TW for minor, sensory-seeking self injury (non-suicidal, more like a stim)
They took the next week slow, much to Skye's immense relief. Even though Thanksgiving break was over, Phil and May had said they could all stay home from school that week. "Just until we can all catch our breath," Phil had explained with a smile.
The first couple of days were like wading through a dream, with all five of them just floating around the house, being close, sharing meals, playing games, and soaking in the sweet, surreal sensation of pure, unencumbered happiness that being together brought. It wasn't perfect, of course. Jemma was still touch-and-go when it came to talking, some days coming easier than others, and Skye hadn't once seen Bobbi without her batons close by since they'd all come home. Skye herself was trying her best to go back to normal, or at least to act like it, but she couldn't help but find herself drawn like a magnet to people's sides, putting as little space between them and her as she could.
She didn't really understand the pull that she felt, the same way she didn't really understand why something as silly as a closed door made her feel sick to her stomach, but it was almost impossible to force herself not to glue herself to whichever person happened to be closest at the time. Fortunately, no one seemed to mind too much, and Jemma and Bobbi at least seemed to almost expect it now, just like how they knew and expected to find themselves all still sharing a bed a night.
It wasn't until Wednesday when things hit somewhat of a snag, and Skye's plan of acting like everything was fine until it actually was fine came to a crashing halt. They had just finished a quiet breakfast, and she and Jemma were washing out the empty cereal bowls when Skye noticed May heading for the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Ever since they'd come home, Skye liked to know where people were, and May and Phil had been good about mentioning when they were going to take a shower or throw in a load of laundry. Just a few minutes ago Phil had announced that he and Bobbi were going to the den to see if there was something new in the games closet that they hadn't yet played. The fact that May hadn't said anything, like she was hoping Skye wouldn't notice what she was up to, set Skye's senses on high alert.
"I'm going to get dressed," May said carefully. It was the kind of way grownups talked when they were working so hard to sound casual that they sounded the exact opposite instead.
Skye narrowed her eyes. "You're already dressed."
May's shoulders dipped slightly, like she was trying hard not to sigh. "I'm going to get dressed for work. I just got called in."
"You're leaving?"
"Just for a few hours. There're some things I need to take care of."
"Well can't you just do them here?" Skye asked, a little more angrily than she meant to. May sighed for real this time.
"No, Skye, I can't. I'm sorry. Chief Fury needs me to come in, and I've already taken a lot of time off. I won't be long, and I'll come home straight after, I promise."
Skye set the last bowl down in the sink harshly, causing warm water to slosh up onto her good arm, soaking the sleeve of her shirt. Beside her, Jemma winced at the sharp clunk of ceramic bowl meeting metal basin.
"You're not supposed to leave," Skye glowered. "You said we'd be together this week."
"I know, and I meant it," May said. She was trying to sound calm and reasonable, but the attempt just rankled Skye further. "We just have to change the plan a little. I'll be back this after—"
"You can't change the plan!" Skye snapped. Jemma inhaled sharply and brushed Skye's damp wrist with a flighty, warning touch. Jemma wanted her to calm down, but Skye didn't want to. She was mad and she wanted to be mad.
"What's going on, Skye?" Phil had just come back into the kitchen, Bobbi a few steps behind him, presumably to check on all the racket Skye was making. He looked concerned. "Everything okay?"
"No," Skye skulked. "May's leaving. She changed the plan and she's not supposed to do that."
"She just has to go into work for a little bit," Phil said, his eyebrows wrinkling in confusion. "She'll be back soon, and you can stay with me and Jemma and Bobbi until then."
Skye blinked hard to chase away the burning in her eyes and glared down at the bowl in the sink, which she now realized had a large, angry crack zigzagging up the side from where she'd slammed it down in the sink a minute ago. She didn't understand why no one was acting like this was a big deal. Jemma normally hated it when plans got changed without warning, but she didn't seem upset at all. Phil wasn't shocked by May's betrayal, Bobbi wasn't twirling, and May herself barely seemed sorry for going back on her word. The fact that they were all acting so calm about this made Skye feel like a crazy person, and the feeling only made her angrier.
"Skye," May said, her voice measured with the steadiness of a person trying to be the voice of rationality amidst a sea of nonsense, "can you tell me why me leaving is upsetting you so much?"
"I'm not upset," Skye lied automatically. Something hot and dangerous flared up in her chest, angry flames licking up her ribs and burning away the last dregs of cooperation that had lingered inside her. "Just go. I don't care."
"Skye—"
"No, I mean it," Skye spat. "Leave, don't leave. It doesn't matter."
And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into her room, slamming the door behind her. It took about two seconds for her to regret that choice and crack the door open a hair before she then flung herself onto her bed with the distraught frustration of a toddler working itself up for a tantrum. She ignored the sharp pain in her stomach when she hit the mattress and buried her face in the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut tight against the broiling rage that was scalding the back of her throat and the pounding headache that now took up a blistering residence in her skull.
A part of her knew she was being ridiculous. She knew it was stupid to think that they could all just stay bunkered down in the house forever, and probably even stupider to wish it, but still, she hadn't expected May to try and leave quite so soon. They were supposed to have more time. She wanted more time, and she couldn't help but feel angry and hurt that May didn't seem to be fighting harder for that time.
Her face was getting hot pressed into the pillow like it was and, frustrated, Skye popped herself up into a sitting position, grabbed her pillow, and chucked it across the room, where it collided with Jemma's bed with a pitiful flump. It didn't really make her feel better. A disgruntled bellow of a noise clawed its way up her throat and she jammed her face into her hands, trying to press the feelings out of her head. Her cast scraped across her cheek and nose, but she didn't care. It almost felt good to have something hard and sharp like that break through to her senses, reminding her that there was a physical body connected to all the frustration and anger that swirled around her like a billowing cloud of hot steam.
Suddenly, a crisp knock at the bedroom door sounded, snapping Skye to attention.
"Skye?" It was May. She didn't push the door open, and Skye couldn't see her through the crack from her position on the bed, but she sounded like she was close. Skye dropped her hands to her lap and sat up a little straighter, determined to be cool and aloof. If May wanted to leave, to freeze her out, then Skye would play the game. Even though she felt like fire, she would be ice. She would win.
"Skye, I have to leave soon, but I wanted to check on you. Do you want to talk before I go?"
Skye didn't answer, and although she knew May couldn't see her, she glared at the door. There would be no cracks in her ice wall.
"Okay, well, I love you," May sighed through the wood. "I'll be back no later than three, all right?" And then she was gone. Skye sat frozen, trapped behind her own ice and by the sounds of May's retreating footsteps, the front door opening and closing, the car engine rumbling to life and then drifting away, growing fainter and fainter until she was well and truly alone.
All the icy stubbornness and defensive surliness melted in an instant, draining away and revealing what had really been lurking under her skin this whole time – fear. It was easier to be mad, safer, more familiar, but the anger had been hiding a foul secret – festering fear that was rotting her heart from the inside out. May was gone, had walked away like she had in the hospital, and there was nothing that could promise Skye she'd come back this time. Skye was alone, sitting by herself in an empty room again, brain scrabbling away at her skull like a frantic mouse caught in a trap of its own making, shouting at her that this would be the time she'd finally be alone for good.
Her hands shook as she brought them back to her face, trying to stymie the anxious tears that were already springing up and sliding down her cheeks. She knew she was overreacting – May said she'd come back, and Jemma, Bobbi, and Phil were all right downstairs, after all – but her body wasn't interested in rational thought or reasonable reaction. Her body was stuck on the horrible idea that something terrible was going to happen, that May would never come home, that they'd never see each other again and Skye had been too prideful and stubborn to tell her goodbye.
Hardly realizing what she was doing, Skye began knocking her cast against her cheek, not hard enough to really hurt, but certainly enough to remind her how stupid, stupid, stupid she'd been for getting upset, for going silent, for letting May leave. Some tiny thing in the back of her brain, the little voice that so often reminded her of Jemma, was trying to tell her that she probably shouldn't be doing that with her cast, but the steady rhythm of each bump and the overwhelming feeling of release that came with each pointed pop of unyielding plaster against her skin was too hard to resist. She had to do something to keep herself anchored to the earth, to keep herself from skyrocketing off into the atmosphere like a can of soda that had been shaken up and dropped one too many times.
Between her crying and the dull thunk of her cast against her cheekbone, Skye didn't hear when a new knock, a softer one, sounded at the door. She didn't notice when someone eased the door open, either, so it caught her by surprise when Bobbi appeared in front of her, looking concerned.
"Skye, what's the matter?" she asked tenderly, moving to sit beside Skye on the bed and pulling Skye's casted arm gently into her lap, away from her face. "Your cheek's all red. Doesn't that hurt?" Skye didn't answer, just sagged into Bobbi's side and blubbered, almost crying harder now that she'd been caught mid-breakdown. Bobbi, to her credit, seemed to take snotty, shaky Skye in stride, and she draped a reassuring arm around Skye's shoulders.
"Is this about May?" Bobbi asked, once Skye had cried herself out, left only with the occasional sniffly hiccup. "I know you said you weren't upset, but that kind of seemed like a lie."
Skye stared down at her lap and shrugged, scrubbing away at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve, still damp from the sink earlier. She didn't really know how to explain everything to Bobbi. She didn't fully understand it herself. She just knew that May leaving had made her mad one second and inconsolable the next. Being verklempt wasn't an unfamiliar sensation for Skye – she let her emotions get the better of her all too often, at least according to most adults – but the speed at which she had 180'd from seething to sobbing unsettled even her.
"I don't know," she admitted, her voice small. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm just all messed up right now and I can't make myself act like how I'm supposed to. I don't know what's the matter."
"You've been through something horrible," Bobbi said quietly. "More than one something horrible, really. I… I think it's okay to feel messed up after something like that. You shouldn't have to worry about acting a certain way. People can't control how they react to things sometimes." Skye let out a bitter laugh, drawing a frown from Bobbi. "I mean it, Skye. My dad used to get upset with me for the way I reacted to certain things, and I used to get upset with myself, too. I still do sometimes, but… We can't punish ourselves for feeling things. I'm learning that. Getting better at it."
"What about when you're feeling things the wrong way?" Skye countered. "Feelings get me in trouble. Everybody knows it."
"I don't know if there is a wrong way," mused Bobbi. "When I freaked out at that soccer game, it wasn't exactly good, but was it wrong? And is it wrong when I'm feeling stressed for me to use my batons to get my head on straight?"
"No."
"Or when Jemma has days where she doesn't talk, or taps to calm down, is that wrong?"
"No, of course not," Skye frowned.
"So why is it okay for us to feel certain things or react certain ways, maybe ways that don't really seem like a 'supposed to' kind of reaction, but not you?"
Skye was quiet for a long time before she answered, confessing what she thought should be obvious to everyone by now. "Because people don't get hurt when it's you guys. But when it's me… I react and people get hurt."
"Skye…"
"It's the truth," Skye said flatly. "I hurt people, or I put them in dangerous situations. Even today, I got scared when May had to leave, even though I know it's stupid, but I acted mad instead and I probably hurt her feelings."
"I'm sure you didn't hurt her feelings. She understands. She knows you're dealing with a lot, and she knows you didn't mean it."
"I didn't even get to tell her goodbye," Skye whispered, her voice cracking a little. "And now all I can think about is what if she doesn't come back and I never told her goodbye?"
"She'll come back," Bobbi soothed. "And when she does, you'll get to tell her 'hello' instead, which is so much better."
"You think she'll still want to talk to me?"
"Yeah, Skye," Bobbi assured her with a faint laugh. Not a mean one, a soft one, that fluttered up a breath of relief in Skye's chest. "I definitely think she'll still want to talk to you. And I also think she'd be interested in hearing about some of the stuff you're feeling, if you're ready to talk about it. Like maybe about how you're so worried about hurting other people with your feelings that you forget to worry about hurting yourself."
Skye felt the back of her neck grow warm, and she suddenly became very interested in the loose thread in front of her on the bedspread. Thankfully, Bobbi seemed content not to push her any farther, and she stood up then, stretching her long arms above her head. Skye glanced up in time to catch a smile flick across her face.
"Do you feel like you could use a distraction?" she asked. "Phil and I found this puzzle in the closet downstairs and we thought the four of us could work on it today. That's what I was coming up here to ask you in the first place, actually. It's got a bunch of tropical birds on it, I think. None that I could tell you the names of, but Jemma was already telling us something about the nesting habits of one of the big blue ones near the front." She paused, and Skye could have sworn she saw and almost Phil-like twinkle in her eye. "I know you can't say no to Jemma's bird facts."
A faint smile teased at the corners of Skye's mouth, in spite of the lingering fragments of anxiety that still hadn't quite dissolved from the rest of her. What Bobbi said was true, though. Jemma's fun facts were certainly irresistible.
True to her word, May was home shortly before 3:00. Skye had had visions of herself playing it cool upon May's return, maybe causally greeting her and taking some time to talk later in the evening. Those plans proved to be poorly conceived, as the sight of May coming into the den, where Skye, Bobbi, Jemma, and Phil had been plugging away at the bird puzzle all afternoon, shattered any notions of stony resolve Skye had imagined for herself.
"Did you miss me?" May asked into the top of Skye's head as she burrowed into May's side for a tight hug. There was a happy kind of surprise in May's voice that erased any of the embarrassment Skye might have felt at her overly enthusiastic greeting. Skye nodded into May's shoulder.
"I missed you, too," May murmured, planting a light kiss on her forehead. "I'm sorry I had to leave."
"It's okay," Skye told her. "I didn't mean to get so mad."
"That's all right." May eased back a little, but she didn't force Skye to let go. "I'm going to go put my work things away. Would you like to join me?" Skye nodded and followed dutifully as May, after pausing to greet the rest of the group, left the den and headed upstairs to her and Phil's room.
Skye hadn't really spent much time in their bedroom, never really having much need to and not wanting to draw ire for having invaded their privacy. It was a nice room, though, with a thick, dark grey comforter on the double bed and a rug on the floor that matched. There was a shelf lined with books against one wall, and a dresser against the other, each one holding a small collection of knickknacks and framed photographs.
Skye studied the one on top of the dresser while May disappeared into the bathroom to change back into the clothes she had been wearing that morning. It was a picture of May and Phil, looking much younger than they did currently. They were wearing nice clothes – a navy suit for Phil and a simple, matching dress for May – and they were surrounded by three other people, two of whom she realized she recognized. Dr. Garner stood beside Phil, and May's mom stood next to her, along with a man Skye didn't know, but suspected might be May's dad, given the similarities in their faces.
"That's from the day Phil and I got married," May said as she came back into the room and drew level with Skye. "I didn't want a big wedding, and even though he'd never say it, I knew Phil would be heartbroken if we eloped, so that was our compromise. Small ceremony down at the courthouse with the people who mattered most to us."
"Phil's mom and dad aren't there," Skye observed, reaching out to trace a finger along the glass. "I guess they died before then?"
"Yes," said May with a sad half-smile. "He missed them a lot that day, but he knew they would have been proud of him. Knew they would have been happy for us both. Do you want to see a picture of them?" May asked suddenly, like she had just remembered something.
Skye nodded, and May pulled a small picture frame out from the bookshelf, where it had been slightly hidden behind a few of the thicker books. This picture was even older, slightly faded, and the people in it were dressed in old-fashioned clothes that Skye couldn't exactly place – chunky plaids and billowy blouses and pants that flared out at the bottom.
Despite the funny hairstyle and long sideburns, the man, who was laughing, looked almost exactly like Phil. Same color hair, same eyes, same shape of the face. The woman seemed less familiar, until Skye's eyes found her broad, warm smile and she felt Phil's grin pouring into her soul.
"That's his mom and dad?" she asked. May nodded. "So that little kid—" Skye continued, pointing to the young boy clutching at the man's coattail and gazing up at him like he'd just hung the moon–
"That's Phil," smiled May. "He's a cutie, isn't he?"
"He's got so much hair," Skye giggled, studying the thick waves on the boy's head.
May chuckled along with her. "I think everybody did back then."
"It's nice that he's got pictures of his family," Skye said softly. "Pictures of him when he was little… I've got one, you know. In my file. It's me as a baby. I look really mad in it," she added with a little grin. "I was already me, all the way back then."
"It's too bad I didn't know you then," May murmured. She almost sounded sad. "I'm sure I would have loved you."
"The nuns said I was fussy," Skye warned her. "I cried a lot, I think. I don't think you would have loved me that much, because crying babies can be kind of annoying—"
"Skye, I would have and will love you, whether you're a fussy baby or a silly toddler or a wonderful and complicated teenager," May said seriously. One of her pay-attention voices. "I hope you know that. You being fussy or mad or upset or anything at all doesn't change how much Phil and I love you."
"Even when I'm yelling at you for just going into work?" Skye tried to make it sound like a joke, like she didn't really care what the answer was, but May saw right through her.
"Even then," she said. "Especially then, because those are the times when you're trying to tell me you need help. I'm sorry I wasn't listening closely enough this afternoon. I'd be happy to listen now, though, if you want to talk about it."
Skye pumped a single shoulder up and down half-heartedly. She was still trying to sort through everything that had been churning around in her brain all day, and now that she'd had several hours to temper her emotions, she could feel herself shrinking inwards, pulling the feelings back into the tiny clamshell she locked them in until the next time a piece of sand got in there and started causing trouble again.
"I don't really have anything to say," she said in an attempt at nonchalance. "I guess I was kind of upset earlier, but I'm fine now. I feel fine."
May made a thoughtful noise. "Okay, then. Your choice. Do you want to tell me what happened here?" She brushed a few fingers over the puffy place just below Skye's eye. Skye's ears went hot.
"It's nothing. I just got… a little carried away is all. I was trying to calm down and I used my cast because feeling something hard was the only thing that felt good. I wasn't really trying to hurt myself or anything, I just felt like I had to do it so I wouldn't totally explode. It was like when I have to jiggle my leg or something, but it's not a big deal. I'm fine."
"It sounds like you've got everything under control, then."
"Guess so."
A pregnant silence draped over the room, like both and May and Skye were holding their breaths, waiting to see what the other one would do next. May made the first move, eventually drifting back over towards her bed and sitting down, then indicating that Skye should join her. "I was wondering if you could help me with something, Skye."
Skye picked her way over to where May was now sitting and perched close by. There was a little space in between them – Skye wasn't exactly sure what May was up to – but she didn't want May to think she was freezing her out again. "What is it?"
"Well, I was just thinking, since you've figured out how to feel okay about everything, maybe you could help me. Because I'm still having a hard time, even though things seem okay now, and I know I am definitely not fine."
"You're not?"
"Of course not," May said with a shake of her head. "Last week was one of the scariest, most awful weeks of my entire life. I thought I'd lost you, twice, and both times I was worried it was all my fault. I wasn't there to help you or protect you, I couldn't stop social services from splitting us up. I couldn't do any of the things I feel like I'm supposed to do as a mother. I felt like I had let you all down."
Skye's mouth fell open in surprise. May was the last person she would have expected to not be okay. May, who was always so calm and controlled and who always seemed to know exactly what to do. May, who was brave and tough and who did dangerous things for a living. May, who was clearly not at fault for any of the things that had happened last week, but who apparently was feeling the exact same kind of heavy guilt that Skye felt weighing down her own bones every day.
"None of that was your fault," Skye frowned.
"I know," May smiled sadly. "But it felt like it was. I couldn't help my feelings. Guilty, angry, scared. Scared especially, and that one I still don't think I've stopped feeling yet. Do you know," she asked suddenly, turning so she could fix Skye with an unwavering gaze, "I wake up at least three or four times a night these days? And every time it happens, I have to go and check on you and Jemma and Bobbi, or else I won't be able to go back to sleep."
Skye shook her head. She hadn't known that, and she spent plenty of time lying awake at night herself.
"I know it's silly, nothing bad could have happened since the last time I checked," May confessed, almost sheepish, "but I can't help it. I get scared and I have to check, even though it doesn't really make sense. Fear does that sometimes. Makes us do things we don't really understand."
"I guess I kind of do that, too," Skye realized, sharing in May's sheepishness. "I got scared this morning, but I really don't like feeling scared, so I acted angry instead. It didn't make sense. I know there's nothing scary about you having to go to work, but I… I just got afraid that…"
"That I might not come back?" May finished softly, when it became apparent that Skye couldn't get the last few words out. Skye swallowed hard. She had almost forgotten how easily May could read her.
"Not just you," she whispered. "Everything was so bad last week. Jemma almost died. We all got split up and I didn't know if I'd ever see anyone again. And now we're back, but I… I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose anyone. I don't know if I could take it, not again."
"The fear of losing someone is one of the hardest parts of loving them," May said quietly. "At least for me it is. There are a lot of things no one can control, as much as we might like to, but that's just one of those tricky parts of life. There are times when you just have to trust that the loving is worth the risk. That the people who matter are the ones who you won't ever truly lose, even when they're not with you anymore. The ones who won't turn their backs. And Skye, I can't promise you that nothing bad will ever happen again, but I can promise you that Phil and I, we'll always love you no matter what happens, and we won't turn our backs on you. We'll choose you, Skye, every single time. You're the one we want to come back to, you and Jemma and Bobbi. So even when there are times where we might have to be apart from each other, our choice will always be coming home to you."
"And I know it's hard," she continued. She shifted a little, turning her shoulders more towards Skye, almost like she was opening herself up. She rested a hand on Skye's knee, and Skye's heart skipped a beat. "I know it's scary to let people go when all you want to do is hold onto them as tight as you can. But I also know that you're brave and strong, braver and stronger than you should have to be and braver and stronger than you realize. I know that if I need you to trust me, to trust that I love you and want to come home to you, I can always count on you to try your very best."
"Because that's the important thing?"
"Because you are the important thing." May's voice was firm, but her face was soft with a smile. "And because I trust you. I trust in our family. I trust that we love each other, and that matters to me more than anything."
"It matters to me, too," Skye told her, fixing May's eyes with her own, telegraphing just how deeply she meant what she was about to say. "And I want to trust you guys. It's just hard when all I can think about is all the ways something can go wrong."
"Trusting takes a lot of practice, and fear isn't something we can just cut away from ourselves and get rid of," May acknowledged. "But we can do our best to help each other through it. Me, Phil, Jemma, Bobbi, Miss Hand, Dr. Garner – who we're seeing tomorrow, don't forget – we're all here to help you when you're feeling scared or having a hard time, just like how I know you're there for us when we need help."
"We help each other," Skye agreed solemnly.
"Do you think, the next time you're feeling like you were earlier today, you could try and talk to one of us? Try to let us help you sooner rather than later, so you don't end up feeling afraid or alone or forgotten about?"
"I guess so," Skye nodded. "I can try."
"That's my girl," May glowed, moving her hand from Skye's knee up to her shoulder and giving her a tight, happy squeeze. "And maybe we'll try to find some ways to help you calm down that don't involve you giving yourself a big old bruise, hmm?"
"Yeah," Skye said, a little bashfully. "We can try that, too."
"Skye, why do your stitches look like that?"
"Like what?"
Skye and Jemma were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, getting ready for bed. Part of their nighttime routine now included checking and cleaning their various injuries and incisions, and Jemma was, unsurprisingly, meticulous in tending not only to her own surgical scar, but to the collection of stitches that crisscrossed across Skye's stomach as well.
"Like that. All red and angry. That one looks like it's been reopened. What happened?" Jemma reached out to point towards the cut she was talking about, but Skye dropped the hem of her pajama shirt quickly and avoided Jemma's stern look. She busied herself with her toothbrush and shrugged away the question.
"I don't know," she mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste.
"Skye."
Skye scowled and spat into the sink. "I guess I bumped it earlier today. I wasn't exactly careful when I was mad this morning."
"Didn't it hurt? Didn't you think you ought to check it?"
"Not really. It just kind of hurts all the time, so I didn't really think about it that much."
"Skye," Jemma said again, practically spluttering around her distress and indignation as a potential future doctor. "It's not supposed to still be hurting, it's supposed to be getting better."
"Yours still hurts, doesn't it?" Skye pointed out in protest.
"Mine's surgical, and I'm missing a piece of my liver. It's meant to take longer to heal than yours. Cuts like yours should be healing by now. Have you been taking your medicine?"
"Yes," Skye said defensively. Jemma raised her eyebrows, dubious. "Mostly… Okay, I forgot a couple of times, but I'll just take a few extra tomorrow and—"
"That's not how it works," Jemma fretted. "Skye, you have to take care of yourself."
"It's fine. I'm sure it'll be better in a day or two."
"At least let me dress it properly," Jemma sighed, scooping up the tube of ointment she'd been using on her own stitches.
"Fine." Skye lifted her shirt back up and tried not to hiss too loudly as Jemma's delicate fingers began the work of applying the medicine to all the stinging places along her stomach.
"Your hands are cold," she grimaced. "Ouch!"
"I'm sorry," Jemma winced. "Try not to move so much."
"I can't help it, it hurts," pouted Skye. "See, this is why I haven't been putting that stuff on. It burns… Ow!"
Jemma looked like she was about to chide Skye for moving again when someone knocked on the not quite closed bathroom door, causing them both to jump. In a flash, Jemma tucked her hands at her side and began a nervous tap while Skye dropped her shirt and they both tried to shed the guilt from their faces.
"Hello?" Skye called.
"Skye? Jemma? It's Phil. Everything okay in there?"
Skey shot Jemma a warning look, trying to signal for her to stay quiet as she opened the door for Phil. She knew from experience that nothing made grownups more suspicious than hiding behind a closed (or mostly closed) door while you swore everything was fine.
"We're good," Skye assured him, once the door was fully open and she knew he could see the plastic grin she flashed him.
"Are you sure?" he asked. His forehead was wrinkled up in concern. "It sounded like somebody was hurt."
"Nobody's hurt," promised Skye. Behind her, Jemma made a flustered little noise, and it took everything Skye had not to wheel around and give Jemma a 'just be cool' look. She had hoped that by doing the lying for both of them, she might be able to extricate herself and Jemma from the situation without setting off Jemma's honesty alarm, but that possibility was quickly dwindling, it seemed. Jemma's distress didn't escape Phil's notice, either.
"Are you all right, Jemma?"
Jemma nodded – not a lie, technically – but her tapping picked up a little speed and her eyes dropped to the floor. Regret flooded Skye's chest. She didn't mean to stress Jemma out so badly, she just didn't really want Phil getting worried about her stitches, too. Still, she decided she owed it to Jemma to try and offer up at least a partial truth to try and assuage her nerves.
"Jemma was helping me clean my stitches," Skye explained. "It wasn't going that well, but I wasn't exactly being a very good patient."
"Oh, you weren't?" Phil asked, a teasing twinkle in his eye. "What does Dr. Simmons have to say about that?"
"She wouldn't stay still," Jemma told him. "It's very difficult to tend to a person who's squirming."
"I wasn't squirming," Skye said, a little indignantly.
"You were a little squirmy."
"I'd like to see you stand perfectly still while someone spreads liquidized bee sting on your stomach," grumbled Skye. Phil was trying hard not to laugh at their exchange, and Skye could feel herself struggling to maintain a scowl. The whole thing was kind of ridiculous, she had to admit, and even Jemma seemed slightly more relaxed as Phil gave in and chuckled and Skye finally surrendered to the sheepish grin that had been trying to wrestle its way out.
"Maybe I can help," Phil offered. "Here Skye, hop up on the counter. I'll help you stay still while Jemma finishes." Skye obliged him, the lighthearted mood distracting her from the fact that she probably should have been more protective of her stomach's state. The reminder came flooding back, though, when she caught a frown flicker across Phil's face as he got a look at her stitches.
"Skye, that doesn't look so good. How long has your stomach been like that?"
Skye balked somewhat under the unwavering gazes of Phil and Jemma, although she was slightly comforted by the fact that Jemma was at least kind enough to leave her 'I told you so' unspoken.
"I don't know. Just a day or two."
Phil's frown deepened. "Okay, well, get it cleaned up for tonight. Jemma has a post-op checkup after we're finished with Dr. Garner tomorrow. If your stitches still look like that in the morning, maybe we'll see if the doctor can take a look at you, too. I don't want you getting sick, Skye."
Fighting the urge to make a face, Skye offered him a resigned "okay" before steeling herself for the rest of Jemma's dressing. She knew there wasn't much point in arguing with Phil or Jemma about it now, and, if she was being honest, it would certainly be nice if her stomach could stop hurting quite so much. She just hoped these new doctors would be smart enough to know that there wasn't anything nefarious they had to or report. Maybe Miss Hand or somebody could write them a note that explained there was nothing they had to worry about.
Jemma was able to finish putting the medicine on Skye's stitches much quicker once Skye had Phil to hold onto anytime she felt like jerking away from the pain, and soon they were done and padding down the hall to Bobbi's room. They had been switching off whose bed they slept in each night, and tonight was Bobbi's turn. She was already waiting for them as they came in, setting her batons on her bedside table and smiling at the sight of them.
"We can find somewhere bigger for you all to sleep, you know," Phil said, not for the first time since he'd discovered their new routine. "The pull-out couch opens in a snap."
"That's okay," Bobbi said kindly. "Thanks. But we don't mind being squished."
Skye and Jemma both nodded as they climbed in beside Bobbi, tucking themselves into the remaining nooks of space in the bed. "Squished is good," Skye assured him with a grin. There was less room for bad dreams and slinking, slithery thoughts in the middle of the night when the bed was stuffed so full, although she didn't mention that observation out loud.
"Whatever feels good to you is good for me," Phil said. "I just have to make the offer." He smiled down at the three of them for a minute before speaking again, his voice a little gentler this time. "Busy day tomorrow. I wanted to make sure you all knew the plan. We're all going to see Dr. Garner in the morning. Then Bobbi, you and May have an appointment with Dr. Gambhir to get your knee looked at, and Jemma and Skye, we'll go get your stitches checked. Does that sound like something we can all do?" The silent chorus of nods that went Phil's way was decidedly less enthusiastic than the ones that had affirmed their sleeping arrangements, but no one objected to the plan.
"And who knows?" Phil added, flashing them a playful wink. "We might even have time in the middle to grab some lunch while we're out. Something to make the day a little sweeter."
"Pie-in-the-Sky?" Skye asked, her voice betraying the excitement that popped to life in her at the thought of revisiting their favorite diner.
Phil grinned. "I knew you were a girl after my own heart. Goodnight, you three. I love you all, so very much."
"Goodnight, Phil. We love you, too."
I'm going to try my best to not let it go so long before the next update! I reworked my outline a couple of weeks ago to fix up the ending, which is drawing somewhat near - if my calculations are correct, we only have about 10 chapters of this story left, which is kind of crazy to think about! Anyway, all that to say, I'm feeling better now that I've got the plan for the last chapters worked out how I want them, so I'm hoping that will translate into faster writing, but we'll see :) As always, thank you all so much for being here and for reading! It means the world that y'all are still with me on this :)