot of courage for her to speak just now."
"And she did a good job," Phil said, nodding in her direction and allowing a faint smile to creep into the corner of his mouth.
"I'm more interested in this 'plan' of hers." Mrs. Ward narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "It sounds like she and her friends conspired to manipulate and psychologically torment my son."
"That's not true," Skye said hotly. She glared in the Wards directions. "Ward's been torturing Fitz for years, and he's been picking on us ever since we moved here. Don't fool yourself into thinking it's the other way around, lady."
"Skye," Miss Hand cautioned. "I know you're upset, but please try to stay calm."
"She's telling the truth, though," Trip insisted. "Ward could have killed Fitz if Skye hadn't stepped in."
"I'm not going to sit here and let these children slander my son," Mr. Ward erupted, banging a fist on the conference table. Jemma gave an involuntary jump at the abrupt outburst and Skye's grip on her hand tightened.
"That's enough," Mr. Talbot barked, and everyone, even the Wards, balked a little at his stern tone. "Look, I plan on getting to the bottom of this, but I'm not going to make daisy chains to do it. I'm not interested in hurt feelings or whether or not you think your child is as innocent as a baby angel's backside, I'm interested in who did what to who. So, Mr. Ward, did you find this one's –" he jerked a thumb back in Jemma's direction "—account to be accurate? Has Mr. Fitz been doing your work for you? Did you accost him in the hallway?"
Ward was clearly wrestling with what to say, and he squirmed a little under the harsh gazes of his parents and Mr. Talbot. As much cruel bravado as Ward usually demonstrated amongst his peers, he obviously had a much harder time keeping up appearances around other adults. "Yes," he finally admitted, scowling down at the tabletop where his father had banged his fist only moments ago. "But, they've been—"
"That's all I need from you," Mr. Talbot said curtly. "And Mr. Triplett, do you find her account accurate? Did you, without any provocation from Mr. Ward, tackle him in the hallway and initiate a brawl?"
"I mean, technically, yes, but—" Trip started to say.
"Thank you very much," Mr. Talbot cut him off. "And you," he said, turning to Skye now. "Miss, uh…"
"Skye," she spat out. A cold shudder rippled through Jemma's body and she held her breath in anticipation of the supernova that she could sense was sparking under Skye's skin.
"Not a last name, but sure," Mr. Talbot said flippantly. "Was your little friend telling the truth? Did you spend the last few months going out of your way to wind up Mr. Ward and goad him into lashing out? And did you physically attack him in the hallway before he had initiated contact with you?"
"Yes," Skye told him darkly, retracting her hand from Jemma's and folding her arms crossly in front of her. Unlike Trip and Ward, Skye didn't try to seize the opportunity to explain herself or offer further context. She let the yes hang in the air, unchallenged, almost as if she defied anyone to assume anything but the worst of her. Something sank in Jemma's chest. Skye was going to push them away. It was one's Jemma's least favorite strategies of Skye's, mostly because it was one of the ones she had no idea how to combat.
"Well, then I think we're done here," Mr. Talbot said with an air of finality. "They all know what they did. They've admitted it. Moving forward, Mr. Ward will be responsible for his own work, he'll stay away from Mr. Fitz. These three will stop their attempts to antagonize Mr. Ward, and no one –" he paused and looked from face to face. "No one will lay a hand on anyone else. Do I make myself clear?" Everyone nodded. "In-school suspension for the remainder of the week for these two," he inclined his head towards Ward and Skye. "One day ISS apiece for the others." He tilted his head the other way and indicated Jemma and Trip. "Any other questions?" Something jagged raked through Jemma's heart. She'd never been suspended before, in-school or otherwise. She'd never even had detention before. She knew Skye always acted like it wasn't a big deal, but Jemma had never had anything so glaring on her record as this. Now any other school she'd ever have to go to would look and see that she had been a troublemaker in Manitowoc. That she had been bad here.
Mr. Talbot didn't wait for a response from the adults before pulling out some forms from a folder that was sitting off to his side. Jemma hadn't noticed it there before. "If parents and guardians could just sign these…"
"What are they?" Mr. Ward asked with irritation.
"Acknowledgement of the incident, agreement to the punishments dispensed, release of liability for the school," said Mr. Talbot. "Standard practice." He passed out the forms, and the grownups went quiet as they started to read and sign. Trip's grandmother finished first.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Talbot," she said politely as she handed over the form. "I assure you that Antoine is usually a very well-manner boy. We're so sorry for the trouble."
"Boys will be boys," Mr. Talbot said with a wave of his hand. "Have a nice afternoon, Ms…" He squinted at her signature.
"Jones," she supplied. "Antoine's grandmother. My daughter and her husband are both overseas at the moment, so he's staying with me."
"Overseas?" Mr. Talbot asked, clearly intrigued.
"Serving in the military," explained Trip's grandmother. Mr. Talbot's face suddenly shifted into something much more pleasant than the expression he'd been wearing throughout the meeting.
"I served," he informed her with pride. "Made it to Colonel before I retired and went civilian at my wife's request." That explained a lot about the man, in Jemma's opinion.
Trip and his grandmother said their goodbyes and drifted out the door. Once Mr. Talbot had finished stowing their forms, Miss Hand took the opportunity to slid her unsigned one back his way.
"I'm Skye and Jemma's social worker, Victoria Hand," she explained. "Not a guardian. You don't need my signature on these, just May and Phil's."
"Social worker?" Mr. Talbot looked confused. Obviously he hadn't had time to do much research on the students he was now disciplining, which Jemma supposed was fair, since it seemed to be the man's first week on the job. "Do social workers usually get called for incidents like these?"
"Vic and I were in a meeting together when I got the call," May said. "It seemed serious enough that we decided she might as well come along with me."
"So these two are…" Mr. Talbot squinched his eyes up like he was doing the math, waggling a finger back and forth between Skye and Jemma. Jemma hunched her shoulders a little and stared at her knees. She didn't like the way he was examining them.
"Our foster daughters," Phil said evenly.
"Got yourself quite handful with these two," Mr. Talbot chuckled. No one shared in his laughter, and Jemma noticed out of the corner of her eye that May was glaring furiously.
"Obviously they haven't had much social training," Mr. Ward said snidely. "Isn't that the job of the social worker, huh, Vic?"
"I'm an advocate for at-risk children, Mr. Ward, not a dog trainer," Miss Hand clipped. "And don't call me Vic, it's condescending. 'Miss Hand' will do fine."
"So it's okay for her but not for me?" leered Mr. Ward, gesturing towards May.
"May is a friend and a colleague. She has permission to call me that. You do not."
"Glad to know this place is really going to shambles," grumbled Mr. Ward as he stood and shoved his form towards Mr. Talbot. "Expect a call from my office, Talbot. I don't put much stock in the way you're running things around here."
"It's going to take more than that to shake my boots, Mr. Ward," Mr. Talbot shot back, unfazed. He flashed a plastic smile. "Have a dandy afternoon, sir."
"Come on," Mr. Ward growled, hoisting Grant to his feet. Mrs. Ward grabbed her son's shoulder roughly, digging her fingernails in harder than she needed to. Instinctively, Jemma flinched at the sight, remembering vividly the feeling of sharp, well-manicured nails against her own skin. "We'll deal with you at home," Mr. Ward said to Grant as they left.
"First Christian, now you," sighed Mrs. Ward agitatedly. Then, under her breath: "Clearly your father needs to do a better job of teaching his sons not to start fights they can't finish."
And with that, the Ward family swept from the room, leaving only Jemma and the rest of their ragtag bunch with Mr. Talbot. He collected May and Phil's forms and got to his own feet.
"Well, if there's nothing else I can do for you, have a nice day. We'll see your girls here first thing tomorrow for their suspensions."
"Would it be alright if we used your conference room for a moment, Mr. Talbot?" May asked seriously. "We'd like to have a word with Skye and Jemma as a group, and Victoria has another meeting after this."
"Be my guest," Mr. Talbot said with a wave of his hand. "Just turn out the lights when you're done."