It was easy for Jemma to get overwhelmed. Plenty of people had made comments before – comments to her or, more typically, comments about her that they didn't realize she could hear – about how she was overly sensitive and easily upset.
"Hard to soothe," Sister Margaret had once said, not long after Jemma had first arrived at St. Agnes. "A bit… difficult."
She didn't mean to be. She didn't like being a bother, being the center of attention. But she so often couldn't help it. Things just seemed to bother her more than they bothered other people. A light that hurt her eyes or a sound that buzz-sawed into her brain, making her head ache and flooding her mind with a sole, repetitive thought longing for quiet, quiet, quiet. Things that didn't feel right or taste right or smell right could lock her in place, freezing her until they went away or she was able to claw back enough control to get away herself. People didn't like it when she got overwhelmed, telling her to pull it together, stop overreacting, just let it go and move on. They didn't understand how something that was wrong, wrong, wrong left no room in her mind for that kind of thinking, how she couldn't just move on, because she couldn't move at all.
Skye came the closest to understanding. Even if she didn't understand why things bothered Jemma the way they did, she at least understood that they did, and that being sensitive to things was just the way Jemma's DNA was coded.
"Who even cares anyway?" Skye liked to say, when she was trying to cheer Jemma up after something had set her off, often to the chagrin of the nuns. "So you don't like cooked carrots. If the nuns had half a brain, they'd see it's an easy fix: just don't make you eat cooked carrots. Problem solved. Besides, they're gross anyway. Let's just add them to the list." Their list of things that she and Jemma didn't like. The "BLARG" list, as Skye had deemed it years ago. It stood for Bad, Loud, and Really Gross, and while most of the entries on it came from Jemma, they'd had fun over the years deciding if things were unpleasant enough to be awarded BLARG status. Jemma had added plenty of things – the carrots, sounds she didn't like, being called on in class. Skye had added the green Jell-o with the pealed grapes suspended inside that they were given for Friday treat at St. Agnes and her old name. Jemma liked the list. She liked lists anyway, and it made Jemma feel like less of a burden for being so touchy when they both could contribute to and laugh about all the things they didn't like.
Skye was never really bothered the times Jemma worried she was being bothersome, of course. Skye never minded when Jemma felt too overwhelmed to move or talk, or when she needed someone to be her buffer against all of the upsetting things in the world. Skye was always her shield, unasked, and always appreciated.
It was certainly appreciated now, as Skye deflected and danced throughout the evening. Despite the fact that something wasn't quite right with her, Skye put on a brave face for Jemma and drew the focus of all the adults during the impromptu Thanksgiving dinner so that no one noticed or minded how Jemma picked the carrots out of her pot pie, how she tapped 1-2-3, 1-2-3, just-stay-calm on the table, how she stayed silent throughout the meal because, as wonderful as it was to be back, to be safe and sound and surrounded by happy, loving people, Jemma was overwhelmed.
She had never realized that good and happy things could overwhelm her almost the same as bad and BLARG-y things could. It wasn't so much a feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong, of course. Nothing felt wrong at all for the first time in a long time. It felt right and good and safe and sturdy, like a dream come true, but it was still a lot. It was good, but it was too much, too fast, and Jemma could feel her muscles locking up in her arms and neck, the urge to tap faster than 1-2-3 aching through her bones, her throat tightening as the space around them felt like it was tightening, too. She had gone so long without her stars in her galaxy, and now they had all popped back to life, bringing new ones along, too. The sudden shock of going from near total darkness to a sky bursting with light was just a little too bright for her right now, and she needed a break.
Thankfully, Skye wasn't the only one who seemed to pick up on Jemma's need to call the evening early.
"As much as I love the company of good friends after a good meal," Phil said, once all the plates had been cleared and the pots and pans set to soak, "it's been a full day, and I know I could certainly use an early bedtime."
"I think we all could," Miss Hand agreed, shaking out her wrist to check her watch. "And it's getting late anyhow. Thank you all for a lovely evening."
"Everything was great, Phil," nodded Izzy. "May, thanks for having us. It was good to see you again, Lian, and good to see you three home safe and sound," she beamed, inclining her head in Jemma, Skye, and Bobbi's direction. "Try to stay out of trouble, okay?"
Soon goodbyes were exchanged, coats donned, and some of the bright lights in Jemma's head dimmed, giving her mind's eye time to adjust a little bit more.
"I think I'll say goodnight as well," May's mother said. "I have an early flight back to Pennsylvania tomorrow. I don't know if I'll get a chance to see you girls before I leave, but I want you to know how glad I am to have met you. You three have made this old woman very happy, and you two," she added, turning to May and Phil, "have made this old woman very proud."
May smiled. "Thanks, Mom. Goodnight."
May's mother bade them all goodnight and drifted back towards the den, where May had fixed up the sofa bed for her, and then, suddenly, it was just the five of them. Jemma and her four brightest stars, the only constellations she had longed for all those dark and cloudy nights. Oxygen flooded her lungs, filling her chest and making her feel almost dizzy as the reality before her finally began to set in. She was home, back in a universe where things made sense, where she didn't feel like an alien, back amongst the familiar sights and sounds and smells, anchored in the warm gaze of people whom she trusted and loved. She was so happy and relieved and tired and drained that she felt like crying. 1-2-3. 1-2-3. Right on her hip, where the taps were strong and easy to feel. I-am-home. I-am-home.
"There's so much we want to say," Phil said softly as he looked lovingly from face to face, his eyes sparkling with emotion. "But tonight's not the night for that, I think. Tonight's the night for sleeping. We could all use some rest, how does that sound?"
"Good," Skye decided. Bobbi echoed her, her 'good' coming in triplicate, and Jemma followed with a nod. As much as she wanted to soak in the feelings that being back with May and Phil conjured, she knew there wasn't much room left in her emotional sponge, and heading to bed had never sounded quite so appealing.
It was almost surreal getting ready for bed, with the familiar, soothing patterns of their old nighttime routines washing over her, softening her overstimulated nerves like shells rubbed down smooth by the familiar, soothing patterns of the ocean waves. There were steps for bedtime, nothing was new or unexpected, and she fell into sync with Skye and Bobbi as they brushed their teeth and slipped into soft pajamas.
May and Phil both came to say goodnight, kissing her and Skye on the tops of their heads with whispered "I love yous" that wriggled into Jemma's ear and worked their way down until they nestled, warm and safe, in Jemma's heart. She hadn't gotten her voice back, but she made sure to reach out with delicate touch and tap an "I love you" in return on each of their shoulders before they left, pulling the door closed behind them.
Jemma looked to Skye then, expecting to see bubbling joy finally spilling out of her face now that it was just the two of them, but to her surprise, Skye's expression was twisted and sour. She tried sending Skye a quizzical look, but Skye ignored her, instead hopping out of bed and giving the door handle a hard twist. The door popped open a sliver and Skye's face relaxed.
"Do you want stars?" she asked, casting a glance over Jemma's way. Jemma nodded, and Skye crossed to the desk and flicked on Jemma's star lamp. Soft, blue-white light feathered upwards, and suddenly their ceiling was alive with hundreds of cheery stars. Jemma smiled. She had missed her stars.
"There's real ones out tonight," Skye remarked as she peered through their window. "Just a couple, but they're there. Come see."
She was right, Jemma discovered, as she joined Skye at the window. Twinkling glimmers of familiar stars, old friends like Sirius and Polaris and Casseopeia, blinked down at them, and Jemma felt her heart expand with the light. She lifted a finger to the glass and tapped softly against the window, catching every star on her fingertip.
"Do you feel like talking, now that it's just us?" Skye asked. She kept her eyes trained on the window, same as Jemma, but she shifted slightly so their arms were touching, side pressed lightly into the other's side. Her cast brushed against Jemma's forearm, hard and a little scratchy. Jemma considered Skye's question, but only offered a shrug in response. It was easier to talk with Skye than anyone else, but Jemma wasn't sure her words were ready to come back.
"That's okay," murmured Skye. She was silent for a minute or two, before another question arose. "Do you feel like listening?" she asked, reaching over to give Jemma's right hand a single tap. "Or would you rather just have quiet?" She tapped Jemma's left hand with that question, and Jemma smiled. It had been a long time since they'd done a left-hand right-hand question, a little trick Skye had devised when they were younger to help get Jemma's opinions on things when words were hard and yes-or-no questions didn't quite cut it.
Jemma wiggled the fingers on her right hand where Skye could see them and used her right hand to tap back on Skye's for good measure. Listening would be good. She had missed Skye's voice and, she reasoned, it would be much easier to check in on Skye and make sure she was really okay if she was talking. Between their phone conversation on Thanksgiving, the odd way Skye had acted in the kitchen that evening, and the funny look on Skye's face at the closed door, Jemma had a feeling that there was a lot Skye was still keeping to herself.
Gently, Jemma took Skye's non-casted wrist and guided her towards Jemma's bed, where they could curl up together under warm blankets and erase the distance that had been forced between them since the hospital. Jemma had spent too many nights alone the past week to want there to be any space between them tonight and, judging by how quickly Skye slid into bed beside her, Skye felt the same way.
"You want an After-Agnes report?" Skye asked, nestling into Jemma's side. Jemma winced as Skye momentarily brushed too close to the still tender places where the doctors had done their work, but nodded into Skye's shoulder once they had both settled in pain-free. An After-Agnes report was the name they had picked out for the 'while you were gone' recap they gave each other any time one of them left and inevitably returned to St. Agnes. A 'here's what happened After you left Agnes' report.
"Everything was pretty much the same," murmured Skye, close to Jemma's ear. Jemma could feel the vibrations in Skye's chest as she spoke, and the sensation soothed her, a soft buzz that complimented the steady, gentle tap she was maintaining on her own collar bone.
"They hadn't filled either of our beds while we were gone, so I was back in mine and yours was… empty." Jemma chose to ignore the snag that caught Skye's voice on 'empty,' allowing Skye to continue.
"Michaela Dodson got caught trying to give herself a tattoo with some pen ink and a sewing needle, a stick-and-poke, you know? Obviously the nuns freaked out. Gave her garbage duty until Christmas." Jemma couldn't see her face, but she could tell Skye was smiling at that. Jemma gave her a ginger nudge with her elbow, reminding her to be nice, but a faint smile of her own managed to slip out. She didn't wish ill of anyone, usually, but after years of Michaela tormenting the both of them and getting away with it, it would be dishonest to pretend there wasn't a small part of her that was satisfied at the news.
"I got busted for calling you on Thanksgiving," Skye admitted. "I skipped Thanksgiving mass to do it, otherwise I might not have gotten caught, I bet. I would have had two weeks of shower duty for that if I hadn't gotten to leave. So that's one thing that worked out, I guess. Good to have one thing to be thankful for."
Jemma made a small sound of consternation. She had never been fond of Skye's tendency to downplay her deepest feelings with humor. It made it that much more difficult to get at the root of what Skye was really trying to say, and it didn't make it any easier on Skye herself to pretend like things weren't bothering her as much as they were. It just delayed the inevitable explosion, pressure building up to a point beyond containment as she forced things to stay inside.
"That's not the only thing I'm thankful for," Skye said quickly. She shifted slightly, rolling over so she and Jemma could see each other's faces now. "That was a dumb joke, I'm sorry. There are lots of things I'm grateful about, and getting out of shower duty is pretty low on the list, I promise. Being here, being home, with you… That's the best thing of all. I… I wasn't sure I believed it would actually happen, you know? After everything that happened, everything I put us through, put you through…" Skye's words were doing the thing they often did when she was upset, tripping over themselves as they raced to leave her mouth. Maybe it was the dark and the quiet, maybe it was the fact that Skye needed her, but Jemma could feel her own words regrowing, tiny tendrils sprouting back tenderly on once-salted earth.
"Skye."
"No, I mean it, really," Skye frowned, propping herself up on a distressed elbow. "I got our family split up, I got… I got you shot, Jemma. If the doctors hadn't… If you had…"
"But I didn't," Jemma soothed. "And I heard them. They said that the person who took care of me before we got to the hospital, who applied pressure and kept me awake, saved my life. And that was you, Skye. You saved me."
"I can't stop thinking about it. Every time I close my eyes, every time I try to sleep. I see the warehouse, or I see him, or I see you, lying on the ground, covered in…"
"Skye, you're shaking." And she was, trembling next to Jemma as she choked out her words.
"And I tried to ignore it while I was at St. Agnes, because it didn't really matter there, and there wasn't anything anybody could do about it, but now that we're back and I see you, I… I just keep thinking about how I almost lost you, and how glad I am to have you back. And it doesn't feel real. It feels like the minute someone leaves I'm never going to see them again, or like any second I'm going to wake up and be back at St. Agnes or find out that you're… you're…"
"I'm here," Jemma whispered, snaking her hand over to hold Skye's, locking their fingers together tightly while she tapped on the back of Skye's hand with her thumb. "And it's all real. We're real. We're okay, Skye."
"How can you not be scared?" Skye asked quietly after taking a shaky breath. "How aren't you freaking out right now?"
Jemma was quiet for a while, weighing her words and deciding carefully which ones were heaviest with meaning.
"I am scared," she finally said. "A little, at least, or maybe a lot. I don't want us to be split up again. I don't ever want to lose you, and thinking about that scares me. But I… I think May and Phil feel that way, too. I don't think they're going to let that happen again. I trust them."
"You were always better at that than me," said Skye with a watery chuckle. "But what about the other stuff? Cal and everything? You don't get scared thinking about what happened?"
"Skye, I don't remember what happened."
"What?" Skye sat up suddenly. "You don't… not anything?"
"Not really."
"But you… you always remember."
Jemma frowned and sat up too, drawing her knees to her chest. "I know. I can't explain it. It's not a good feeling, but… but sometimes I think maybe it's not so…" She trailed off and found a safe-feeling place to tap on her knee.
"You don't know if you want to remember, do you?" Skye asked, barely above a whisper. She rested a hand on Jemma's other knee, the cast weighing heavy on the bone, but not as heavy as the question.
"I don't know," Jemma confessed. "It's… unnerving not to know. Disquieting. But I also know that something bad happened, that we were scared and I got hurt, and I know that thinking about – remembering – bad things makes me feel bad. So maybe it's okay not to remember for now. Maybe later, when things are more… settled. Maybe then I can remember."
"Okay," Skye said softly. She pulled in on herself a little and she sounded almost hurt when she spoke again. "That's okay."
"You can tell me, though," Jemma added, realizing her mistake. "If you're remembering, or you're scared, you can tell me. I won't mind. You can always tell me."
"Yeah?"
Jemma nodded.
"Thanks." Skye smiled and settled back on the pillows then, letting out a long sigh that sounded like the breath of someone blowing bad things into the wind, letting them fly away to be lost amongst the tumbleweeds and dandelion fluff that got caught up in the breeze. Jemma shimmied down too, as best she could without hurting her side, and the two girls folded into one another, hearts beating as one in time with the steady 1-2-3 tap Jemma maintained for the both of them.
They had almost managed to fall asleep when a tentative knock sounded at the door and broke the still silence that had settled around them. Blinking torpidly, they looked up to see Bobbi's head poke around the doorframe, her face fretful.
"Sorry, I, um… I was just checking… I mean, I thought maybe you might be having a hard time going to sleep. I know I… I mean…" She gave herself a shake. "Sorry. Obviously you're sleeping just fine. I should just go…"
Skye lifted the blanket in invitation as she and Jemma scooted to make room, then spoke some of the truest words Jemma had heard all evening: "We'll sleep better if you're here."
Bobbi looked a little sheepish as she crossed over to them, limping slightly on her unbraced knee, but it was hard to miss the relieved smile that twisted up her face in the soft glow of the star lamp.
There wasn't really room for three people in Jemma's bed, but they squished together as best they could, limbs tangling and heads finding shoulder slopes and elbow crooks to nestle in. They were together. They were safe and warm and secure in the knowledge that, at least for this one night, no one would be able to pull them apart.
"Does this count as our first sleepover?" Skye mumbled thickly, her voice slurred with sleep.
"It totally does," hummed Bobbi, almost asleep herself. "I love you guys. I'm glad we're home."
"We love you, too."
Tap-tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap.
Love-love-love.