It wasn't often that people made promises to Jemma. In most cases, it seemed that she simply wasn't important enough to other people for the effort of a promise to be worth their while, and that was something that had stopped bothering her a long time ago. While she craved assurances and the confidence that was supposed to come with words you could count on, she had long since learned that an empty promise, an unfulfilled promise, a false promise was far worse than no promise at all.

Skye had once explained to her that grownups lie all the time, after she had found Jemma wedged in the back of a closet, crying her eyes out because Mrs. Finney, her social worker at the time, had refused to let Jemma keep the broken hairbrush she'd been hiding under her mattress, despite an earlier promise to the contrary. The hairbrush had been her mother's, and even though one of the other girls at St. Agnes had snapped it in two ages ago, Jemma wasn't ready to throw it out. She didn't know how to tell Mrs. Finney that, though, so the stern, thin-lipped woman had ordered her to toss it out, 'along with any other useless trash you've been hoarding,' even though just last week she had promised that Jemma's belongings would be safe.

"They just say 'promise' because it gets you to stop bugging them," the nine-year-old Skye had explained patiently, crouched down on the closet floor beside a weepy, trembling Jemma. "You can't believe anything they tell you. You just have to expect that the stuff you don't want to happen is probably the thing that's gonna happen."

"But why?" Jemma had sniffed. "That's dishonest. People aren't meant to tell lies, it's not kind."

Skye had snorted at that, and reminded Jemma that the number of kind people in the world was smaller than they wanted it to be. She hadn't been cruel about it, and she hadn't made fun of Jemma for not understanding the way things worked. She just helped Jemma learn what to expect, and how to be more protective of her trust. Skye was much better at it than Jemma was. She still hadn't quite mastered the art of letting go of the flickering hope that the word "promise" conjured up in her, but Jemma Simmons was nothing if not a quick study. It was one of the most important lessons Skye had ever taught her, and it was one of the moments that had solidified Skye as one of the only people Jemma knew she could count on.

That was why Jemma was feeling so confused as she lay in bed that night, her mind rifling through all of the events of the past few days, trying to make sense of it all. She was used to grownups' promises falling through – words like "safe" and "happy" and "forever" were always a source of skepticism now, thanks to her careful training, and even though she still couldn't fully shake the little glimmering doubts that her sparks of hope cast onto that skepticism, she knew better than to let her hope carry her good sense away most of the time. Skye had taught her what to expect when it came to adults' promises, how to guard herself against their broken words. She had never taught Jemma how to deal with a broken promise when it came straight from her, though.

Jemma knew she couldn't always take everything Skye said seriously, of course. Skye didn't choose her words as carefully as Jemma did – sometimes Skye said things without thinking, or she said things that she didn't really mean. For the most part, Jemma had learned to tell the difference, but this time, it seemed as though she had been wrong.

She thought Skye had meant it when she said she was going to tell Jemma the truth about the things she uncovered in her search for her parents, and about the things that bothered her and made her act in rash and foolish ways. After everything that had happened with Skye's search for her parents and her disastrous trip to the hospital in Sheboygan, Jemma had thought that Skye wasn't going to keep her in the dark anymore, but after watching Skye sneak off with Raina, someone who Skye should have had no business talking to in the first place, Jemma knew that Skye hadn't kept her word. Skye was hiding things from her again, even though she said she wouldn't, and Jemma didn't know how what to do about it.

She lay flat on her back, staring up at the stars that shone from her lamp and glowed onto the ceiling, thinking and thinking about how on earth she would ever convince Skye to come clean. 1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4. Her finger had found a suitable spot to tap out a thinking beat on her shoulder, and the steady rhythm kept time with the faint pattering of rain that was starting to drizzle on the roof overhead. Rain made Skye grumbly and disagreeable, probably because she didn't like to be cooped up, but Jemma had always liked it. Rain meant inside recess and time to curl up with a new book. Rain meant clean air and damp earth and blooming plants. Rain meant interesting insects crawling up from their hiding places as they sought refuge from the floods and earthworms wriggling on the pavement. Rain meant giggling into steaming mugs of tea with her mother as they tipped over the biscuit tin, emptying it out to find the best ones, or playing chess with her father once he had come home from work. Rain smelled like second chances and new life, and it felt like a promise of all the things Jemma knew no one else could promise her anymore.

Jemma could feel her heart beating inside of her chest, a tempo that seemed to fit right in with the rain outside her window and the steady tap-tap-tapping on her shoulder. She felt bolder than she usually did. If the rain could keep its promises, then maybe she could convince Skye to keep hers, too.

"Skye?"

"Mm?" Skye's voice was thick with sleep, but Jemma knew if she didn't ask now, she would never have the nerve again.

"What does Raina know?"

There was a long, stiff silence, and Jemma wondered momentarily if Skye had fallen asleep, or if she was pretending to be asleep to avoid answering the question.

"What do you mean?" came the eventual, tentative reply.

"I know she's been talking to you, and I know whatever it is she's saying has been bothering you. I think you think she knows something, otherwise you wouldn't have gone to see her tonight. So, what is it? What does she know? And why is it such a big secret?"

"It's n—"

"Please don't say it's nothing," Jemma whispered, pleading. "Please don't lie. You promised last time that you would tell me. You promised, Skye."

There was another long pause. 72 taps long, each one plunging deep into Jemma's heart and twisting like a knife trying to convince her that promises didn't mean anything anymore, not even from Skye. Then, suddenly, the soft sound of a sniffle interrupted Jemma's thoughts and her taps and made everything freeze for a moment before it all clicked into place.

"Skye?"

No response, just another sniff and a shuddery breath. Soundlessly, Jemma slid out from under the covers of her own bed and picked her way across the floor to Skye. She saw the lump that was Skye huddled under the blankets, turned away so that she was probably staring at nothing but the blank wall next to her bed.

"Skye," Jemma said again, softly, tenderly. Her heart ached, and she felt the corners of her mouth twist in sympathetic dismay. She hadn't meant to upset her.

The lump shifted slightly, and for a split second, Jemma thought Skye was moving to get farther away from her. She quickly realized, though, that Skye was just making room in the bed, and some of the guilt ebbed away from her chest as she climbed in next to Skye.

Skye melted into her as soon as she was settled, and Jemma tapped softly on Skye's arm, somewhere near her elbow. 1-2-3. 1-2-3. I-am-here. I-am-here.

"She knows my father," Skye said hesitantly after a while (39 taps). There was something fragile in her voice, like she had been holding her breath for a long time before she said it.

"What?"

"Or at least, she says she does. I didn't believe her at first, but then the clues, and the files… it just started adding up. But I don't want it to. I want her to be wrong, because it all doesn't seem right. It's not how it was supposed to be."

"I don't understand…"

"And the worst part of it is, she's gone and made things so twisted up that now, I don't even think I want to meet him. I've been searching my whole life for my parents and now that I finally have a chance to find him… I feel sick just thinking about it. She ruined everything. Or I did, I don't even know anymore."

"Skye, slow down—"

"And she's right, you know. I'm not a good person. I hurt people just like he does."

"What are you talking about? Skye, you're a good person. You're the best person I know."

"You don't have to say that just to try and make me feel better." There was something sharp that had worked its way into Skye's voice. It was a sound Jemma didn't like to hear. A bad sound.

"I'm not." Jemma propped herself up on one elbow so she could into Skye's shadowy face. She was trying hard not to feel indignant at the accusation. "You know I don't say things I don't mean."

"I know, I'm sorry," Skye murmured, chastened. She shifted slightly, rolling away a little bit and tucking her chin into herself as she curled towards the wall again. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know you didn't," Jemma assured her. She didn't close the space between them, but her tapping fingers found their way to Skye's wrist under the blanket. "It's all right. Really. And I do think you're the best person I know. Or one of them, at least."

"You're the best person I know, too," said Skye softly. "I'm sorry I was keeping secrets again. I know I told you I wasn't going to do that. I didn't mean to lie to you, it just sort of happened."

"You could tell me now," Jemma suggested. "Then it wouldn't be a lie anymore."

Skye laughed humorlessly, a short, scoffing bark of a sound. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Tell me about your father," prompted Jemma. "How does Raina know him?"

"I don't actually know," Skye said. She flipped herself over to her other side, fully facing Jemma now, and Jemma was relieved to see that Skye didn't look as angry or hurt as Jemma had feared she might. "She's never said. At first I thought she was lying. Just making stuff up to mess with me, you know? We were talking about names that day she tutored me, because of Stargirl, and she said she knew my real name. Like, my real real name, not my St. Agnes name. I didn't believe her, which is why I didn't tell you then. I figured there was no point in telling you something that wasn't true. But she drew this flower on my hand and said something about a guy named Cal, and then later on, when we were looking at those files with May, one of them—"

"The police report," Jemma said, nodding slowly. "The one that upset you. That man was named Cal."

"And it might not have mattered, except his kid on the birth certificate was named Daisy, which is—"

"A flower," Jemma finished. "So you think that might be him? And that Raina was right?"

"I didn't know what to think. I was… it was just really confusing, and, I don't know… I probably should have told you then, but I just… I guess I still wasn't sure, or maybe I wanted to try and fix it on my own. I wish I knew why I didn't tell you."

"It's okay." Jemma smiled to let Skye know she really meant it. Her heart swelled when Skye returned the smile for a moment.

"I didn't see everything in the files about that guy, but I saw enough to know he went to jail for hurting someone. I don't think he's a good man."

"So when you saw Raina tonight…?"

"I had to talk to her. I had to see what else she knew. I had to know if she was right about everything."

"And what did she say?"

"Not much," Skye frowned. "She said he wasn't really as bad as the police made it seem. She said he wants to meet me."

"He… what? Skye, I don't think that's a good idea." Jemma's pulse quickened, and she pulled her hand away from Skye, switching to tapping on her own cheek. Fast tempo. A nervous one. 1-2-1-2-1-2.

"I know that," Skye said, a little sharply. She took a deep breath and her tone softened almost immediately. "Sorry. I meant, I think you're right. If he's really the guy from May's files, the one who went to jail for attacking those people, then he's probably not someone I should go running off with. I'm not that stupid."

"Of course you're not," Jemma soothed. Jemma didn't think Skye was stupid at all, not in the least. She did, however, think that Skye could be reckless sometimes, especially when it came to her own wellbeing. While Skye's street smarts might have been enough to convince her not to go meet a man convicted of assault with a deadly weapon unsupervised, Jemma suspected that Skye's longing heart might need some more persuasion.

"I just can't believe he's out there," Skye said, after a long pause. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I've been looking all this time, and it turns out he's been looking for me, too. He wants to find me. He wants me. At least, if Raina's telling the truth."

"That's a big if."

"Maybe," Skye mused. "I don't know, something… something about it all…" Skye stifled a yawn and Jemma caught her wrinkling up her nose to stave off another.

"We should go to sleep," Jemma said gently, sliding her tapping finger back over towards Skye and lighting it upon the back of her hand. 1-2-3-4. Keeping time with the steady patter of rain. "I'm glad you told me about Raina. And your father, too. Just promise me you'll be careful. Please."

"I will," nodded Skye as she snuggled up closer to Jemma. Their bodies together generated more than enough heat to keep the late October chill at bay, although it wasn't quite enough to rid Jemma's spine of the shiver that was running down its length. All she could do was hope that this wasn't another promise that couldn't be kept.

Hi! I'm so sorry it's been ages since I've updated! December just really got away from me, and editing on one of the chapters took way longer than I meant it to... I'm glad to be back, and I hope you didn't mind the long wait too terribly much! I definitely owe you a big thank you for your continued patience :) I'm happy you're here, and I hope you enjoy these next three chapters!